Four
stew for lunch that sat like lead in my stomach. The music store on the first floor of the customs station had a steady stream of customers, and Elizebeth left to assist the two other alchemists we had yet to meet.
“Wait for us in the parlor after lunch,” she instructed on her way out the door. “I will meet you there to continue our lesson once I am free. Peggy can help you with anything you need in the meantime.”
The teenager gave us a shy smile as she took her own bowl of stew to an empty place setting at the table.
“Should we be offended we’re adults with a kid babysitter?” Gaige asked once the alchemist was gone.
Peggy concentrated way too hard on making sure none of the vegetables on her spoon fell on the way to her mouth. “I’m not here to spy on you,” she said, hurriedly shoving the large bite of stew between her lips.
“Yeah, okay,” Gaige mumbled.
Since there was nothing we could have said to make Peggy leave us alone to discuss what we’d learned about the princes, I decided to make the best of having her around.
“So, you’re from here in New Orleans?” I began, not sure how to move forward without knowing what the trainee knew about our reasons for being there. Had Elizebeth even told her we were on unofficial business?
“Observant, Stass,” Gaige quipped.
Peggy shot him a grateful smile. Like most of the girls under eighteen on Branson, she was eyeing Gaige as though he had hung the moon.
I glared in his direction and deadpanned, “Have you considered taking your wit and humor to the stage?”
“Stassi just meant that we got a little of the info this morning. Is there anything you think we should know?” Molly rested her spoon on the plate beneath her nearly empty bowl and stared down the table at Peggy.
“Oh, well, Elizebeth said she would keep going later,” the teenager replied uneasily.
“Right, but alchemists never give us the good intel, you know? The stuff that really makes a city come alive. You’re younger, so you have a different perspective,” Molly coaxed. Her tone would’ve convinced someone in the desert to buy her sand. And there was something about the way her eyes portrayed pure innocence; it made people want to trust her.
“Um, okay,” Peggy gave in. “What type of thing do you want to know?”
My roommate shrugged. “You said you know Richard Fontenot, right? What does he do for fun besides frequenting the bar scene?”
“Obviously not the opera,” Gaige muttered.
Peggy giggled. “He’s not the type. I’ve only met him in passing, though. Liza doesn’t let me hang around people like Richard.” The bitter tone contrasted with the sparkle in her eyes. Her sister might not have liked when she hung out with people like the roguish prince, but that didn’t stop Peggy from doing so.
“Have you heard other stories about him?” Charles tried, speaking softly. He made a face that suggested he wasn’t sure whether to say more, which he did against his better judgment. “Like the one about his prowess in the hay?”
Peggy ate a few bites of stew while she considered the question. Her eyes lit up. “Oh, actually I do. He’s met the vampire.”
A carrot lodged in my throat, and I began to choke. Gaige helpfully smacked between my shoulder blades.
“Did you say vampire?” Molly asked, leaning forward a little. “A man on the street mentioned something about one, too. What’s up with that?”
“This one has been around a few months, since the summer, I think.” Peggy chewed on a chunk of meat thoughtfully. “Jojo’s sister snuck out to meet Richard Fontenot one night just before the holidays.” She took a sip of tea to wash down the food. “He was all out of sorts because he’d seen a man with razor sharp teeth and red eyes. Loads of people had seen the vampire by then, so no one was shocked.”
Way too gleefully, Gaige beamed at me. “See, Stass? Vampires are real.”
“Still not convinced,” I replied.
“They’re definitely real,” Peggy said without a trace of humor. “One hunts in our city every few years. They usually leave once the locals start to get suspicious. I reckon the current one will be off soon.”
“Has this current one killed any of his victims?” Charles sounded as serious as Peggy.
The teenager shook her head. “No. Most of the sightings are just that. Richard Fontenot and a woman walking alone at daybreak are the only ones to have been attacked.”
“Wait, has this guy actually drank anyone’s blood?” Gaige demanded, his excitement from a moment early rapidly deteriorating.
“Not that has been reported,” Peggy confirmed.
Molly narrowed her eyes. “Then why do people think he’s a vampire? I mean, the guy sounds weird and all, but blood-sucking immortal wouldn’t have been my first guess.”
You took the words right out of my mouth, I thought.
The trainee looked at Molly like my roommate must be dimwitted. “Didn’t you hear what I said about the teeth and the eyes?”
After that brief segue into the paranormal realm, the conversation drifted to more relevant topics. Peggy gave us an overview of the French Quarter, listing out the most popular drinking establishments on both Bourbon and Canal Street. According to her, they were the places we were most likely to run across Richard.
She told us about the riverboats where people indulged their vices aboard the floating casinos, adding, “Sylvestro Carolla runs all the good ones. He’s in the mafia.”
No surprise there.
Jazz clubs were of great interest to Peggy. She spoke of two specific ones in great detail, making it clear she frequented both. The way her voice rose an octave combined with the dreamy look in her eyes when she talked about one certain band made it obvious why she loved jazz music so much. Between Gaige, St. Germain, and the jazz singer named Tony, Peggy was a ball of teenage hormones.
Elizebeth and the others were too busy helping customers to meet us as planned. We lounged in the parlor, digesting lunch for over an hour before I grew too impatient to sit still any longer. I was antsy and needed to do something, to move around and stretch my stiff legs. I couldn’t think straight with the stew-induced drowsiness clouding my mind.
“We should do a foot canvass of the area,” I suggested, crossing and uncrossing my legs for the umpteenth time.
“Do you think walking so much is a good idea with your leg?” Charles asked from beside me on the sofa. Molly and Gaige were sprawled out on the fainting couch and daybed respectively, while Peggy sat in her corner watching us with open curiosity.
His concern was touching. I smiled at him.
“Yeah, Stass,” Gaige quipped. “I thought your leg hurt too much to go trooping around the Quarter?”
Shooting a glare in his direction, I said in a falsely cheery voice, “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” Addressing Charles, my tone was much nicer and more genuine. “I promise. My leg is just stiff. I want to get out. I need to get out. And we should be treating this like any other assignment. On any other assignment, we’d scope out the area upon arrival.”
“I don’t know that Elizebeth would like that,” Peggy interjected. “And I do know my sister would definitely not like it. You all are not supposed to leave the customs station today.”
“Yeah, well, they’re not in charge here,” Molly replied.
Technically, she was right, of course. Alchemists were there to assist runners; they didn’t dictate the rules of our missions. Though this wasn’t a normal assignment, and we needed to stay in the alchemists’ good graces, I was going to drive myself crazy if we didn’t make progress soon. Approaching the princes would have to wait until we had all the information on the time period but walking around the French Quarter couldn’t hurt. We had the right clothing and styling to blend, and we needed to get a feel for the place.
“Why don’t we split up at least?” Charles suggested. “We can cover more of the city in less time. We should not be wandering the streets after sunset.”
He didn’t say that the reason we should be safely tucked inside the customs station after dark was Baylarian. Even if Peggy knew we were in New Orleans without the syndicate’s knowledge, I was betting Elizebeth hadn’t told her about the time traveling villain.
Probably for the best, I decided. We didn’t need to scare the poor girl.
Gaige stretched and stifled a yawn. “That works.” He sat up and flashed Peggy a winsome smile. “Don’t worry about Elizebeth. Just tell her we tricked you.” He winked flirtatiously.
“There is something so wrong with you,” I hissed in his direction.
Peggy found us two maps and money that she divvied up four ways. After agreeing to meet back at the customs station in one hour, we slipped down the stairs and out the front door without drawing the alchemists’ attention.
Charles and I headed north on Bourbon, while Molly and Gaige went south toward the Garden District. It was late afternoon, and the January air was cool and humid. I wished I’d thought to run down to wardrobe and grab a shawl. Charles took my hand in his, warming my insides if not my outsides.
Music and laughter drifted out from the open doors of bars. A group of musicians played jazz on the sidewalk, their brass instruments accompanied by a man using a crate and barrels as a makeshift drum set. Charles pulled several of the bills from Peggy out of his pocket and dropped them in the trumpet player’s upturned hat. The man nodded his appreciation and continued playing the instrument with impressive skill.
“What do they know about politics?” a man asked his companion as we passed them on the sidewalk. “If we allow them the vote, we’ll end up with a dimwitted president who is easy on the eyes.”
“Madness,” his friend agreed.
It wasn’t hard to surmise that the “they” the men referred to was women.
“You aren’t going to correct them?” Charles asked softly in my ear. His tone was equal parts amused and mischievous, like he was hoping I might interject myself.
I shrugged it off. “No point. Women get the right to vote despite that idiotic school of thought. Their archaic thinking becomes obsolete, it’s not worth the breath.”
He chuckled. “If you think that is antiquated, how do you feel about the leadership of a nation being dictated by birthright?”
“You mean like Edward being destined to become King of England from the day he was born? I don’t know. It’s ridiculous to think someone is leadership material just because they come from a long line of rulers who married their cousins. On the other hand, at least heirs to thrones are trained for the job from a young age.”
“Not all royals marry their cousins,” he pointed out.
“Maybe not their first cousins,” I argued. “But they are all related one way or another. Heaven forbid they contaminate the bloodline with common genes. Nope, it’s far better to perpetuate recessive abnormalities so half the kings go mad before they die.”
“That is quite bleak,” he teased.
We stopped to let a horse-drawn carriage pass through the intersection of Governor Nicholls and Royal Streets. That same feeling of being watched from the day before settled over me. Was Baylarian following us? Had he just been waiting for the red door on Bourbon Street to open, for me to leave the safe haven?
“Stassi?” Charles eyed me with obvious concern. “What’s wrong?”
I craned my neck and surveyed the surrounding buildings with a critical eye. Movement in the window of a house cattycorner to where we stood caught my attention. I started to point at the figure, but the person was gone by the time Charles looked.
“I swear I saw someone,” I said.
A full body shiver shot through me. I felt the sudden urge to bolt. To run as fast I could away from that corner house. If only my shoes didn’t feel as though they were made of lead.
The dark gray building was massive compared to the structures on either side, both taller and more sprawling. The second floor had a balcony that wrapped both street-facing sides, with flowers in hanging baskets attached to a wrought iron railing. If I had seen a picture instead of lived the experience firsthand, I would have found the architecture beautiful. In person, an overwhelming sense of wrongness radiated from the structure and made it hard to find any beauty at all.
Expression dark, Charles took my arm and led me in the opposite direction. It was like he felt the bad energy, too. “I believe you. Maybe we should turn back now?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Not yet. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
With even a little distance from the ominous house, it did feel like nothing. So what if there had been a person staring out a window? The exterior was well maintained, so someone did live there. I was just paranoid and overreacting.
“If you’re certain?” Charles raised a questioning brow.
“Let’s keep going. Didn’t Peggy say something about the water being this way? We can check out the casino boats.”
Charles slowed but continued walking while he consulted the map. “A few blocks more and we shouldn’t be able to miss them.”
We walked up one more block before turning right and going over several blocks to reach the water. Steamboats ambled in the distance as people lined up to purchase tickets for the next ride.
“I believe that is a ferryboat.” Charles pointed to the small, open-topped vessel coasting toward the port.
The ache in my leg was starting to become more than uncomfortable. I slowed down, limping a little beside Charles.
“Let’s sit,” he suggested, indicating a bench on the edge of a nearby park. “We can people watch.”
“I do love that,” I agreed.
But instead of observing strangers, I found myself looking at Charles. His golden-brown irises were in constant motion, searching for even a hint of Baylarian. I should have been just as vigilant. Maybe because sunlight was streaming through a patch in the cloud cover overhead; maybe it was having Charles’ reassuring presence by my side; maybe it was the smell of freshly baked beignets and chicory coffee coming from Café Dumont across the street—whatever the case, I felt safe enough to focus on Charles’ wistful smile rather than my immediate surroundings.
“Does being here remind you of Paris?” I asked softly. The fleur de lies symbol was everywhere, a tribute to the city’s French roots, and many of the people spoke French as they passed.
Charles bobbed his head up and down. “A little,” he admitted. Sadness clouded his beautiful face. “It reminds me of a different time in my life. Not a better time,” he was quick to assure me. “It was a worse time, if anything.”
As far as I knew, his life with the DuPrees was happy, which left me to assume he was referring to the period before his adoption. Charles rarely spoke about his birth parents or the couple who had raised him. I usually couldn’t bring myself to pry too much, but his comment had opened the door.
I opened my mouth to ask a question that I was pretty sure Charles still wasn’t ready to answer.
“It is no one’s business if I want to have a nip in the afternoon,” a woman said loudly to her companion as they walked past our bench. Both were well-dressed, wearing nicer fabrics than most of the women I’d seen so far.
“No one would dare say you cannot continue to imbibe to in your own home,” the companion assured her friend.
“I should think not,” the woman replied.
If you think no alcohol is bad, just wait until the depression when food becomes scarce, I thought.
“See, Bertie? That right there is why women shouldn’t vote.” A middle-aged man using an umbrella like a walking stick trailed the women with a teenaged boy beside him. “No matter how many times I explain to her it is only the sale and distribution of alcohol that has been outlawed, she can’t quite grasp the concept.” The man continued to talk and walk, his words eventually getting lost on the slight breeze off the water.
Asshole, I thought.
“No, Kitty. I swear I saw him. Walking the cemetery.” The hissed comment drew my attention behind us, to where two of the more scantily dressed people we’d seen were huddled together.
“His eyes were glowing red. Just like they say,” the woman insisted. “He asked me if I would like to have a drink with him. I think he meant for me to be the drink.”
Charles and I exchanged glances. I mouthed “vampire,” and he whispered, “prostitutes.”
“What?” I laughed awkwardly and too loudly.
“The women, they’re prostitutes,” Charles repeated, his lips barely moving.
I glanced at the women’s stained dresses and heavily powered faces. They were wearing a lot of eye shadow and blush for before sunset.
Shrugging my shoulders, I said, “So? Maybe they’re just trying to feed their kids. Maybe they have entrepreneurial aspirations. I support that.” In a more teasing tone, I added, “Awfully presumptuous of you to assume they’re prostitutes.”
“I have seen a few in my time,” Charles replied dryly. “I only mention it because Peggy said the only person to encounter the vampire was a woman walking alone very early in the morning.”
I stared at him blankly.
“Not many women in this time would be out walking alone in the early morning. Except perhaps a prostitute,” Charles explained.
I glanced back at the two women, who’d retreated farther from the bench.
“Okay, do you want to talk to them or something?” I asked doubtfully.
“No. I don’t know. Maybe. Do you think we should talk to them?”
“No. I don’t. Because vampires are fictional. It is statistically impossible for a horde of living dead to walk the earth without everyone knowing they exist,” I countered.
“Vampires and zombies are different creatures,” Charles said, sounding a lot like Gaige. “Hordes and living dead are terms commonly associated with zombies.”
“I’m putting you and Gaige on a friendship timeout.”
Charles gave a short bark of laughter before growing serious. “You do know why I am interested in this so-called vampire, don’t you?”
“Yeah. You think it might be Baylarian. Don’t think I haven’t considered the possibility. But why hasn’t he killed anyone? I mean, obviously I’m glad he hasn’t, but it doesn’t fit with the little we know of him.”
He took both my hands in his and rubbed the knuckles to warm my skin. “You’re freezing. Let’s get back to the customs station. We’re due to meet Molly and Gaige.”
Returning to the confines of the customs station sounded…confining. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky, casting a gloom over the city and lowering the temperature several degrees. I would have preferred to shiver on that bench a little longer, but I nodded reluctant agreement.
Charles set a leisurely pace that felt like a concession. Or maybe he had just noticed my limp. It was hard to be certain either way.
“You don’t believe the vampire sightings have anything to do with Baylarian?” he asked.
“Let’s not talk in absolutes. I’m leaning away from the vampire and Baylarian being the same person. Right now, I just want to focus on finding Edward and Richard. Once we’ve talked to them, we can go home and face the consequences.”
“Do you think they’ll know anything about Tessa?” Charles asked, the question coming out strained.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.” Those seemed like the only three words I was saying lately. “They were young when they were jumped through time. They might not remember much of anything.”
“Not that young,” Charles countered. “Edward was, what, twelve? Richard around nine?”
“Something like that,” I agreed.
“I was close to their ages when I went to live with the DuPrees,” Charles reminded me.
“True. But you don’t remember much about her,” I pointed out. “Unless you’re holding out on me?” I was teasing, but it wasn’t exactly a joke.
Charles was holding out on me. I knew that. Cyrus hadn’t let him stay in our time and become a runner just because Charles was good people. My boss never did anything without a reason.
“I wish I could tell you more.”
It wasn’t a confirmation or a denial. He’d been careful about his word choice, making the statement both true and false. I had let the game go on for too long, I decided. Maybe whatever secret Charles was hiding had nothing to do with Tessa or the jewelry or time travel. But maybe it did. Maybe it had everything to do with it.
“The ducks are in a row.”
I looked up to see two young men walking toward us on the sidewalk. They were both dressed similarly to Charles in three-piece suits. One wore his dark hair slicked back, the other covered his with a hat that tipped down over one eye.
“They had better be,” the man with the hat and a hooked nose replied curtly. “I don’t want any surprises. If this deal goes south, we can forget about our friends to the north.”
“Trust me, Syl. This is going to work,” Slicked Hair replied.
There was something familiar about his smoky eyes. I had seen them before. Several times, in fact. Panic constricted my chest. But when those gray eyes found mine, there was no spark of recognition. Not exactly. The man didn’t know me. It was more like he’d pegged me as the one thing that wasn’t like the others. The difference between us and everyone else on the street was invisible yet tangible, if only to the two of us.
Had he been most any other runner, that feeling of kinship to a fellow twenty-fifth century native would have been all I experienced, too. Lachlan Shepard wasn’t most other runners. He was the runner Baylarian had hired to jump him through time. He was the runner who’d enabled the Paris killings. The last time I had seen those smokey eyes, they had been vacant in the courtroom at Versailles.
My tongue suddenly felt too big for my mouth. I stumbled, which had nothing to do with my hurt leg. Charles put an arm around my shoulders for support.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
I picked up the pace to put distance between the other time traveler and us. It wasn’t until the customs station was in sight that I stopped and turned to face Charles. “That man on the street—did you know who it was?”
Charles frowned and started to shake his head, then recognition clicked.
“Fancy running into you two here,” Molly’s voice called from the opposite side of the street. She and Gaige wove through pedestrians and horse-drawn carriages to reach us. My roommate’s cheeks were flushed, and I smelled alcohol on Gaige’s breath.
“Really? You went for cocktails?” I snapped.
“One.” Gaige held up his index finger. “Singular. And just me. I wanted to check out the scene. Why so serious?” He attempted to mimic my expression.
“Just one?” I asked dryly. “Because you seem like you’re drunk. You’re the one who’s been preaching about safety and whatever since we got here.”
Molly stepped between us. I didn’t even realize I’d raised my voice until she pointed out all the people looking in our direction.
“I’m sorry,” I said automatically. “It’s just…we saw Lachlan.”
That was enough of a shock to Gaige’s system to burn all the alcohol right out of him. “Let’s get inside. Now.”
The four of us hurried through the red door and up the stairs to the parlor. Gaige poured something that looked like scotch into a tumbler and handed it to me on the velvet loveseat. I accepted the drink but only held the glass between my palms.
Charles sat down beside me, his expression as blank as one of Cyrus’. But I knew Charles, even if I didn’t know all his secrets. It wasn’t hard to guess he was extremely bothered by the fact he hadn’t recognized the runner immediately.
“Are you sure it was him?” Gaige asked, hands on his hips.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. Positive. I mean, he looks a lot healthier than when I saw him last, but it was definitely him.”
“You saw him too, Chuck?” Molly asked.
“I hardly recognized him. But yes, Lachlan Shepard is here in New Orleans.”
Elizebeth appeared in the doorway, lips stretched in a disapproving frown and eyes flashing with irritation. “I thought I told you all not to leave the customs station.”
“Not right now,” Gaige snapped. “We have a situation.”
The alchemist’s expression grew worried. “What sort of situation?”
“It’s not a situation,” Molly interjected.
“It is a bit of a situation,” Charles countered.
For a fleeting moment, Elizebeth looked like she wanted to rip her perfectly styled blonde hair out by the roots. “Enough of all that,” she declared. Her gaze landed on me. “What happened?”
Where to begin?
“There’s another runner in New Orleans,” I began slowly, not sure how to explain Lachlan’s significance.
“That is not possible.” Elizebeth shook her head. “We have no runs scheduled for the rest of this month, and the last pair left in October. As I said, this is not a busy station.”
“He’s from the Montgomery Syndicate, not Atlic,” I replied. “And Lachlan wouldn’t have used a customs station.”
“He’s the one who brought Baylarian to New Orleans. Whatever the reason, they’re in it together,” Gaige added.
“Unless this is where they meet?” Charles suggested. “Is it possible this is Baylarian’s home time?”
“It’s possible,” I agreed.
Anything was possible with Baylarian, because we knew nothing about him. Baylarian wasn’t even his real name, at least not one that ever appeared in the history books. He was a man without a past. And since the punishment for his crimes was execution, he was also a man without a future.
“Okay, well, Lachlan is definitely the asshole that took Baylarian to Paris.” Gaige crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence they’re both here.”
“Me neither,” Molly agreed, then seemed to reconsider. “Unless they aren’t both here…. What if it’s just Lachlan? We haven’t actually seen Baylarian. He could’ve left the letter with the courier years ago. Or not at all. Just because he wrote it, doesn’t mean he had a hand in the delivery.”
All the ambiguity was making my head pound.
“What do you all know for certain?” Elizebeth asked, trying to wrap her head around the situation.
We all considered the question. By default, I won the honor of answering.
“We know this Lachlan is before the one in Paris. The guy I saw on the street today was walking and talking and lucid. When we met him in Paris, he didn’t even know his own name,” I replied.
From the doorway, a man cleared his throat. Elizebeth smiled too brightly at the newcomer and his much shorter companion, a woman several years older than me but younger than Elizebeth. I didn’t need introductions to know these were the other alchemists assigned to the customs station.
“Victor, Liza, I would like for you to meet, Stassi, Charles, Molly, and Gaige.” Elizebeth pointed to each of us as she said our names. If the alchemists thought it strange that their coworker opted not to use “Mr.” and “Ms.”, they didn’t let on. Until that moment, I hadn’t considered that Elizebeth only ever used our first names, which was oddly familiar for the time.
We all shook hands.
“Victor handles all duplications and forgeries, as well as technological issues and equipment for the station,” Elizebeth informed our group. She held her hands clasped tightly in front of her when she wasn’t gesturing, suggesting she was nervous about this meeting.
Not awesome.
“Liza, as I have said, is the head alchemist at our station. She is also the stylist. Hair, makeup, wardrobe—she does it all,” Elizebeth continued.
“I come from a family of alchemists,” the young woman explained. “You all have met my younger sister, Peggy. Our parents ran this customs station for two decades. I took over ten years ago. Victor was nice enough to stay on and help me out.”
“It’s just the three of you?” Molly asked, peering through the open doors as though more alchemists might suddenly pop up.
“We run a small operation here in New Orleans,” Victor replied curtly.
“Thanks for, you know, keeping this all quiet for a few days.” Gaige reached up to tip his hat, forgetting that it was sitting beside him and not on top of his head.
“About that,” Elizebeth began, her eyes shifting from her colleagues to my friends and me. “Victor and Liza both have requests that they were hoping you all may be able to fulfill.”
“Request” was the polite way of putting it, I supposed. What Victor and Liza really wanted was hush money. Sort of. They wanted us to retrieve specific items from our time and send them back once we returned to Branson. Liza wanted three pairs of boots, each in a different color, that she had seen a transporter wearing once. Victor wanted an array of coins that were worth next to nothing in my time but would be unique additions to his collection in this time. As far as bribes went, they were simple requests. I wouldn’t even notice the credits missing from my account, but the principle of it disturbed me. Their loyalty was for sale. They would keep our secrets and help us, unless a better offer came along.
No honor among thieves, I thought.
Nonetheless, with my back against the proverbial wall, I agreed.
“As soon as we return home,” I promised.
Liza’s lips parted like she was going to ask for something else but thought better of it.
Elizebeth clapped her hands, relief written all over her face. “I am so glad we were able to come to an arrangement. I must return home and attend to my children. Dinner is in the icebox.” She started for the doorway, calling over her shoulder, “Tomorrow you meet Edward. Rest up.”
“What about the remainder of our history lesson?” I called after her. “I thought you were going to teach us more about New Orleans?”
“I am sure my substitutes will do nicely,” she replied.
That was when I realized Victor and Liza weren’t moving.
“You guys staying for dinner?” Gaige asked.
Victor leveled him with a look that made Gaige’s eyes go wide. “Your presence here is trouble for everyone. Cyrus Atlic has been looking for you all for over a decade. Do you know that? We could lose our jobs when he finds out we didn’t inform him immediately of your arrival.”
Gaige cocked his head to one side. “So, that’s a ‘yes’ on dinner?”
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Molly snorted. Victor looked like he wanted to punch my partner. I couldn’t blame him; I often wanted to smack some sense into Gaige too.
“Victor and I volunteered to help you become better acquainted with the time and city,” Liza said pointedly. “Something we need to do this evening if you’re to meet Edward Fontenot in the morning.”
“We’re here to make sure you don’t mess up time,” Victor corrected, crossing his arms over his expansive chest. “Losing this job isn’t the end of the world, but I’m not risking the rest of my life for some damned monkeys. Let’s eat. I missed lunch.”
He marched from the room, Liza trailing a few paces behind.
“Great. We have babysitters,” I muttered after them.