The Time Keeper (The Guardians of Time Book 1) (14 page)

Today, though, Emilia didn’t let the imposing white concrete mansion rattle her.  She hadn’t even bothered attempting to dress up and was wearing the jeans and t-shirt she’d pulled on after her shower this morning.  She no longer cared about impressing Mrs Beckett and pushed the doorbell with a little extra force.  That being said, she was still relieved when it was Justin who answered the door and not his mother.

‘Hey.’  He stepped back and waved her into the house.

Emilia hovered on the doorstep.  ‘Would you mind if we sat in the garden?  It’s such a lovely day.’

He shrugged.  ‘Sure.’  He lead the way through the perfectly manicured rose beds to the white swing seat that hung from a sturdy branch of the massive oak tree in the centre of the garden.  They both sat and he used his toe to gently push the swing backwards and forwards.  It was only then she realised he hadn’t met her eyes since he’d opened the door.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked quietly.  She reached for his hand and held it on her thigh between both of hers.

‘I haven’t seen you in a week, Emilia.  We were supposed to be spending the holidays together and instead I’ve barely even talked to you,’ he accused.

Emilia hung her head.  ‘I know.  I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not like you need to work.  Your Dad’s not exactly poor and even if he was I’ve got plenty of money for the two of us.’

She bristled at the thought of being a kept woman, but let it go.  It wasn’t really relevant.

‘It’s not about the money.’  She took a deep breath.  ‘You probably don’t realise this, but after Mum left, our housekeeper, Marion, basically raised me.  Dad was always away on digs and when he was home he was closeted away in his study working.  I’ve never got to spend any real time with him, so when he asked me to help him with his research, I jumped at it.’  She looked up and met Justin’s eyes.  ‘It’s the first time we’ve really connected and that’s important to me.’

Justin extricated his hand from hers.  ‘What about
me
?  Aren’t I important to you too?’

Emilia stared at him.  He honestly didn’t get it.  Her world was supposed to begin and end with him and that was all he cared about.

‘Not everything is about you, Justin.’

He jumped to his feet with enough force to propel the swing back against the tree trunk.  Emilia winced and rubbed her neck where it had snapped forward on impact.

‘If we have a future together, and it’s a big
if
at the moment, then I expect you to put me first.  There are plenty of other girls who would be happy to take your place.’  He spun around and pointed at her belligerently.  ‘You might want to give that some thought while you’re away.’

If he expected her to grovel at his feet and beg his forgiveness he was sadly mistaken.  She got to her feet and dusted off the back of her jeans.

‘I’ll do that,’ she said quietly and started walking back through the gardens towards her car.

‘That’s it?  That’s all you’re going to say?’ he called incredulously from behind her.

‘You told me to think about it and I will.  I’ll let you know what I decide when I get back.’

She kept walking.  She wondered if she should have ended it now, while the opportunity was presenting itself.  But then Stacey’s party would be all about the surprise big break up and she didn’t want to steal the limelight from Stace.  Nor did she want Justin to have to face all their friends in one hit after being so recently dumped.  He wasn’t going to take it well.  Not because she was going to break his heart but because he didn’t like not getting his own way.

As she got in her car and pulled away, she contemplated that last thought.  Maybe there was a way she could get him to break up with her.  He would be much happier if he thought he was the one who had ended it and she honestly didn’t care either way.

Chapter 18

August 1944, Paris, France

So as to avoid inadvertently appearing in the middle of a Gestapo barracks, they had researched bombed out buildings in the centre of Paris and found the perfect spot – an old stone church, its spire a pile of rubble in what must have been the nave.  Emilia released Seb’s hand and turned in a slow circle.  It was dark, but with a nearly full moon there was enough light to see the destruction around her.  Two of the original four walls were completely gone, the remaining two jagged and torn.  Weeds were growing through the cracks and craters, which wasn’t surprising considering they had read this particular section of Paris had been heavily bombed in the early part of the war.  Seeing the ruins first hand made this war seem so real all of a sudden and she abruptly realised why Seb was so worried about bringing her here, into the heart of the war zone.

She shivered.  The wind whistling around the broken walls was bitingly cold and she longed for the down filled jacket hanging in her closet at home.  They had, of course, had to dress for the part and this time there were no gorgeous dresses and perfectly done hair.  Instead, she was garbed in worn, faded trousers and shirt, with just a light drill jacket and scuffed, leather boots.  At least her feet were relatively warm in the thick woollen socks she wore.

‘Make sure you change the time piece back to our time,’ Seb said quietly from behind her.  ‘Just in case we need to leave in a hurry.’

Emilia pulled the pendant out from under her shirt and angled it so the moonlight caught the face.  She twisted the dials to where they needed to be and then dropped it back down her shirt again.

She jumped in surprise when Seb’s hands cupped her shoulders, turning her around to face him.  He bent his knees, so they were eye level.  He was so close their noses were almost touching.  Her pulse started to flutter with awareness, her breathing became shallow and she didn’t know where to look.

‘Look at me,’ he whispered, and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.  ‘I need you to promise me something.’

She nodded, her eyes wide. 

‘If anything happens to me or if we get separated for some reason, you have to leave me behind, okay,’ he murmured urgently.

‘No!’  She said it too loudly, almost shouted it in shocked reaction.  She glanced around, hoping a patrolling German soldier hadn’t heard her and dropped her voice back to a whisper.  ‘No way.  I’m not going back without you.’

‘You have to.  I can take care of myself, but only if I know you’re safe.’  His eyes bored into hers like he was trying to force her to his will. 

She shook her head stubbornly.  ‘You didn’t leave Megan behind.  Don’t ask me to do something you wouldn’t.’

‘That was different.’  She heard the plea in his voice, but this was something she couldn’t promise him.

‘Isn’t there some kind of code in the army – never leave a man behind?’

‘This isn’t the army!’  She marvelled at how it was possible to get so much force behind a whisper.

‘Look around you, Seb.  We’re in the middle of a world war.’  She gestured at the decimation surrounding them, but he never took his eyes off hers.  ‘You’re a soldier and I’m claiming the same status by right of partnership, or something like that.’

He struggled to suppress a smile and succeeded, no doubt because of the seriousness of the situation they were in.

‘I appreciate you’re trying to protect me, but I will
not
leave you behind even if you’re dead!’  She jabbed her index finger into his hard chest.  ‘I’d take your body back with me if I had to.  And that’s the end of it!’

‘Emilia, you –‘

‘Don’t ever bring it up with me again,’ she hissed in his ear.

His shoulders slumped and he let her go.  ‘You’re so damn stubborn.’

‘I know.  It’s one of my many faults.  I suggest you get used to it.’

He sighed, just a breath of air feathering across the millimetres between them.  Straightening to his full height, he took her hand to help her across the rubble.  ‘Let’s go.  We’ll have to watch for patrols, so it might be slow going to the catacombs.

Picking their way carefully across the ruins of the church, they made it to the street without incident.  A total blackout was enforced across the city during the night and, if not for the moon, they would have been hard pressed to find their way around the unfamiliar terrain.  They had both closely studied a map of Paris in the forties, so Seb was able to walk confidently and quickly across the road and down an intersecting street to their left.  Emilia followed as closely on his heels as possible without tripping him up.  He crossed the road again so they were in the deepest shadows cast by the buildings.

They had debated the best approach several days ago.  Taking the most common route of introduction through a mutual acquaintance took time, even more so for them since they didn’t have a real contact.  They could form one, but they’d be here for weeks and the longer they stayed the more dangerous it was.  Instead, they had decided on a bold, direct approach.  They’d come prepared though, with what they hoped would be the equivalent of gold to the resistance – enemy locations and numbers, detailed maps and exact dates of troop movements.  The wealth of World War Two documentation had been a gift, one they planned to utilise extensively.

Lights appeared from around the corner a couple of blocks down, the sound of an approaching vehicle shattering the silence.  They started running, sticking to the shadows.  Just ahead Emilia could see a dense patch of darkness, which looked like an alleyway and she pressed towards it, her legs pumping.  Seb flung himself around the corner of the building and dragged Emilia into the concealing darkness after him.  She slammed into his chest, her breath sawing in and out from the adrenalin.  Seb backed her into a wall, shielding her with his body.  Turning her head so she could see back out into the street, she held her breath as a truck passed by, a gleaming red swastika on its side. 

They stayed there for a few minutes, Seb’s arms wrapped protectively around her, until they were sure the truck had gone.  Slowly, Seb loosened his hold and stepped back.

As they crept back into the street, Emilia suddenly turned to Seb.  ‘Why didn’t you make us invisible?’ she whispered.

He stopped in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening.  ‘Huh.  I just reacted; I didn’t even think to do that,’ he murmured guiltily.  ‘Some soldier I am!’

Emilia fought back a smile she knew he wouldn’t appreciate.  She reached out and squeezed his arm.  ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it.  No harm, no foul.’

He shook his head, as if amazed at his own stupidity and then seemed to gather himself.  ‘Come on.  I think we’re almost there.’

They continued moving cautiously in the direction they’d plotted out, freezing several times when they saw shadows moving.  The shadows seemed to still at the same moment they did and then moved stealthily away, melting back into the darkness.  Emilia figured it was probably resistance workers, going about their nightly tasks.

After what felt like hours, but in reality was probably only ten to fifteen minutes, they were hidden around the side of a building, doing reconnaissance on the entrance to the catacombs.  Originally Paris’ stone mines, they wove underneath the city in a series of tunnels and caverns, holding the remains of some six million people who had been transferred there from the overflowing above-ground cemeteries.  Emilia would never voice it out loud to Seb, but she had to admit the thought of descending into what basically amounted to a mass grave kind of freaked her out.

The entrance, largely overgrown with vines, appeared to be deserted and, with no evidence of patrols in the area, they picked up the bags of supplies Seb had just pulled out of thin air and advanced cautiously.  Seb brushed aside the dangling vines and stepped carefully down.  Emilia followed and was immediately plunged into darkness.  Unable to suppress a tremor of fear, she switched her bags to one hand and reached out with the other to grip the back of Seb’s jacket.  He paused, but seemed to understand she just needed to have a physical connection to him in the pitch black.

The stairway was narrow and spiralled tightly downwards for what felt like miles, but Emilia knew from their research it was a mere 19 metres.  Long enough in the complete darkness to make her feel woozy.  They were almost at the bottom when a lantern flickered on, illuminating three men with guns trained on them.

‘Arête!’ one of the men growled. 

Emilia had studied French at school, so she had a grasp of basic conversational French and knew they were being told to stop.  Even if she hadn’t understood it, one of Seb’s many talents was being able to make them both understand any language.  Which was great… unless he wasn’t around and then she’d be stuffed.

Seb ground to an immediate halt.  Standing a step above him, Emilia had a good view over his shoulder of the three men.

‘de Gaulle sent us with supplies and German intell,’ Seb said calmly, in flawless French.  Charles de Gaulle, the leader of the resistance, was based in London where he worked closely with the Allied forces to undermine German control of France.  They hoped throwing his name about would gain them an immediate audience with whoever was leading this faction of the resistance.

‘You’re Americans?’ the same man questioned in surprise.

‘Yes.  We’ve come directly from London to provide assistance.  British forces flew us over and we parachuted in just outside the city,’ Seb lied smoothly.

The man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  ‘Throw me your weapons.’

‘We’re unarmed.  We couldn’t drop with too much extra weight and we thought you’d need supplies.’  Seb indicated the bags he was holding.

The man gestured with the tip of his gun at the other two, who immediately stepped forward and frisked Seb.  Satisfied he was unarmed they thrust him forward down the last step and carried out the same search on Emilia.  Then they checked the bags.

‘They’re good,’ one of them said to the first man, who was clearly the more senior of the three.

‘We’ll take you to Jean.’  He turned and started down a twisting hallway.  Seb and Emilia followed, with the other two bringing up the rear.  It was eerily silent this far below ground, their footsteps and the faint sound of gurgling water the only noise. Occassionally they’d pass a small opening in the rock and she’d feel a brief draft of cool air. The lantern light bounced off the stone walls and at one point she caught a glimpse of a sculpture of some kind of fortress.  Stopping before a portal, their guard conferred with another sentry. 

As they waited, Emilia’s gaze was drawn to the words etched into the geometrically black and white patterned stone portal:
Arête! C’est ici l’empire de la Mort
.  Stop!  Here lies the Empire of Death.  Sombre words and very fitting for the time period they were in.

They passed through the portal, which opened into a series of tunnels and caverns.  Morbidly fascinated, Emilia’s eyes followed the lantern light as it bounced off walls of skulls and carefully stacked human bones embedded into the mortar.  On and on they went, through winding, narrow tunnels, sometimes so low Seb had to duck, until she was hopelessly lost.  In places, water seeped from tiny fissures in the ceiling, creating a damp chill and muddying the path.  She touched the pendant through the fabric of her shirt, reassuring herself they had a way out of this impossible maze.

At last they emerged into a cavern of sorts, softly lit with a few lanterns.  Emilia blinked rapidly, adjusting to the extra light, before surveying the area they had entered.  Men and women were scattered around the compact space, some bent over tables nearly groaning under the weight of maps and papers.  Others were curled up on the hard ground trying to sleep.  There would have been maybe fifteen in all, Emilia guessed. 

Their guard picked his way through the cramped space to a table at the end.  Seb and Emilia followed, while the other two guards remained at the entrance.

A grey haired man sat behind the table, his pale blue eyes weary and surrounded by a collection of deep lines.  His face was drawn and unshaven and he looked like he was on his last legs.  But he seemed to come to life after hearing what their guard said.

Turning towards them eagerly, he asked in accented English.  ‘You’ve come from London?’

‘Yes, Sir.  We bring supplies and information.’  Seb stepped forward and placed his bags on the table, then reached back for Emilia’s and set hers beside the others.

‘At last!  My name is Jean; I’m the leader of this faction of the resistance.  You’ve already met Pierre, a much more dignified name than his manner warrants admittedly.’

Their formerly austere guard smiled slightly at the obviously fond remark.

Seb reached forward to shake Jean’s hand.  ‘I’m Sebastian and this is Emilia.’

‘Rather French names for two Americans.  I wonder if they are your real names?’ Jean enquired, his head cocked to one side.  ‘Or perhaps you mean to pass yourselves off as French?’

‘I’m afraid our accents would give us away immediately.’  Emilia smiled deprecatingly.  ‘Perhaps our mothers admired your country, because they are our birth names.’

Jean nodded absently and started rifling through the bags.  Emilia, too, was curious to see what Seb had conjured up, though she kept her face carefully neutral.  Jean pulled out potatoes, onions, carrots, fresh bread, butter, a thick slab of beef and several blocks of dark chocolate.  He looked up with a boyish grin, which instantly took years off his face.