“Need any help?”
Blushing when she heard Gram’s voice—sonorous song of a sound—was reflex at this point. Imogen’s cheeks fuzzed pink, but she didn’t curse herself this time. Instead, she looked toward the door, where the Engineer stood, elbow propped to frame. The air between them was Grid-dizzy. Her smile swam in it.
Gram’s dimples grew as he stepped closer. “What?”
“I like you.”
“Haven’t those parameters been established?”
Kiss number two was even better than its predecessor. For as many day—and night—dreams Imogen had spent on the subject, kissing Gram, really kissing him, was something fantasies couldn’t hold a candle to. It was give and receive, find him, show him, warmth exchanged. It was a sparkle in her spine, thrilling to her fingertips.
“Just making sure the words still worked,” she murmured, forehead resting beneath his chin. “Do you floss?”
Sealed lips stunted his laugh. “Not a question a guy wants to hear post-kiss. Are you insinuating that I should?”
“Oh, no. You have very nice breath. The best.” Alas, Imogen’s foot-in-mouth curse had no fairy-tale cure! “I was only wondering because I have too much floss to sew this toga with. After the gelato and tiramisu we’ve been eating, I fear we may have some cavities on board. Naturally, our dental hygiene is my main concern at the moment….”
“Naturally.” Gram’s embrace tensed, biceps going sharp through his sleeves. “I floss every twenty-four hours. You?”
“Not enough.” Imogen couldn’t remember her last plaque-be-gone session, probably because the Fade had stolen it, the way it was stealing everything else. STUPID LIFE-GUZZLING FORGETTING. Standing here in Gram’s arms should’ve had the chance to become a memory, recounted to their many fur-babies. Chinchillas and quokkas and sugar gliders and other pint-sized cutenesses. “I’m not sure I did enough of anything….”
“We’re not over yet,” he whispered above her.
Chalk dusted his chin—bumblebee yellow—when Imogen pulled away. She brushed it off with her thumb, thinking of the many colors this could’ve been, had she just told him earlier: every pillowcase shade, a rainbow’s entire reach. Maybe their 2.0 versions could span that spectrum in the next life… whatever next life meant. Limber though Imogen’s thoughts might be, they couldn’t wrap around the pivot point’s existential implications.
“You’re right.” There was a toga to be sewn. “Were you serious about wanting to help?”
“There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.”
“I need a pen to mark out the panels. Do you still have the one I lent you?”
“It’s in the common area.” Gram looked through the door, where the others were reviewing Empra’s datastream on repeat for planning purposes. “I’ll go get it.”
One more kiss left her insides swirling like a glitter snow globe.
SUCCESSES IN IMOGEN’S LOVE LIFE: **TEN THOUSAND SPARKLE-HEART EMOJIS**
Saffron skipped in from the common area. Imogen intercepted the animal, scooping him up before he could turn the clean sheet into his personal art project. The garment would be avant-garde enough without a red panda paw-print pattern.
Her fluffy ward gave a series of chirps. The noises often had a conversational quality—Insert food here! or Why so sad? or You humans are interrupting my daily twelve hours of slumber. Imogen didn’t translate so much as choose the subject matter. This cheep cheep chirrup turned into I always liked Gram. I’m glad you two found each other. Not like this was a game of hide-and-seek or anything. I love hide-and-seek. Especially with your favorite hair chalk colors. No one will ever find Mint Medley now….
“I know.” She smiled down at the creature. “I got lucky.”
40
A NEW LOW FOR ACKERMAN
AGENT AUGUST ACKERMAN’S VISION WAS BEGINNING to pull itself back together. Instead of three steel tables, twelve men, and an infinity mirror, his surroundings were thirded. He found himself restrained to a chair with handcuffs. There was a coppery residue coating his tongue, but a swallow determined it to be the aftermath of the stunrod’s current. Not blood.
“He’s awake!” one of the guards announced.
This was August’s first good look at his assailants. His eyes focused on their sleeves’ loopy hourglass symbol. Corps. August came from a long line of career Bureau men and consequently had a patent dislike for anything to do with the Corps. They were forever stealing things—funding, recruits, public interest—and leaving messes in their wake. Pivot point had become akin to a curse word in Ackerman families across the HTP8 string. Unauthorized worlds popping up like fungi, all because this lot was so obsessed with looking backward. August couldn’t understand why. What sort of person would want to make a career wallowing around in history’s diseases and odious smells?
These sorts. Amateurs who thought a few links of metal could tie him down….
…
…
When August did not vanish, he sat straighter in his chair. His interface—and the teleportation equipment linked to it—had been scrambled by the surge of electricity. Much like August’s body, it needed a reboot. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for some time, unless these guards decided otherwise.
The flame-haired one leaned in, elbows locked as if he was bracing for something. “What were you doing in the Corps’ restricted archives?”
That explained the servers, as well as the alarm. Both had been unexpected. This entire assignment was, really. He’d spent most of his twenty years with the Bureau mopping up time— traveling messes—observing oopsy-daisy universes, numbering them in the ever-changing system—but the Fade was a first for his career. Whatever Farway McCarthy had done to cause it was a muck-up of catastrophic proportions. Despite the many Dr. Ramírezes’ valiant efforts, it could not be cleaned up, only contained. The quarantine should’ve been simple: Follow the beacon, X out this final catalyst, confiscate Cadet McCarthy’s jump equipment before she could create more spin-off worlds. Of course, history hoppers never made anything simple.
Lightning bolts streaked down the side of August Ackerman’s throat as he swallowed a second time.
“Who was that girl?” the guard tried again. “How is it she vanished into thin air? Why was the motto on her badge different? Why was she tapping into the Ab Aeterno’s 95 AD archives?”
Because Cadet McCarthy was foolish enough to think time might change things, and she would keep creating pivot points, spreading the Fade into world after twisted world, until she gave up and jumped to an innocent string, dragging the countersignature’s infection with her.
That couldn’t happen. Metal bit into August’s skin as he tried to lift his wrists. Chained to this chair, stranded in this rotting universe… He wasn’t going anywhere if he kept silent.
“Some very unfortunate events are about to occur,” he informed his questioner. “I was in the process of preventing them when you intervened.”