Stealing Infinity, page 21
I grin back.
Then, after tipping our glasses toward each other, we drink.
And for a few brief moments, it feels like the old days.
69
Oliver and Finn snuggle against a pile of pillows arranged by the fire.
Song sits perched on one of the silk cushioned chairs.
Jago sprawls across the velvet settee, as Elodie commands the other half, their legs entwined in a way that makes me wonder if she’s decided to get around to him like she jokingly promised in the lighthouse.
While I occupy an overstuffed purple velvet chair that pairs so perfectly with the green of my robe I feel like a queen, until I catch another look at Elodie’s scarlet caftan and the ruby tiara she’s perched on her head, and I’m instantly reminded that title is claimed.
I look around the room, my eyes roaming from the fine furnishings, the masterpieces hanging on the walls, to my new group of friends. Everyone looks so glamorous, it’s like being in one of those aspirational spreads you find in the September issue of a fashion magazine. Then again, I’d expect nothing less from Elodie’s Full Moon/Half Slumber party.
Apparently, the party takes place before every Yellow’s first Trip, and it’s meant to build team spirit, camaraderie, and calm any fears the new person may have. From what I’ve seen so far, it basically amounts to a night when everyone piles into Elodie’s room dressed in their finest sleepwear, to swill champagne, gorge on tiny little sweet cakes (more properly known as petit fours), and recall their fondest memories from their own first Trip, or any Trip, if the first isn’t worth sharing. And, since the first few times it fell on a full moon, the name stuck.
While it’s fun to hear about the time Finn posed nude for Michelangelo—he kept the sketch, it’s framed on the wall of his room, and he promises to show it to me someday soon; and when Song had tea with Queen Victoria at Buckingham Palace; and Oliver’s tale of clay pigeon shooting with members of the British monarchy; and Jago’s most recent story of a dinner spent in the company of King Ferdinand VII of Spain—everyone unanimously agrees, Elodie has the best story.
“I Tripped back to the sixteenth century,” she says, pausing to sip her champagne. “I visited the royal court of King Henry the Eighth.”
I set my empty glass on the gilded side table and draw my knees to my chest.
“I forget what he was celebrating, but the drinks were flowing freely, and Henry was quite taken with me.”
Finn cups his hands around his mouth and imitates a soundtrack from a vintage porn movie. “Bow chicka bow wow,” he sings. And I can’t help but wonder if he does that every time he’s forced to hear this story, or if it was a bit of spontaneous improv. Either way, it works. Everyone laughs, including Elodie.
“Hell yeah!” She grins and raises her glass to him. “Anyway, where was I?” She presses a finger to her cheek and feigns a coy look. “Oh yes, so, Henry was in serious pursuit. And believe me, this is a man who does not like to hear the word no.”
They all laugh. But I’m stuck on her use of the present tense. It reminds me of how Braxton spoke about Leonardo da Vinci, as though he’s still out there, among the living. And to hear them tell it, and from everything I’ve learned, he actually is. And yet, I’m still having a hard time fully embracing the idea that for those with the proper knowledge, resources, and tools, the past is as easy to access as the present.
“As Henry and I danced,” Elodie continues, “he was starting to get really grabby. Still, I managed to elude him just enough to keep him at bay but still interested. That’s the trick with Henry—he wants what he wants, but he lives for the chase.”
“C’mon,” Jago says, sliding his foot up her leg. “Get to the good stuff, already.”
She laughs and playfully pushes him away. Directing her focus to me, she says, “Henry literally chased me around the Palace. It was hilarious, and actually pretty thrilling if I’m going to be honest.”
“Ew.” Song cringes, settling deeper into her chair. “This is my least favorite of all your stories. Henry’s such a disgusting misogynist, never mind all the wives he beheaded. It’s just so gross. I still don’t know how you went through with it.”
Annoyed, Elodie rolls her eyes, then turns toward the rest of us, about to continue her story when Oliver cuts in. Poking Finn on the shoulder, Oliver says, “Would you bed Henry, if given the chance?”
Oliver shoots him an exaggerated lascivious look, and sings the porn song to him, which makes everyone laugh.
“Seriously,” Oliver says, speaking over the laughter.
Everyone turns their attention to Finn, which doesn’t sit well with Elodie. Her story’s been hijacked, and she’s not one to tolerate that. Or at least not for long.
“Depends,” Finn says. “Are we talking about the young Henry, or the decrepit, totally paranoid, murderous Henry with the foul-smelling ulcerated leg—”
“Oh, for fu—it was early in his reign as king,” Elodie says, reclaiming the spotlight. “He was young, handsome, tremendously fit, and it was well before Anne Boleyn lost her head. But more importantly, there’s something about being in the presence of that kind of power. He commanded the entire kingdom, and it was amazing to see the lengths the members of his court would go to—all of them competing for his favor.”
She could just as easily be describing Arthur, but I keep that bit to myself.
“So?” Jago says. “Did you, or didn’t you?”
“You haven’t heard this story?” I ask, knowing that by delaying Elodie’s big reveal even more, I risk bearing the brunt of her wrath.
Jago shakes his head. Elodie clears her throat and climbs atop the velvet settee so that she towers well above us, claiming our attention. “I, Elodie Blue—” She juts her hip to the side and raises her glass. “Do hereby solemnly declare, that I let King Henry the Eighth chase me all the way into his private chambers, where we enjoyed a delightful royal romp. Or three, if I remember correctly. And, if you must know, I showed him who truly wears the crown, thank you very much.”
Elodie bows with an exaggerated flourish, as Song makes a gagging face, and Jago leans forward with a newly interested gaze. “So, how was it?” he asks.
Before Elodie can reply, Finn says, “She begged. Please, sir, I want some more!” And everyone falls into hysterics, laughing at a joke I don’t understand.
When they finally settle, Elodie looks at me and says, “Natasha, you’re the only one who hasn’t commented. And I know you must have an opinion, or at least a few questions. So, go ahead, say what’s on your mind.”
I try to imagine what I would’ve done in her position. It’s a moment before it dawns on me that I could easily find myself in a similar circumstance as early as tomorrow. And yet despite all the preparation and classes, despite Braxton giving me an early head’s up on what really goes on here at Gray Wolf, it’s still outrageous to think that one day soon I might actually find myself modeling for Michelangelo or taking part in anything resembling the types of stories they told.
Still, as hard as it is to wrap my head around the concept of actual time travel, there’s another mystery that looms even larger. A single murky detail they insist on glossing over—one that not even Braxton has seen fit to disclose. And, since Elodie opened the door to questions, I figure now’s my chance to get some answers.
“While it all sounds really cool and exciting,” I say, turning toward Elodie, “I’m not sure I get it. I mean, what’s the point?”
In an instant, Elodie’s face falls flat.
“I mean, it’s not like Arthur’s going to all this trouble and expense just so you can sleep with a king, and Finn can get his portrait sketched by a legend. Because, if that’s the case, then what about the class in procurement—what was that about?” I glance around the room only to find everyone has retreated into themselves.
Talk about killing a vibe. I pretty much slammed it with an ax, chopped it to bits, doused it in acid, then set fire to the remains.
Elodie squares her gaze on mine, the salacious glow of having bedded a notorious king completely snuffed out. “After we had our fun,” she says, her voice tight, “I waited for him to doze off, then I nicked some of his belongings and got the hell out of there as fast as I could.”
There it is. The one thing that no one, not even Braxton, has been willing to cop to: Arthur is training us to be time traveling thieves.
I remember my lunch with Arthur when he showed me the ring that once belonged to Edward the Black Prince. And suddenly I realize it was probably stolen from the past, along with every other precious object I’ve seen around Gray Wolf.
“And your partner?” I ask, voice shaky.
The room falls eerily silent. Elodie sinks back onto the settee, reaches for her glass, then, remembering it’s empty, reluctantly settles on me.
“The first Trip is always with a partner. What happened to yours?” I repeat.
Someone gasps, I think it was Song, but I can’t be sure because I’m focused on Elodie.
“Natasha—” Jago starts, but Elodie’s quick to call him off.
Breathing a resigned sigh, she says, “He’s…not a Blue anymore.”
“Then what is he?” I ask, wondering if it was maybe Hawke, Keane, or even Braxton.
“Not everyone’s cut out for Tripping,” she says, her gaze icy cold. “Tomorrow, we’ll find out if you are.”
The words hang heavy between us, and I watch as Elodie rises, pulls the empty bottle of champagne from the bucket, flips it upside down, and announces, “I pronounce this party officially over.”
As Song passes me on her way to the door, she turns briefly to me and says, “I really hope you don’t live to regret that.”
70
It’s the worst possible way to end a party—insulting the host and all the guests simultaneously.
And as I make the short walk to my room, I’m feeling pretty down on myself, when my slab buzzes with a message from Braxton.
Braxton: I need to see you.
Me: I’m in my pajamas.
Braxton: This will take only a minute.
Me: Okay, come to my room.
It’s late. I’m tired. I wrecked a perfectly fun night. And I’m worried about tomorrow.
In theory: All good reasons to not want to see Braxton.
In reality: The moment he taps on my door, my heart skips three beats.
“Hey,” he says, voice hushed, as I usher him inside and his eyes fill with the sight of me. “Aw, of course.” He motions toward my robe. “Elodie’s full moon party. How was it?”
Not wanting to share how I single-handedly slaughtered the good vibe, I say, “Did you know Elodie slept with King Henry the Eighth?”
Braxton squints, rakes a hand through his hair. “She’s still telling that story?”
“Is it true?”
“Well, there’s no one to disprove it, so…”
“So, you weren’t her partner on that Trip?”
He shoots me a curious look. “Why would you think that?”
I dismiss it with a wave of my hand and draw him deeper into the room, over to where, with a quick flip of a switch, a fire springs to life in the hearth. “What’s up?” I ask, turning my back to the flames.
“Tomorrow’s your first Trip.”
I nod.
“Are you nervous?”
“Honestly? Extremely. I don’t feel ready.”
“None of us did.” He takes a breath, stares into the flames. And I use the moment to admire the way the light and heat flickers across his face. When he turns back to me and catches me staring, I quickly avert my gaze. “No matter how many times you Trip,” he says, “there’s still an element of stage fright that never goes away.”
“So, it’s a performance, then?”
He shrugs. “It helps to look at it that way.”
My fingers pick at the sash on my robe, trying to calm some of my nerves over wrecking the party and alienating the very people I need to rely on tomorrow. But it’s no use, regret has taken its hold. “Any idea who my partner will be—or even where I’m going?” I ask, my voice landing just short of pleading.
Braxton is quick to shake his head. “That’s a bit above my paygrade,” he says.
“Do you miss it?” I ask. “Tripping, I mean?”
He shoots me a curious look. “I still Trip,” he says, surprising me with his answer. “I go wherever Arthur needs me.” He shrugs. “We all do.”
I take a moment to absorb that, then indulge in a fleeting fantasy of us traveling together someday—maybe to a party at the Royal Opera House, hosted by Marie Antoinette. Aware of Braxton looking right at me, I turn my burning cheeks toward the flames.
“Listen—” He reaches toward me, his fingers sliding down the length of my sleeve. “I know you don’t want to see me, but I’ve missed you. And I have something for you.”
I lift my gaze to find his.
In his eyes, he carries the world.
In his hand, he holds a small, beautifully wrapped package.
“Happy birthday,” he says.
71
I gape at the sight of Braxton standing before me, a small, wrapped gift in his hand, as my mind frantically scrambles through the days, wondering if he somehow mixed up the date.
For a place that’s so focused on time, it’s strange how easy it is to lose track to the point where I’d completely forgotten about my own birthday.
“It’s after midnight.” Braxton smiles. “You’re officially eighteen now. Go ahead, open it.”
With trembling hands, I loosen the ribbon and tear away the iridescent wrapping paper to reveal a small black velvet box underneath. I trace a finger over the lid, almost too afraid to open it, and having no idea what to think. Not only has Braxton remembered a day I’ve overlooked, but he’s gone to the trouble of getting me a gift. And from the looks of this box, he clearly overspent.
“The gift is inside the box,” he teases.
With a quick intake of breath, I flip the lid open and gasp.
“It’s your talisman,” he explains as I take in the sight. “Traditionally, it’s a magickal object that serves as a focal point for intent—for getting what you want. In your case, I infused it with the energy of home. And by that, I mean Gray Wolf, your new home. Anyway, you should always have one with you when you Trip. It also helps if the talisman serves as a visual reminder of a moment from your past. Something to help you remember who you are, when you are, and, in your case I hope, that there’s someone back at Gray Wolf waiting for you to return.”
My throat swells hot and tight as I run a finger along the finely detailed charm. It’s a small golden cage with a lapis moon, the color of Braxton’s eyes, and a single star encrusted with diamonds, nestled inside. And right away, I realize it’s us—a symbol for our lives inside this gilded cage, and the night of our first kiss under a waxing moon and a sky full of stars—the two of us tucked away inside an all-glass room,
“I designed it,” Braxton says. “Then I asked one of the onsite artisans to make it.” He steps forward. “May I?” He gestures toward the piece.
I sweep my hair over my shoulder, trying and failing to stifle an involuntary shudder at the nearness of him, the way his body presses toward mine, the brush of his fingers when he fastens the delicate gold chain at my neck.
“It’s weird how no on saw fit to tell me I’d need something like this.”
Braxton shrugs, positioning the charm to fall at the center of my chest. “You were on the fast track,” he says. “They must’ve overlooked it in the rush to get you up to speed.”
“Still,” I say. “Makes me wonder what else they might’ve forgotten.”
“You’ll do fine,” he assures me. “They wouldn’t risk sending you if they didn’t think you were ready.”
My fingers curl around the charm, sliding it back and forth on the chain, as I contemplate what he just said. I really hope that he’s right.
“Depending on where you go, you can wear it on a ribbon, or simply carry it in your pocket. All that really matters is that you always bring it with you.”
Something about the way he looks at me makes my eyes spark with tears. This boy is truly looking out for me, and I’m so unused to being cared for like this, I ignore the admonishing voice in my head, tuck into his arms, and breathe in his warm heady scent. “Thank you,” I tell him. “It’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given me.”
“Arthur’s not big on remembering birthdays,” Braxton says, the words whispered just north of my ear. “And I didn’t want yours to go unnoticed. Also, as your friend, I feel invested in doing whatever it takes to see you safely returned. The talisman will help with that.”
As my friend. Right.
The relationship status I’ve chosen for us that I’m seriously starting to regret.
“I’m sorry,” I say, nuzzling deeper into his arms. “I’m sorry for telling you I wanted to be friends only to push you away for so long. Because, the truth is, I’ve missed you.” I swallow hard, knowing I shouldn’t have said it. And yet, is there really any point in denying it, when I knew it from the moment he stepped into my room?
The second it’s out, Braxton is quick to untangle himself and take a step back. And when my eyes meet his, I’m left with no doubt that the month we spent apart hasn’t impacted Braxton the same way it has me.
72
Oh God. Oh no. What have I done?
I have to save this. Find a way to rewind, and let him know, without a doubt, that—
A red hot flame of embarrassment streaks up my neck. And in a desperate bid to fill up the silence, a flurry of words rushes out of me so quickly, I’m not even sure where I’m going.
“What I meant to say is, I’ve um, I’ve missed our friendship. And spending time in your company. And…” My voice fades. I close my eyes and shake my head.
