Mirrored Time (A Time Archivist Novel Book 1) (4 page)

A strong hand latched on to the back of her shirt, and she lurched forward as the collar of her shirt tore loose. She fell to the ground with a cry, kicking at the heavy weight pinning her legs. The guard snarled angry curses at her as she fought to free herself. Her well-placed kick loosened his hold, and she jumped up and raced towards the trees. They would give her a place to hide.

She glanced behind her. Pain exploded in her head as something slammed into her temple, and she collapsed to the ground. Her hands dug into the soft dirt as she tried to stand.

Footsteps thudded on the ground, and heavy black boots appeared in her line of vision. “What’ve we got here?” The man jerked Gwen to her feet. “Pretty little thing, ain’t ya?”

“Please.” Her voice was choked by panic, but the man didn’t act like he was moved by pity. Gwen was knocked to the ground again when Rafe barreled into the man’s side.

“Gwen, run!”

She scrambled to her feet and followed his command, her confused mind registering the fact that he had called her Gwen instead of Gwendolyn. Trees closed around her as she surged forward. It wasn’t long before she needed to stop, gripping the rough bark of a tree to keep upright. The agony in her head made it hard to see.

Swiping at her eyes, she paid little attention to the sticky red substance covering her hand. As she moved forward, the world around her lurched and she stumbled. Something crashed through the trees, and she wheeled back, knees collapsing when Rafe appeared. Resting her forehead against the tree, she fought the sobs shaking her shoulders.

His gaze seemed focused on her forehead, and he rushed over to help her stand. “Gwendolyn, I’m so—” A shout from the distance rocketed him into action. He swung her up into his arms, running through the trees.

The stars peeked through the branches. She watched them until the sound of Rafe’s feet hitting the ground changed. They were running down a narrow wooden dock. The lake stretched out in front of them, beautiful in the calm of the night.

Rafe eased her down onto the dock, brushing her cheek. “Gwen, I need you to focus now.”

The stars made a halo around his head. Gwen blinked up at him. “Rafe?”

He smiled and his fingers stroked her cheek once more. “Hold your breath and think of home.”

Her thoughts whirled and danced. The request was strange. She lost her chance to ask any questions when Rafe jumped, pulling both of them into the water. The cold water rushed up over her and she fought to reach the surface. But Rafe wouldn’t let go of her and pulled her deeper into the lake. Instead of sinking, she was falling—faster and faster—until all she could do was close her eyes and pray for home.

C
HAPTER SIX

L
ANDING WITH A
PRACTICED ROLL, Rafe tumbled out of the mirror and onto the wooden floor of the Archives. Alistair was already crouched next to Gwen, cradling her head in his lap. Rafe watched as the older man checked her pulse and her pupils.

“Is she all right?” His voice came out as a strained whisper so he repeated the question in a steadier voice.

“She should be fine. But we need to clean the wound. Help me carry her?”

Rafe picked Gwen up. She was so light in his arms, so fragile. The walk to Alistair’s room was silent. Rafe laid Gwen down while Alistair walked into the attached bathroom.

“She won’t break, you know.”

Rafe refused to speak, waiting for the older man to continue.

“She’s stronger than you think.”

Leaning against the wall, Rafe’s pose was a study of indifference. He fought to keep his face blank as he watched Alistair clean the blood from Gwen’s temple. Running a hand through his wet hair, he winced when his torn knuckles throbbed from the movement. They were raw and sore, purple blossoming under the skin.

He smirked with vicious pleasure.
Wait ’til you see the other guy.
There had been no small amount of satisfaction in slamming his fist into the guard’s face. He had been bigger than Rafe, but the guard hadn’t put up much of a fight.

But thinking of the guard served to remind Rafe of why he had punched him in the first place. The sight of Gwen held at the mercy of the guard was an image he would never forget. She had been so pale, the bright blood stark against her white face.

He cursed to himself, clenching his fist until the pain was red hot. He wasn’t used to having to protect someone, not someone as important as she was.
How could I be so
stupid?

“It’s not your fault, you know.” A cool voice interrupted his self-condemnation.

Rafe’s blue eyes snapped with anger. “She wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it hadn’t been for me. I should have been more careful. I should have—”

“You knew she would show up? I didn’t know you possessed the powers of a Reader.” Alistair’s voice was so dry with calm condescension it made Rafe’s blood boil.

“How can you be so calm? With her blood on your hands?” He shouted the last, wincing when it elicited a soft whimper from the figure lying on the bed.

“Calm?” Alistair’s struggle to keep his voice even was clear. “You question my feelings on the matter?”

That quieted him. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry …” He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not … this is all new to me.”

Alistair inclined his head—apology accepted. He tossed Rafe a small tube of antiseptic cream. “Thanks.” Rafe’s voice was stiff but genuine, and he rubbed the cool cream over his raw knuckles.

Alistair turned back to bandage Gwen’s forehead. “I, at the very least, am more to blame for tonight’s incident than you. If I had told her about the Archives before, she wouldn’t have gone into the mirrors so unprepared.”

Now it was Rafe’s turn to mimic Alistair’s habitual expression of one eyebrow raised in mockery. “Now we’re going to argue over who is most to blame?”

Alistair smirked, and Rafe matched the expression with one of his own.

“I concede. Shall we take equal blame?” Alistair looked down at the still girl. “Although her curiosity may have played a role in tonight’s events.” Easing away from her, he motioned Rafe to leave the room and followed him. “Minus tonight’s … difficulties, did everything else go as planned?”

Rafe nodded, remembering the object hidden in his bag. He went back to grab it, handing it to Alistair as soon as he was back in the room. He watched Alistair unwrap a small, dented gold key.

“The security was greater than we had anticipated—as if they were expecting me.”

Alistair’s hand tightened over the key. “I’m sorry for the consequences but the risks were necessary.”

“Why keep it in that forgotten world? It’s a ghost universe, buildings crumbling. The Guardians shouldn’t have been there—no one else was.”

Alistair frowned. “I believe the Guardians may have anticipated this step of ours. Perhaps they intended to capture you and use it as the impetus to strip me of my power over the Archives.”

“Good thing I’m such an excellent thief.”

Gazing heavenward with long suffering forbearance, Alistair sighed. “Indeed. Can we move on to more relevant subjects? We don’t have the luxury of waiting for the Guardians to approve what we do here. Gwen will need every advantage if she is to face what’s to come.”

Rafe folded his long frame into a chair, wrapping his damp coat around him. “The black mirror?” At Alistair’s scowl, he sighed and stood up. When he next sat down, a thick blanket protected the chair from his wet clothes.

“She will play an important role in making sure the black mirror’s protections are steadfast.” Alistair’s face grayed. But he cleared his throat, and a calm blankness replaced whatever emotion he was struggling with.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, old man?” Even though his voice was joking, his eyes were sharp. Rafe tried to divine whatever the earlier emotion had been that had flickered across his face.

Alistair scowled. “You have difficulty recalling people’s names. Mine, for example, would be Alistair, if you’d care to remember.”

Rafe’s eyes glinted. “But is it? Is it really?” He may have been no further in uncovering one of Alistair’s many secrets, but at least he had the enjoyment of irritating the older man.

Alistair gave him a pointed look. “Back to the matter at hand, if we are done with this pointless conversation?”

Rafe’s grin widened but he didn’t speak, waiting for Alistair to continue.

“Gwen’s role is an important one.” Alistair rubbed his thumb over the edge of the key. “I thought this would be the easiest way to introduce her to the Archives and to convince her of the role she will play.”

Rafe agreed, although he couldn’t hide his concerned frown. He wasn’t sure there was an easy introduction to the mystery of the Archives, but he didn’t have any brilliant ideas of his own. Alistair’s plans had a way of working out, so for now he would follow his lead.

If Gwen needed a detailed version of events, then he would be more than happy to oblige. Whatever Alistair said, he was responsible for her getting hurt. He would have to think of a way to make it up to her. An idea sparked in his mind, and he mulled it over. It might do. “When she wakes up, tell her I’m sorry.”

“Why not stay and tell her yourself?”

“No.” Rafe shook his head. He wasn’t sure he could face her, not when the unfamiliar sting of guilt was so strong. “After tonight, the last thing she needs is to see me. Ease her into it, you said. I’m sure you’ll do a more elegant job of explaining this whole mess to her than I could. Besides, there’s something I need to do.” He left without a backward glance.

Gwen curled into the blankets. From a distance, she heard a gentle rumbling noise. Too tired to care what it was, she burrowed deeper into the pillow and drifted back to sleep.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she next woke up. There was an uncomfortable pressure in her head, although it was nothing too terrible—easy enough to ignore. Instead her focus was on a pair of large yellow eyes.

A fluffy, brown and white cat sat on her chest, staring at her with an unblinking gaze. The low rumbling purr made the earlier events seem less horrible. Plus, the warmth and comfort of the bed was too far removed from her moonlight escape for her to feel any real terror.

She eased the cat off her chest, getting an irritated meow in response. Sitting up, she rotated her neck, pleased when no muscles protested the movement. The room was warm and homey, if plain. A beautiful mirrored dresser sat to her right, free of decoration except for a stunning bouquet of flowers.

A single picture decorated the walls. It showed an old abandoned temple lit by fading sunlight, delicate shoots of green climbing up through the crumbling ruins. Although lonely, the scene was oddly comforting. The warm quilt covering her was done in jeweled shades of green to match the color of the picture.

Another twist of her neck increased the pressure and brought with it a slight jab of pain. She touched the small bandage covering her temple. The first ripple of unease ran down her spine when she remembered the sickening thud of the guard’s fist against her head. Frowning, she moved her feet over the edge of the bed, testing her weight.

She was dressed in a large shirt that hung to her knees. There was a vague memory of gentle hands easing her out of her wet clothes and into something warmer.
That will be embarrassing later.
Her clothes, clean and folded, sat next to the bed. With a thankful sigh, she shrugged out of the shirt and into the more familiar clothing.

The cat meowed at her, twirling between her legs in twisting figure eights. “I know, I know.” The room was warm and comforting. Still, she couldn’t hide there forever.
Time to face the music, Conway.
Her body felt as heavy as lead, but she forced herself to leave.

Alistair sat in front of a flickering fire, his gaze moving over her as if he was looking for injuries. “How are you feeling?”

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she took in the light of the fireplace, the two crimson wingback chairs, and the walls covered with rows upon rows of books. She could be happy never leaving this room. It was safe. Her gaze wandered back to Alistair.

“I’m fine, thank you.”
My, my, Miss Conway. So formal, considering he’s seen you less than fully dressed.
The thought brought her little concern. She was mesmerized by the flickering of the fire. She sat down in one of the chairs, tucking her feet under her.

“Rafe is fine?” Her voice sounded like a stranger’s.

Alistair gave a soft noise of confirmation. “I can’t speak to his emotional well-being, but he is in one physical piece, at least.”

“I went and saw my aunt.” Her words surprised her. “I didn’t tell her what happened. I followed Rafe and saw him disappear—into the mirror. I thought it was just a giant joke. She still knew I was upset. She always knows.”

Her voice stumbled, and she twisted her fingers together. “She’s sick, and the doctors don’t have much hope for the newest round of treatments. But after everything she has gone through, and with everything that she still faces, she is so brave.” The tears started to fall. “I wish I had half her courage.”

Alistair let her cry, handing her a plain white handkerchief from his pocket. He didn’t give her any trite platitude or make any overt move to calm her. His solid presence was comfort enough.