Twenty-Four

The room was lit with candles. A glass of wine sat on a wooden desk, as though the drinker had been interrupted while imbibing. The framed painting behind the desk stood out; it was modern for 1920s Louisiana. I didn’t dwell on the painting, though. It was hardly the most fascinating thing in the room. That honor went to the man on a hospital gurney. His eyes were feverish, and his skin looked clammy. He tried to sit up but couldn’t manage it.

I stood rooted in place by the door.

″Help me,” Lachlan croaked.

I chewed on my lip for a few seconds. “Do you know who I am, Lachlan?”

It took him a few tries to get the words out. “I-I-I met you,” he paused for breath, “on the Mississippi Mist-t-t-ress.” Just those few words exhausted him.

With slow, measured steps, I moved toward the gurney without taking my eyes off Lachlan. I stopped just out of arm’s reach.

″What’s happened to you?” I asked softly.

He was covered with blankets up to his chest, but I could see the outline of his splayed arms and legs. The position was unnatural. People didn’t position themselves like that on purpose.

″It’s him.” Lachlan tried to swallow but ended up coughing instead.

I looked around the room and spotted a water pitcher on a table by the window. Against my better judgement, I filled a glass and handed it to Lachlan, intending to scurry away as soon as he took it. Except, he didn’t.

Slowly, I crept closer. Lachlan watched me as I watched him. Using my free hand, I pulled back the blanket and let out a little gasp. The handcuffs weren’t the worst of it. It was the IV in his hand, and the tube running to a glass jar on the floor—a glass jar that was halfway filled with Lachlan’s blood. Without thinking, I went to pull out the IV.

″D-d-don’t,” he rasped.

″Why not?” I demanded.

″Water,” he croaked.

I held the glass to the other runner’s cracked lips, hands shaking more than I’d have liked.

″It’s your blood he’s drinking,” I said as Lachlan took small sips, I pulled it away but remained by Lachlan’s bedside. “You need to take a break,” I told him. “You’re clearly extremely dehydrated. If you drink too quickly, your body won’t absorb the water.”

Lachlan nodded obediently.

″How long has this been going on?” I asked him.

″Since we got here,” Lachlan stammered. He licked his lips. “He learned of Elizabeth Bathory when we were in Paris and became obsessed with her.” He took a deep breath. “He swears he’s related to her somehow.” Lachlan shook his head as though the whole thing was ridiculous. “We even went to see her in Transylvania.”

I had heard of Elizebeth Bathory but wasn’t aware she was from Transylvania. Suddenly, Baylarian’s obsession with vampires made total sense.

″She told us the blood helped prevent bouts of her illness, fainting sickness,” Lachlan continued tiredly.

I narrowed my gaze. “You haven’t been to Paris yet.”

Lachlan’s lips quivered, and he blinked rapidly. “W-w-w-have,” he stammered. “We were there. At Versailles. We went to see her.”

This was probably the most Lachlan had used his voice in a long time. The exertion tired him, and his eyes began to close.

″W-w-water,” he stuttered.

As I brought the glass to his mouth a second time, I felt eyes on my back. I hadn’t heard footsteps, but someone was standing behind me. And then, a deep, rich voice, spoke.

″Now, now, Lachlan. Let us not divulge all our secrets. There are so many that Stassi must discover on her own.”

I jumped and spilled water all over Lachlan’s face.

″My dear Stassi, now you know my dirty little secret,” Baylarian drawled.

I turned around slowly, nervous about turning my back to Lachlan despite the restraints. Still, he was the lesser of two evils.

″I doubt this is your dirtiest little secret,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel.

Baylarian threw his head back and laughed. “I admire your bravado,” he finally said when he stopped cackling.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the door was closed. And probably locked, though of that I couldn’t be positive. If so, my only means of escape was the windows.

″You wanted me here,” I said in a surprisingly calm voice. “Here I am. What is it you want from me?”

″Straight to the point, direct.” Again, he laughed loudly.

I must’ve missed the joke.

″I like that,” Baylarian said when he finally calmed down. “However, that is not how tonight works.”

I made a face but kept my commentary to myself.

″Tonight, is tit-for-tat,” he continued. “You want answers, and so do I.”

Deep down, I knew this was a bad idea. Desperation clouded my judgement. Palms sweaty, I smiled sweetly. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Baylarian grinned wickedly. “Choose your questions wisely.” His gaze drifted briefly to a grandfather clock against one wall. “Time is limited.”

I hesitated. There were so many questions I wanted to ask the man in front of me.

″I advise you to hurry, Stassi. Would you prefer I start?”

I shook my head. “No. I’ll start. Do you know Justess Jacobson? She goes by Tessa?”

He chuckled, though his dark gaze remained flat. “Of course I know her.”

″You do? How? When did you meet?” I demanded.

Baylarian made a disapproving sound and wagged a finger. “My turn, darling.”

My gut clenched. We were wading into turbulent waters. What if he asked me about his future? I couldn’t tell him the truth. No one should know too much about their own future, no good ever came of it. And what exactly would be the “future” for him, anyway?

″Have you learned the identities of your birth parents?” Baylarian asked, feigning innocence I was certain he didn’t possess.

I blinked in surprise. Of all the questions, he had chosen that one. Why? Why did he care so much about my parents?

″I think so,” I replied but didn’t elaborate.

Baylarian cocked an eyebrow. “And?” he prompted.

I mimicked his disapproving noise. “No, darling. It’s my turn,” I said, adding enough syrupy sweetness to induce a sugar coma.

The look in his eye was one of pride, like he appreciated me throwing his own words back in his face. Baylarian settled into a leather armchair and held up his hands. “Well, go on then. Ask your question.”

This was a game to him, and it was clear he intended to win.

″Were you Tessa’s partner?” I asked at last.

The laugh came from somewhere deep inside his belly, coming out of his mouth as a rumble. Then I heard a snicker from behind me. Lachlan. In the wake of Baylarian’s arrival, I had forgotten the other runner was strapped to a gurney behind me.

Better get used to it, asshat, I thought

It wouldn’t be long before Baylarian would strip him of his tattoo and leave him to fend for himself, landing Lachlan in an asylum. That was where Cyrus and I had found him. By that point, his mind was far gone. Even once back in our home time, with the best treatments that money could buy, Lachlan’s mind had remained lost.

Baylarian finally caught his breath and wiped away a few tears that had leaked from his eyes, smudging the layer of white makeup.

″No, dear girl. I am not, nor was I ever, Tessa’s partner,” he replied.

There was something about the way he said her name, a bitter tone he used. He did know Tessa, I decided. And I was pretty sure he didn’t like her.

Baylarian folded his legs so one foot was resting on the opposite knee. “Has Louis-Charles told you who he really is?”

I bristled at the casual way he dropped Charles’ given name. “We have no secrets between us,” I replied in a voice cold enough to freeze the water that had soaked into Lachlan’s shirt.

This made Baylarian chuckle. “You have fire in your veins. I find that most impressive.” He glanced at the grandfather clock again, like he was expecting someone to show up.

If another Baylarian comes into this room, I’m making a break for the window, I promised myself.

Then again, I was expecting someone to show up, too. Cyrus. Where was my boss? Surely he’d noticed I had left the room. Wasn’t he curious why I hadn’t returned? Plus, my Rosetta was functioning, so he should’ve been tuned in to the conversation taking place. Then a thought struck me—was my Rosetta working? I hadn’t heard any voices in my ear since entering Baylarian’s study-turned-hostage-torture room.

″Your move, dear Stassi,” Baylarian prompted. “Choose wisely, as it may be your last chance.”

I knew he meant my last question, but the way he’d phrased the comment chilled me to my marrow. Possibilities zoomed through my mind at hyperspeed. One more question. How could I pick just one more question? I wanted to know more about Tessa. I wanted to know whether Baylarian knew who my birth parents were. He had asked me if I knew, but did he? Had he truly been hoping I would tell him for some reason?

In the end, I settled on the one question that was most important to the greatest number of people—the one question that could potentially blow the mystery of Baylarian’s true identity wide open.

″Where did you come from?”

He sat back in his chair and gave me a dazzling smile. “You are full of surprises. Don’t you know that it isn’t about where you’ve been, but where you are going next?”

What the actual frack?

I leveled him with a Cyrus-worthy gaze. “Answer the question.”

″You haven’t figured it out for yourself yet? That must come later.” He laughed. “Or maybe this is the moment you’re supposed to find out. Who is to say?”

He had devolved to speaking in riddles, showing shades of the monster he would become.

″Answer. The. Question,” I repeated, biting off each word.

Baylarian gave a dramatic eye roll. He had started to sweat around his hairline. One drop trickled down his face and left another streak in his vampire makeup that furthered my opinion that he was a few marbles short already.

″I came to New Orleans via Transylvania,” Baylarian finally admitted. “As Lachlan told you, we visited the Countess Bathory.” He peered past me to his accomplice turned captive. “She had much wisdom to share with me.”

″Is it just Lachlan? Or have you taken other victims?” I asked.

Baylarian held his hands in front of his chest and tented his fingers, eyeing me critically. When he opened his mouth to speak, I fully expected him to say it wasn’t my turn to ask a question. To my surprise, he answered.

″I have tried the blood of others,” Baylarian admitted. “But much like the infamous noblewoman, I have found only a certain type of blood cures what ails me.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The force runs through his veins, as it does yours. There are few others who can say the same.”

I went cold and took a step backward, remembering Lachlan was right behind me only when my spine hit his gurney. He let out a howl of pain that could’ve woken the dead. Eyes wide, mouth agape, I spun to look at what I had done. Lachlan’s features were twisted in pain. His restraints prevented too much movement, causing him to arch his back awkwardly and contort his limbs.

″He’s fine,” Baylarian snapped. “You merely bumped his IV.”

″Take it out,” I shot back. “Uncuff him. What you’re doing here is cruel.” I whipped back around, half expecting to find Baylarian standing right behind me. Thankfully, he was still seated. “Take it out,” I repeated.

Baylarian narrowed his eyes and sucked in his bottom lip. “No,” he said simply.

I should have been afraid. The man was clearly unhinged. Time sickness had screwed with his mind. It was his callous nature that emboldened me.

I gritted my teeth. “Then I’ll do it myself.”

Removing Lachlan’s IV wasn’t something I was qualified to do, but I figured it couldn’t be too hard. The bigger issue was the cuffs. They required a key, which I didn’t have.

Across the room, Baylarian cackled. “Is this what you’re looking for?” He pulled a slim silver chain from around his neck and held it out, a short, slender key dangling from the necklace.

I started toward him.

He held up his free hand wiggled a finger at me. “Not so fast, sweetheart.” Giving the chain a yank, he caught the key in his fist. “I will give you the key if you wish. Or…,” he shot me a pointed look. “Or I can tell you about your birth parents. The choice is yours, Stassi. Save Lachlan from his fate, or finally the learn the truth you’ve been searching for your entire life.”

I hesitated, something I would feel guilty about for years to come. I did know Lachlan’s fate, and it wasn’t pretty. He had broken numerous syndicate mandates by jumping a civilian through time. But he wasn’t a killer. He never became a killer. He didn’t deserve the hand he would be dealt.

You can change his fate. Right here, right now.

And then, the choice was easy.

″Give me the key,” I said coldly.

Baylarian held his palm out flat like it was a silver platter. Getting close enough to snatch it from his hand sent my blood pressure through the roof. His skin was cold to the touch, and I got chills. He caught my wrist just as I took the key.

″Remember Stassi, tonight is tit-for-tat,” he said in a low, silky voice. “Are you sure you’re making the right choice? Lachlan Shephard isn’t a good man.”

″That doesn’t give you the right to drain him dry,” I shot back.

My breaths were coming too fast. I knew a dozen tricks for calming nerves in bad situations, but I couldn’t think of a single one in that moment.

″You think this is bad?” With his free hand, he gestured to Lachlan on the gurney. “You should see how he tortured me. What’s the saying? Turnabout is fair play?”

″Liar!” Lachlan screeched in his raspy voice.

I yanked my wrist, and Baylarian released me. I backed away, not turning from the wannabe vampire until I was halfway across the room. I made quick work of the cuffs on Lachlan’s wrists and ankles and then helped him sit up.

″He’s a liar,” Lachlan repeated as he rubbed his wrists, which I noticed weren’t nearly as raw as I would’ve expected. In fact, they weren’t raw at all—a little red, but not irritated like he’d been struggling against his bonds. “You can’t trust anything he says. I never laid a finger on him.”

″Psychological torture is worse than physical,” Baylarian said evenly.

Lachlan stared daggers at the other man. “What are you even talking about? I helped you. I saved you from a date with Old Sparky.” He swung his legs over the side of the gurney with ease. “You owe me.”

Anger flashed in Baylarian’s gaze, and I saw shades of the man from the balcony in Paris. Had drinking blood given him a taste for killing? Was it too late to save him from himself? Did I even want to save him from himself?

″I didn’t hurt them. I would never have hurt them,” Baylarian growled, rising from the chair.

Lachlan hopped from the gurney but swayed on his feet. He was pale, which made sense for someone who’d lost so much blood. But the fact he could stand was more concerning. If he’d been cuffed to that gurney for months, as he’d claimed, his muscles would’ve atrophied. Standing should’ve been a chore.

What the frack is going on?

Lachlan stayed near me, clearly not brave or stupid enough to get any closer to Baylarian.

Three loud bangs on the study door were followed by an incessant pounding.

Cyrus, I thought and sagged with relief. The cavalry had arrived.

″Right on time,” Baylarian announced and strode over to the door.

Lachlan seized the opportunity. Grabbing the first thing within reach, he hurled a brass bust at the window. Glass shattered around me, and I ducked and covered my head on instinct. From my hiding spot beneath the gurney, I watched a surprisingly agile Lachlan leap onto Baylarian’s desk and then out the broken window.

The pounding from the hallway became more insistent. Baylarian took his time unlocking the door, using a large key he pulled from his jacket pocket. But it wasn’t Cyrus who stumbled inside. It was Elizebeth, with Liza directly behind her.

″Stassi!” Elizebeth cried, rushing over to where I knelt with no regard for the non-immortal vampire. She grabbed hold of my arms and raised me to a standing position. “Are you okay? What happened to the window?”

Was I okay? Not really. I had chosen to free Lachlan instead of finding out the truth about my birth parents. Clearly, the man wasn’t as feeble as he’d led me to believe. I’d been conned.

″I’m fine,” I told Elizebeth. “The window is sort of a long story, I’ll explain later. Where’s Cyrus?”

Elizebeth frowned. “What do you mean? He went to the docks. You must have heard that through,” she tapped her ear and then lowered her voice, “the Rosetta.”.

″I haven’t heard anything through the Rosetta, not since I came in here,” I replied uneasily.

″Victor’s been shot,” Elizebeth said in her blunt way.

For the briefest of seconds, I was hurt that Cyrus had left me alone in such a compromising situation.

″What happened?” I demanded. “Was anyone else hurt?”

She shook her head. “No, the others are just fine. And Victor will be okay. It’s just a flesh wound. It seems Carolla learned that the man he met on the riverboat was not the Binkie Martin of legend. Other than that, all I know for certain is that someone shot Victor as soon as he appeared in Cyrus’ place.”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.

″I don’t quite understand how you didn’t hear all of this,” Elizebeth continued, giving me the strangest look. “You said you were in the bathroom and that everything was fine.”

″What?” I stammered. I shook my head vehemently. “No. I never said that. I’ve been in here, with him.” I flung my hand in Baylarian’s direction.

He wore a smug smile. Then, from inside his jacket he produced a round device approximately the size of a tennis ball. It took me a minute to realize what it was, having only used such a mechanism during my running.

Elizebeth and Liza both stared at the device quizzically.

″Is that a voice reproducer?” Elizebeth asked, shooting me an uneasy glance.

Baylarian pressed a button, and I heard my own voice say, “I’m good. I’m in the bathroom.”

The room began to spin. If not for Elizebeth’s hold on me, I might’ve fallen to the floor.

Baylarian hit the button a second time. Once again, my voice came out of the device. “I slipped out the back. I’m so sorry, but I’m not feeling well. I’m going back to the customs station.”

My heart was racing so fast, and the thoughts running through my head tangled with one another. For a voice reproducer to work, several key samples had to be obtained.

″You’ve been watching me. Following me.” Each word left a bitter taste in my mouth.

″People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,” Baylarian replied. “You followed me the other night, when I had words with the other Lachlan.”

Speaking of Lachlan, why hadn’t Baylarian gone after him?

I didn’t respond to his accusations, mostly because I had nothing to say.

″But how did you…,” Elizebeth began. She trailed off when Baylarian produced a tiny, clear object from his pocket. A Rosetta. Just like the one fixed inside my ear.

″You stole that from Charles the night you attacked him,” I said, not bothering to temper my outrage.

Baylarian pursed his lip and let out a little laugh. “He strayed from the pack and paid the price.” He grew serious. “Now it is time for you to do the same.”

Elizebeth’s hands fell from my arms and she spun, moving to place her body in front of mine like a shield.

″Tit for tat,” Baylarian said. He lunged.

Not for me, however. The crazed wannabe vampire went for the closest prey—Liza. The alchemist screamed as he wrapped an arm around her neck. Elizebeth and I watched in horror. Stunned by the sudden turn of events, my reaction time was much longer than normal. Only by seconds. But those seconds mattered.

Swirls of white and gold ribbons of light had appeared behind Baylarian and Liza, growing exponentially larger with each passing breath. Elizebeth and I both started for them, but Baylarian was faster. He dragged Liza into the impromptu vortex, and the two of them vanished into thin air.

″What do we do?” Elizebeth was panic-stricken. One shaky hand covered her mouth, her eyes wide as frisbees.

″I don’t know,” I admitted, as close to losing my head as she was.

There was a muffled shriek that sounded like it had come from somewhere inside the house. The second scream was warbly yet clearer. A third horrified cry came from me as a tangle of black beaded silk and limbs hurtled past the broken window.

″Nooooo!” I wailed, rushing over broken glass to look out of the gaping hole Lachlan had left in the wake of his daring escape.

I didn’t want to look. It was too horrible. But I also couldn’t not look. I owed Liza that much. Elizebeth put an arm around my shoulders. Together, we peered down at the sidewalk, where Liza’s crumpled body lay in a small pool of blood.

″Dear Lord, please no,” Elizebeth prayed.

My lungs couldn’t seem to get enough air. I knew we needed to do something, but my feet refused to obey my head.

Screeching tires preceded a black motorcar, which sped around the corner and came to halt in the middle of the street. The driver’s door flung open, and Cyrus ran over to Liza’s still body.

I called out to him, and he looked up. Relief was evident in his otherwise stoic expression. He knelt beside Liza and pressed two fingers to her bloody neck. A spark lit his eyes.

″She’s alive!” he called out.

All down the street, doors opened. Baylarian’s neighbors trickled outside to investigate the commotion. The other dinner guests poured onto the sidewalk to see what all the ruckus was about.

″What on earth?” one man exclaimed.

A woman in a house dress and curlers crossed herself.

″Call for an ambulance!” declared a heavyset man from across the street.

″We should call the police,” someone else yelled from several doors down.

Cyrus held up his bloody hand. “It’s okay, I’m a doctor,” he lied smoothly. “I was just passing by in the motor and saw her lying here. I’ll take her to hospital myself.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone had already called the authorities. We were not going to be able to keep this incident quiet. Several of the neighbors had come for a closer look. I wanted to scream that this wasn’t a spectacle to be gawked at, that it was a woman’s life. Before I had the chance, the woman with the curlers pointed to the window directly above where Elizebeth and I stood.

″Did she fall? Where’s Mr. St. Germain?” Curlers wanted to know.

As if on cue, Baylarian appeared above us. His face was iridescent in the moonlight. He had clearly applied more layers of that white powder for what I was certain was his last act in New Orleans. Both feet on the ledge, he simply kept walking over the edge. He didn’t fall so much as float down, the cape billowing out around him. He landed effortlessly on the sidewalk, not far from where Cyrus was using his jacket to staunch the bleeding.

Baylarian spread his arms wide and flashed a set of fangs that had most certainly not been in his mouth earlier in the night. They were tinted red with blood. This caused numerous neighbors to make the sign of the cross. Beside me, Elizebeth did the same.

″I can’t say I’m religious, but it never hurts,” she muttered in response to my wide-eyed reaction.

Like a magician, Baylarian swooped his robes around himself as gold and white swirls appeared.

″No!” I hollered again. I attempted to leap over the windowsill after him.

Elizebeth held me back. “You know where he’s going,” she said softly.

The white and gold ribbons of light moved faster and faster, until they merged to form a hole in the fabric of time. Up and down the block, people were screaming. One elderly woman even fainted. Just before the light engulfed him completely, Baylarian called out final words.

″Tit for tat, Stassi.”