Chapter Twenty-Three

THE NEXT FEW weeks are a busy whirlwind of consortium meetings and restructuring committees, but thanks to the vociferous support of all the Trusties who had been present to witness the disaster firsthand, they haven’t been met with even a fraction of the pushback Ravi had feared. Jihan Kataraju was one of the first to own up to his responsibility for unknowingly allowing a demon to infiltrate the ranks of The Trust, which went a long way to convincing any of Harry’s detractors to publicly throw in their support and vow to mend the rift that has been allowed to fester within the old families.

Ravi doubts the initial swell of goodwill will last forever, but it’s a good start.

“Whatcha doing, babe? Moving around planters?” Nate tucks up behind Ravi to put his chin on his shoulder, pawing sleepily for a steaming mug of coffee. Dawn light pours in through the windows, glinting off the black and chrome of Ravi’s kitchen counter.

“Mm-hm.” Ravi swaps out one small succulent on the upper level of the counter for a slightly larger one, then rests against the warm bulwark of Nate’s frame and takes a sip of black cinnamon coffee. “Just rearranging a little.”

Nate hums as he drinks, sliding a hand over Ravi’s stomach in a gentle, unhurried caress. “Whuzzat, so they all get an equal amount of sun?” He muffles a yawn against the fall of Ravi’s hair.

“Not exactly,” Ravi admits. “I think maybe Chloe and Frida don’t like being next to each other. Just swapping them out to see if they look any happier after a few days.”

Nate’s mug meets black quartz with a firm click. “I can’t handle how cute you are. I mean, c’mon, dude.” He turns Ravi around, plucks away his coffee cup, and slides both hands into Ravi’s hair, easing into a series of deep, sweet kisses, murmuring between each one, “A little cacti soap opera, I swear to God. How’m I supposed to deal with that? Weaponized adorability. S’unfair.”

Ears warm, Ravi ducks his head, though not enough to discourage more kissing. “All part of a cunning strategy to keep you invested.”

“It’s working.” The kiss grows more heated. Long fingers sneak under the cottony hem of Ravi’s pants before Nate reluctantly pulls back with a frustrated groan. “Dammit, there’s no time. I gotta run to my place quick before hitting the campus. Wish I could help you get everything set up, but the start of the school year is always brutal.”

Ravi traces a touch up Nate’s forearms. “Don’t worry about it. Val is going to meet me at the lake house to help out, and Constance is joining in once she wraps up at the magic shop. Should be fine.”

“I’ll be over as soon as I can. Three at the latest. I promise.” Nate hastily gulps down coffee. His untrimmed five-o’clock shadow is noticeably rougher in the morning, more of a seven- or eight-o’clock.

“You know,” Ravi wheedles, tipping up off his heels to nip a bite at the stubble’s edge, where it meets sensitive throat. “You wouldn’t be in such a rush if you kept a go-bag here at my place like I have stashed at yours.”

A laugh rumbles in Nate’s chest only to stutter at the press of Ravi’s teeth. “Stashed, so secret agenty. It’s a drawer, babe, you have a drawer at my place. But you’re right, I really should keep some work clothes here. Especially if someone is going to keep being such a tempting distraction, making me late. That’s you,” he adds helpfully, smudging a kiss to Ravi’s temple.

Ravi grins. “Well, I’ll just have to tempt you later.”

Nate’s gaze lingers, drinking in the sight of Ravi’s unkempt morning visage. “Out of academic curiosity, how quick do you think you can come if I suck your cock right here?”

The breath escapes Ravi’s lungs all at once; he’d have to send out a search party to have any chance of getting it back. He props his hands behind him on the counter to keep from swaying.

Nate licks his lips. Just that sight and the promise of more has Ravi half hard already. “Like, under two minutes?” Nate asks, brows raised high. “Because I can definitely spare that.”

With a regretful sigh, he reels Nate in for a chaste but heartfelt kiss. “You better go, jaan. You deserve to be savored.” His voice roughens. “We can satisfy that academic curiosity of yours after the party.”

Nate’s cheeks go pink. “Sweet talker.” He finishes his coffee dregs in another long swallow. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

Before he does, Nate plants a kiss on Ravi’s cheek.

“Happy Diwali, sunshine.”

*

THERE’S A LOT to be done for the party, and Ravi wants to do it right. Arrange it himself, not rely on event planners and caterers. A small, simple affair. The first on his list of errands is to check his PO Box, then he’s got to hit the grocery store, make sure to grab enough cucumbers for the kappa, and meet up with Val to start hanging lights. Considering Diwali is the eponymous Festival of Lights, that job is likely to take a while.

Under the usual assortment of mail, a plain, flat brown package lurks at the bottom of his PO Box. The name and address are printed directly on the white shipping label, no return address included.

Ravi checks the post office from his peripheral vision, assessing possible threats, checking for clear exits. It could just be an innocent package. But it’s been weeks without so much as a hint of Cayenne, and while Ravi can hope like hell they’re going to accept their defeat at the Gala gracefully, his optimism has limits.

Ravi is already used to constantly looking over his shoulder for monsters, to preparing for the worst, always vigilant for danger; so now he’s just got to be perennially alert for any signs of his murderous ex too. No big deal.

He stifles a weary sigh and carries the package outside into the brisk autumn air to a nearby park bench, well away from any bystanders, and opens it. Inside is a tablet of a familiar brand, but the design is thinner than he’s used to, the material subtly different. When Ravi flips it over, his heart trips.

A Post-it note reads, This is your choice. Just yours. The i’s aren’t dotted with hearts this time, but the handwriting is unmistakable.

The surface comes to life as he rests his fingers on the glass, powering on immediately. He braces himself for anything—a live video feed, some kind of magic time portal, who the fuck knows—but all the tablet shows is a long list of video files, each one having been filmed with a timestamp minutes after the previous. The first one has been named WATCH_THIS_FIRST!!.mp6.

Harry warned him this might happen. “A hoovering attempt,” she called it, “to suck you back in.”

Ravi sets the tablet aside and puts his head in his shaking hands. He just wants this to be over. To move on. To not have the worst mistake of his life forever dogging his steps, nipping at his heels, setting snares to catch him unawares. He wants…some modicum of closure.

Fuck it. He hits play.

The first astonishing thing he notices is that they’re older. Hair long, a few barely perceptible lines around the eyes, a faint dusting of freckles over the bridge of their nose.

“Bonjour, Ravi. Um. Hi. So.” Cayenne clears their throat, eyes darting away from the camera. “If you’re watching this, then you have decided to…to watch this. Ugh, sorry. I actually did rehearse this, if you can believe it.” They rub a nervous forefinger over one copper eyebrow.

“Okay, so first thing, the tablet’s been set up so we can record videos and talk that way. If you want to. I hope you do. But…this isn’t about what I hope. James helped me set it up. It involves a lot of stunningly boring quantum technobabble I honestly tuned out, but if you record a video on the tablet in your time, it’ll show up here in my time, and I can record one back. It’s… I thought it would be better than springing another chalk circle on you and meeting in person. As much as I want to. Don’t watch anything out of order, or maybe the tablet explodes? I really should have listened better.”

Cayenne hesitates, then looks directly into the camera lens. “In case you only watch this one video and then throw the tablet in the trash—which, entirely fair—then I must tell you something. I just… Putain.” They shift, wriggling low in the frame. “I… You said you wanted me out of your life. And I took you back to before you said that, in that other timeline…and…I understand now what that means. What that…makes me.”

They grind the heels of their hands against their eyes. “Merde. I’m… I don’t expect this will make a difference to you, but I’m sorry. Even telling you that I’m sorry is for me, not… Ugh. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The fact that I am sorry doesn’t obligate you to forgive me in any way, I know that. So.” They breathe out, as if relieved to have that out of the way. “Plus, there’s that whole helping a demon unleash Hell on Earth thing. That wasn’t great, granted, but I’m less sorry about that.”

Cayenne tips their head to one side, a new, thoughtful wrinkle appearing between their brows. “You know why I think there are so few of us chronomages? Not because we die from accidentally poofing into walls or whatever. I think we go mad from all the folded-up time we cause. From trying to fix our mistakes. I— Putain, this was not supposed to be me talking about myself. If there’s anything you want to say to me, any questions I can answer, anything I can do for you…” Cayenne raises a palm up, an offering. “Hit record.”

The video ends.

Ravi inhales a long breath of crisp air, and hits record.

“You’re the one who’s been helping us. Our mysterious benefactor. You in the future sabotaging yourself in the past.” He hits stop, scrolls down to the next video and hits play.

“Aha,” Cayenne says with a wan smile, “yes, c’est moi. A maddeningly tricky needle to thread, you wouldn’t believe. It’s been a full-time job figuring out how to undo what I did back then without destroying everything altogether. Some of it wasn’t actually helping you, per se, like luring Val away from the Gala, but it was the only way to work out the right sequence of events. Yes, me, doing work.” They scoff a bit, lips twisted into something almost resembling a smile. “Good thing past-me is—what’s that American expression? It’s such a good one. Ah, yes—like a monkey fucking a football,” they say with double-edged, self-effacing relish.

“I’ve always been the worst kind of fool, and after we met…Well. I never had anything to lose, before you. It’s the most dangerous I’ve ever been. That’s saying something, considering I used to be a time assassin.”

The video plays on and Cayenne keeps talking. Ravi heaves a sigh, head tipping back. What’s the point of this? Five seconds of a half-hearted apology before five minutes of self-absorbed monologuing?

“James has been a big help,” Cayenne says grudgingly, rolling their eyes. “He’s the fucking worst, and I hate him, but he’s also kind of the only friend I have. Si dépriment, oof.”

“What do you want?” Ravi bluntly asks in the next video. “A thanks?”

“No, mon ch— Sorry. Habit.” They clear their throat. “I want you to know that I’m not going to bother you again. No version of me will. I’ve made sure. No…no drunken phone calls, or…or any more schemes, or tricks or…” Cayenne presses their hands over their eyes for a long moment. “I told you that I am not a good person. I did that a lot. I figured, well, they’ve been warned. I’ve been honest from the start, and if I’m not believed? That’s not on me. Because it’s so much easier to just admit I’m awful and say there’s no point in trying to be anything else.”

Ravi hits record. “You really do like talking about yourself. So, let’s do that.” He props the tablet on his knees and crosses his arms over his chest. “Let’s talk about you, Cayenne.

“Île du Diable, a French penal colony, opened off the South American coast by the city of Cayenne in the early 1850s. Some years later, an illegitimate redhead was born to a half-Lokono woman and one of the wardens. Sixteen years go by with no further mention. Then there’s some kind of accident. Something bad. A lot of people die. Accounts get rocky. Accounts from Paris, over fifty years later, are even worse. Kind of hard to track crimes that never technically happened. Though your disposal of Marquette was pretty public.”

Ravi isn’t entirely sure what to expect when he plays the next video, but it’s definitely not the soft, warm smile Cayenne wears. “You have good investigators, my—” They swallow the endearment unsaid. “I thought I erased everything from Guyane.”

Good investigators. Ravi huffs a mirthless laugh. Cayenne always did seem surprised when he figured something out for himself.

Cayenne stares off into the distance for several heartbeats. “I thought if you knew, I’d be… I don’t know. Unsettled. Angry. But as it turns out, it’s nice to be known. Cayenne isn’t entirely a nomme de guerre. My grandmother took care of me, when I was very young. She would call me Aji, her little red pepper. Everyone else in the village called me Ghost, for obvious reasons.” Cayenne holds their hands up in frame, waggling their fingers. “But she got sick. They had doctors, of course, but not for the natives. Not for the whores.” They shrug, picking at their fingernails. “When my father took me in, it was quite a noble act of Christian charity, he was always sure to remind me.”

Ravi curses under his breath as he hits record. “What do you want, Cayenne? Why did you send this tablet to me? Were you hoping for my sympathy?”

Cayenne sags. “Non, though I’m sure you feel some anyway. Can’t help yourself, you poor thing. You’re a good person, Ravi. The best person. I’ve never met anyone better, and don’t think I ever will. I did this because I want you to be happy. And you won’t ever be, if you are always expecting me to jump out of the bushes, or something.”

Cayenne sits up very straight, lifting their chin. “After this, you won’t ever see or hear from me again. I’ve broken every other promise I’ve made you, but this one I’ll keep, I swear it, Ravi. You can… You can have your Trust to guide as you see fit. Your legacy secured. Your team, your friends, your work, your family, your…lover. Everything you wanted, all out in the open. No more hiding yourself away, my darling.” They swallow hard. “Sorry. That one slipped out.”

Ravi quells an angry growl. “How generous of you.”

Cayenne groans, covering their face. “I’m not saying this right. All of that? All of those things? You chose them, Ravi, you worked for it. I’m not letting you have it, fuck, that’s not… I’m not very good at this.”

“Did you send the urumi to Harry?” Ravi demands, stabbing the play icon the instant his video stops recording.

Cayenne has slightly shifted in the next video, different trees as their backdrop. Their hair is now tied back in a low tail. “No,” they say, with a sly smile. “You did.”

Ravi just sends back a two second clip of him staring flatly, unimpressed.

“No sense of stagecraft,” they mutter, then begin to speak with expressive twists of their hands. “Past-me—airport-era-me—tucked the urumi far in the future, almost to the limits I can travel. It’s been sitting there in that Moscow safe untouched since then. Bear with me, this gets a little loopy.” They swoop their fingers in a crisscrossing X. “So current-me, me now, can go and get it, box it up, and have it sent back to your present time in a safety deposit box. As a gift.”

Ravi massages his temples. “That… Cayenne, that makes no fucking sense, why would I want that?”

“I said bear with me! So, you’ll have the urumi, plus one more thing I can also put in that safety deposit box.” They hold up a silver pocket watch and give it a wiggle. “For one hour in 2016 you are actually in 2015, battling that ice monster thing in Chicago! Remember? The first time you met me. One hour where you won’t be in two places at once, where you can’t overlap yourself. Once I calibrate the watch with chronal energy, you can take the urumi to the post office, zap back to that moment in time, and mail it to Harry. You click the watch again, and you’re back!”

They grin, bright and expectant, as the video ends.

The tablet tumbles to the grass as Ravi pushes to his feet. He paces back and forth in front of the bench half a dozen times, raking his nails into deep furrows through his hair. He regrets ever hitting play.

“What the fuck, Cayenne? Is this…is this how it always happened? Am I stuck in some fucking time travel bullshit loop? This is…” He grinds his teeth. “Do I have any free will at all?”

“Oh, no, no, darling, of course you do. This is completely up to you. That’s the whole point. Don’t do it if you don’t want to.” Cayenne gives a careless shrug. “Your timeline will change, and something different will happen. Pick it up and maybe the urumi will go to you, maybe it’ll find Harry anyway, maybe it’ll go to someone else, maybe you can just throw it away. I don’t fucking know. And the free will thing? That’s probably the main reason why everyone from seers to otherworldly beings to the gods themselves hate chronomancers. We make things…sticky.”

“Sticky,” Ravi reels. “Yeah.”

Cayenne’s lips trace an amused curve. “You’ve gotten very adept at sarcasm, mon tig— Désolé, sorry, I’ll stop doing that. The pet names. I’m told it’s ‘emotional manipulation.’” They hook their fingers into air quotes and roll their eyes.

“Can the urumi stay there in that future safe without sending it to me? Harry already has it now, so…”

Cayenne’s next video starts with them rocking a hand side to side, their expression uncertain. “Maybe? More likely it’ll overlap itself someday, or even shift its tether. Like you did at…at the Gala. If it does, that’s bad news. Things don’t usually work like people with time travel, but I don’t know if a divinely forged, wisdom-granting, memory-carrying weapon might be an exception. You can roll the dice if you like. It’s totally up to you.” They move as if to end the video, then stiffen in alarm. “Obviously don’t try to bring both swords into the same place at the same time, that would be catastrophically bad.”

Ravi glares narrowly. “Can I just say what absolute fucking horseshit it is that you’ve dumped this insane choice in my lap? This is supposed to be a gift? An apology? How is this burden supposed to make me happy?”

Cayenne throws both hands up high. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. This is how Harry gets the fucking thing. I’m sorry. I can’t unsteal it. The best I can do is return it to you, the rightful owner. After that, what you do with it is your decision. Your choice.”

Ravi pauses, finger hovering over the record icon. There’s a fair point in there somewhere, he’s loath to admit. He sets the tablet aside and laces his fingers together behind his neck, elbows out, and leans back, face tipped up to the sky. He stays like that for a long time.

“Tell me what my future is like,” he says when he finally starts another clip. “Right now. Keeping on the path I’m already on.”

Cayenne is leaned far over, holding the tablet between their knees. They shake their head in flat refusal. “You wouldn’t thank me for that. Seers have it worse, but the Cassandra problem exists with time travel too. What if I say something that puts you in jeopardy? Even little things can have big consequences. Maybe you go left when you would have gone right. Zig when you should have zagged.” They trace a vague shape into the air. “What if I influence you so that you don’t…fuck if I know, buy the right kind of car and you crash, or don’t pack the right weapons and end up short of bullets when you need them most? Or if your timeline is off by just a little bit, and you don’t cross the street at the right time, or if you have one kid instead of twins, or if you miss a vital warning that would have helped in a fight? It’s too risky, I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Twins?”

When the video starts, Cayenne’s head is cocked in puzzlement. “Who said anyt—” Their eyes widen with alarm. “Putain de bordel de merde! Fuck, I’ve already started this video, I can’t delete the last one. Oh, fuck.” Cayenne drops their head into their hands with a heavy groan until the only thing on-screen is the part of their hair. “Unbelievable. Very nicely done, je suis une stupide mousson.” They pull their face up out of their hands, wearing a strained smile. “Just kidding. Forget I said that. Another classic Cayenne lie.”

“Send me the urumi,” Ravi says firmly.

“Ravi, je jure devant Dieu, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Cayenne, as with every shitty thing you have ever done to me, your intention doesn’t matter as much as the result. Send it. The watch too.”

Cayenn’s eyes are considerably redder at the start of the next video. “Okay. You’re right. I never listened then, but I am now. Whatever you want, Ravi.”

“What I want,” Ravi grates. “I want this to be the last time I ever deal with you or time travel for the rest of my days. I want to close this chapter of my life and move on.”

“The last time. Ravi. I…” Cayenne bites their lip nearly bloodless. “Mon Dieu, I hate goodbyes.”

As the video records, Ravi turns to watch the sky for a moment, sparrows wheeling around the spreading oaks. “There’s a custom in India. To never really say goodbye. Because if you do, it implies you’re never going to see each other again.”

Ravi faces the screen head-on, and through unknown quantities of time and space, by some alchemy of technology and magic, his gaze meets Cayenne’s. One deep, measured breath, then he lets it go.

“Goodbye, Cayenne.”

A rueful smile. “Goodbye, Ravi.”

It’s the last file on the tablet.