Steel Time

BEFORE-1

BEFOREFreezing cold alternated with searing heat against Toria’s exposed skin. Any sense of up versus down vanished as her internal equilibrium was shot in this vast, colorless void. An immense weight pressed against her chest, anchoring her. Or was it pulling? Were her eyes even open? She heard nothing, smelled nothing, tasted nothing—

Wham.

She slammed into a solid surface, and her skull bounced. The pressure at her chest disappeared, replaced by sharp pain in her head and through her back and legs. She didn’t remember falling, but whatever had happened would certainly leave her blanketed in bruises.

She kept her eyes closed, but a chorus of high-pitched voices and excited babble assaulted her ears from somewhere nearby.

Magic roared across and through her, soaking her being until her skin vibrated and her fingers tingled with excess power. More magical energy than she’d ever sensed in her life, even more than the stolen magic at the New Angouleme mage school, adding to the certain logic of a ridiculous occurrence. She remembered stumbling on a bit of rubble, losing her balance and falling forward. She heard Kane now: “Are you telling me you tripped and found the world’s lost magic? Only you, Tor.”

Their initial research into the museum’s contents yielded spotty information at best. Too many records lost to time and war. They’d had no idea what they might find, but she never would have included getting knocked out and dumped into a maelstrom of magic on the list.

With a mental jerk, she turned off every inkling of her magesight before opening her eyes—seeing the amount of energy she sensed might blind her. Instead, sunlight poured through high windows. The shrieks and shouting subsided, much to the pleasure of her pounding head.

Sunlight? How much time had she lost? A moment of panic for her mother’s safety seized her limbs, and an automatic move of distress sent her hand to grip her rapier hilt. Gasps echoed above her.

The world came into focus as a circle of curious young faces stared at her. The unfamiliar kids appeared about the age of Archer’s youngest mage school apprentices, maybe nine or ten. Their dresses and button-up shirts looked like something out of a historical vid. Their faces swirled behind her rapid blinking.

Please, not another concussion. Her first, in a training accident over a year ago, took months to resolve even with liberal application of her partner’s healing abilities.

Time sped up again, and the children whispered and poked at each other. Two older women, also wearing old-fashioned blouses and skirts, broke into the ring and hustled the children aside as they scolded them in gentle tones for staring and getting in the way. A man with nervous sweat glistening on his pale bald scalp pushed through the bystanders. He wore some sort of uniform, but the colors were wrong for Limani’s police department. He knelt next to Toria, buttoned top restraining his middle-aged paunch. With this closer view, she spotted a badge on his chest—Central Security Contractors.

“Let’s get you up, miss.” With careful hands, he hooked Toria under the shoulders and eased her to a sitting position.

She swayed and caught herself against the cold marble tile with one hand. Though the two women had herded the children away, a larger crowd surrounded her. The adults, more circumspect, hid whispered comments behind their hands. Beyond them, glass display cases lined the walls, refracting sunlight to the high ceiling.

“Careful now, duckie.” The guard’s voice was kind rather than patronizing.

“I’m fine.” But Toria didn’t resist his help in leveraging her to her knees, then her feet. Her vision swam again and she clutched him for balance as he led her at a slow walk through the staring mass of people. “Okay, I’m not fine.” Her brain reached over and over again for her internal link with Kane and came up empty each time, which made concentration difficult.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He kept her upright with a firm grip on her elbow and a protective arm around her shoulder against the crowd.

Even as she cataloged everyone she passed as a potential threat, a habit born of years, the clothing almost overwhelmed her. Full suits with dapper hats for the men, and more skirts and blouses for the women. The men wore subdued hues, but the women presented a riotous array of colors. She stood out either way in her khaki-toned hiking pants and navy tank top.

Ambient magic pounded her from every angle, but she battened down magesight for fear of worse pain.

They escaped the mass of people, and a second security guard ran up as her escort led her to an elegant stairwell. The skinny man, topped by a shock of red hair, stuttered to a halt a few marble steps below them. “Officer Comstock! Is it really a Code Gray?” He stared at Toria in amazement.

But it wasn’t crass or s****l. Instead, it seemed to be genuine surprise at the rapier belted at her side, or perhaps her clothing. Toria stumbled again. Her hip crashed into hard metal at Officer Comstock’s waist, and she jerked away from the revolver holstered there. What security guard had access to such specialized armaments?

“You think any other kind of emergency would drop a lass such as this in our midst?” Officer Comstock pointed down the hall. “Find someone to call Mr. Liam. I’ll bring her to his office.” When the other man didn’t move, eyes still locked on Toria, Comstock snapped his fingers. “Jasper!”

He jerked to attention. “Right! Yes, sir.” Jasper dashed down the steps, careening around a corner on black shoes polished to a high shine. Jasper also carried a revolver, and Toria couldn’t fathom why.

Comstock prodded Toria forward into the stairwell with a gentle tug at her elbow, even bracing her with a small push every step. At the top of the sun-soaked stairs, lit by more high windows, he led her into a utilitarian side hall. No windows, and no more marble. A row of closed doors with nameplates and titles. Lee Stone, Publicist. Stephen Duvall, Assistant Archivist. Cole Burkehead, Head Geologist.

The memory of sunlight disoriented Toria. How much time had she lost?

Had she had these thoughts before? Her brain wandered in circles, too. Not a good sign.

Officer Comstock halted in front of a door labeled “Liamacorin, Deputy Curator.” Elven name, with that many syllables and no surname. With a jangle of metal, Comstock unlocked the door with a cluster of keys hanging from his belt. After it swung open, he propelled Toria inside with another gentle nudge. “Go on, miss. Have a seat. I’ll be right outside until Mr. Liam is fetched.”

Two steps into the sunlit office, she stumbled against a wooden chair, empty and waiting for guests on the far side of a desk littered with paperwork.

Toria collapsed into the empty seat, leaning sideways to rest her head against the backrest. Comstock left the door ajar and stood watch in the hallway. But whether this was to keep her in the office or out of some measure of respect was unclear.

Her mind returned to the clothes. And the pistol. If she’d appeared in the middle of some sort of historical reenactment society, why continue the charade all the way here? The décor in this office looked straight out of a vid set, between the wooden desk and chairs and rickety metal filing cabinets. She didn’t recognize the elven-style landscapes framed on two of the walls, but she found the bold jewel tones a comforting splash of color amidst the drab brown furniture, beige walls, and off-white curtains. Paper covered practically every flat surface, but there was no telephone or computer. Even the air smelled off, musty with hints of burned coffee and stale nicotine.

She recognized the writing on the files nearest to her side of the desk, at least. And Comstock and Jasper both spoke in Loquella, despite the odd accents. Where the hell was she? Not home in Limani. The British colonies? The Roman colonies? The sunlight meant time had passed, but how much? Days? Weeks?

If she did have a concussion, she might also have post-traumatic amnesia. So, how had she gotten here from walking through rubble in Nacostina with her mother?

Where was Victory? And where the hell was Kane?

She didn’t need to risk blinding herself with magesight to use magic. The connection with her bonded warrior-mage partner was internal. She closed her eyes to block out the strange environment.

She stretched once more, searching for the part of her soul-mind-self that was also Kane. Where their power linked, no matter the distance. But she found imagined static instead of a solid radio connection.

No answering burst of earth magic buried within her element of storm. What should have been a link to a mighty forest protected by raging lightning was instead a mere seed buffeted by wind and thunder. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t grasp the tiny kernel long enough to follow it to its source. Her connection with Kane was almost cut off. At least she could be sure he wasn’t dead.

She already knew what that felt like.

But she had no idea why this block between them existed, or what might be its source. Had Kane been kidnapped and cursed, like in college? Even that memory of loss and fear felt nothing like this pure desperation.

At least he wasn’t dead.

At least he wasn’t dead.

He wasn’t dead.

Her breath sounded loud in her ears. She pressed the heels of her palms over her eyes and hunched in the uncomfortable seat. She couldn’t fall apart when she had so little information. She couldn’t afford to show weakness. Officer Comstock appeared kind enough, but she knew nothing about the elf Jasper had been sent for. Tears leaked even as she managed to slow her hyperventilation to slower, shuddering gasps.

A younger voice than Toria had expected startled her out of her anxiety attack. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. It’s astonishing how much traffic there can be on the weekend sometimes, really terrible—oh, no!”

She dropped her hands and accepted the handkerchief thrust at her face. The elven man appeared to be about her age, which meant at least two centuries older. He pressed the white cloth into her hand before wheeling his chair around the desk and dropping into it.

The man’s light blond hair, pulled in a neat tail at the nape of his neck, accentuated the pale skin of a man who spent too much time indoors. He wore tailored slacks with a button-up shirt of summer-weight cotton, in a crisp blue that highlighted his eyes. The cut emphasized his broad shoulders and trim waist. Neat leather loafers. It all matched the clothing she’d seen so far, older than mere retro throwback.

Toria dabbed at her wet eyes and blew her nose. The man seemed like he didn’t know what to do with himself while she pulled herself together. He resettled in the seat twice before unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. His unrehearsed awkwardness did not seem like part of an elaborate ruse.

Toria had plenty of experience with handsome elves who manipulated events to their own ends. But this one waited with patience while she collected herself. She balled the handkerchief in one hand.

He leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees. “Do you feel up to talking now?”

“I think so, yes.” She settled the storm-tossed kernel of earth within her mind.

“My name is Liamacorin, but you may call me Liam.” Like Jasper and Officer Comstock, he spoke perfect Loquella with an odd accent.

“Toria. Toria Connor.” She stumbled a bit over not returning the introduction in the elven manner, but perhaps humans and elves didn’t have such a relationship here. Better to play it safe for now and avoid the questions her full name, Torialanthas, might evoke. “Forgive me for being blunt, but where am I?”

Liam rubbed his hands on his pant legs. “You’re in the Museum of New Continental History, in the city of Nacostina—”

“Bullshit.”

Liam jerked in surprise, startling Toria into a manic giggle. He seemed more relieved by her response than anything, perhaps because she hadn’t broken into sobs again.

“Sorry, sorry.” She waved the handkerchief dismissively. “But that’s ridiculous.”

“My guess is, you were brought to this location because you touched an item of magical energy that displaces people in time and space. The one we have here at the museum tends to fling people into the future.” This part sounded more rehearsed, as Liam appeared braced for her to interrupt him again. “It’s been under lock and key since the initial discovery of these properties, though not for the entirety of its existence. We’ve been studying it for years, but we don’t even know how it works, much less how to control it. I’m going to guess by the expression on your face that you have no idea what I’m talking about, so obviously, you didn’t accidentally trip over it while it’s been under elven control.”