Legends Untold: Timewaves

By Sophie Davis

For Stassi and her teammates, only one thing is certain: Heads. Will. Roll.
With rebellions rising and the Inquisition marching towards England, the stakes are higher than ever for the Atlic Syndicate's runners. Their target is sixteen-year old Lady Jane Grey, one of history's most tragic figures. When Stassi and the gang arrive, Jane has just begun her ill-fated reign as Queen of England.
The runners thought that penetrating the Tower of London would be their biggest challenge. They were very wrong...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sophie Davis
• Release date: Aug 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386540557

Book preview

image-placeholder

Copyright © 2017 by Sophie Davis Books

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Contents

. Chapter

1. Prologue

2. One

3. Two

4. Three

5. Four

6. Five

7. Six

8. Seven

9. Eight

10. Nine

11. Ten

12. Eleven

13. Twelve

14. Thirteen

15. Fourteen

16. Fifteen

17. Sixteen

18. Seventeen

19. Eighteen

20. Nineteen

21. Twenty

22. Twenty-One

23. Twenty-Two

24. Twenty-Three

25. Twenty-Four

26. Twenty-Five

27. Twenty-Six

28. Twenty-Seven

29. Twenty-Eight

Also By Sophie Davis

About Sophie

Dear Reader,

Many of you may think you know the story of Lady Jane Grey, grandniece of the infamous Henry VIII. If so, then you probably know her as the Nine Days Queen. But what if I told you that history as you know it may not be the past that always was? That events set in motion by Atlic Syndicate runners hastened Jane’s downfall? Don’t believe me? Keep reading….

Time Speed,

Nicholas Flamel

Prologue

August 8, 2465

There once was a man from nowhere,

His burdens far too great to bear,

Solace found in a timewave,

The lost were now his to save.

-Mitchell Baylarian

CRAZY AS IT might sound, no matter how many times I reread Baylarian’s poem, the words did not change. Nor did the signature at the end. Those two words, the given name of the madman known to history as the Night Gentleman, were the ones that made the ground feel like it jerked beneath my feet.

He’s obsessed with you. This note is pure nonsense, I lectured myself. Both my friends and my boss had reminded me of that on more than one occasion. I have the answers you’ve been looking for…all of them. You’ll come find me when you’re ready. Just don’t wait too long. This time, the voice inside my head wasn’t my own; it was Baylarian’s. Those were his parting comments to me at his murder trial.

But surely….

Only one way to find out, I murmured, reaching for the leather-bound book that was delivered with the note via courier the previous night.

Talking to ourselves, are we? asked an amused voice from behind me.

The sky had just begun to lighten—several of the brightest stars were still visible—but I’d been too antsy to sleep any longer. So despite the warm arms around my waist, and the muscled chest that proved a surprisingly comfy pillow, I’d crept from beneath the covers long before the groundskeepers started their workdays. Now, it seemed, the owner of those amazing arms and overall rocking body had come in search of his wayward snuggle partner.

Hey, sorry for sneaking off, I told Charles with a sheepish smile. Don’t take it personally. I just…. I gestured to Baylarian’s note and the book, which were both sitting on the patio table.

Charles waved off my apology with one hand and offered me a fresh cup of coffee with the other. I understand completely. His honey-colored eyes darkened slightly. Though I do wish you’d woken me, as well.

Crouching beside my lounge chair, he placed a hand on my shoulder. His touch was warm and comforting, and I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against the back of his splayed fingers. In moments like those, it was easy to forget that Charles wasn’t supposed to be on Branson, or even in the 25th century. How was it possible that I shared a deeper connection with a man from the early 20th century than any of the guys in my home time?

I’m sorry, I repeated, voice carrying on the breeze.

You have no reason to apologize, particularly not twice. He set his coffee mug on the table beside the book and gathered me into his arms. Would you prefer to be alone while you look at that…?

No, you’re here now, I replied. Let’s look together.

He rewarded my offer with a soft kiss on the cheek. Whatever you like, my Stassi.

Pulling back from his embrace, I tempered the wide grin threating to pull the corners of my mouth all the way to my ears. Careful, don’t scare him off after just one night, I cautioned myself.

Charles claimed the other lounge chair and settled in with his coffee. I handed him Baylarian’s note and gave him time to read the contents for himself.

I know, I said, holding up a hand to cut off any warnings he might feel the need to express. The guy is not all there mentally. I get it. And just like what he said to me in the courtroom, this note is bait. He wants me to come see him for whatever reason.

Nodding stiffly, Charles searched my face for signs that contradicted my statements. But the best and brightest minds had trained me in the art of deception, so telling convincing lies was second nature.

Would you like to do the honors, or shall I? he asked, gesturing to the book.

In answer, I moved the leather book from the table to my lap and balanced it on my thighs. Inhaling deeply through my nose, I exhaled the long breath through my mouth. Whatever is inside, you can handle it. Gingerly, I flipped open the buttery-soft cover. My next breath caught in my throat and nearly choked me.

This journal is the property of Justess Jacobson.

I traced the text, both the printed words and the name scrawled in a woman’s beautiful penmanship. The name was one I knew. The journal’s owner was the very person I’d been searching for since my Paris assignment.

What? I exclaimed as the last two stars in the sky disappeared. "Why did he have this? How did he have this? I thrust the open journal at Charles, repeating in a small voice, How?"

The color drained from his face and he blinked several times, as though unable to believe his eyes. As where I was having trouble keeping my jumbled and chaotic thoughts to myself, he seemed incapable of voicing his. We were only on the first page.

Without asking permission, Charles took the journal from my hands and stared at the name as though transfixed.

Haven’t we talked about using our morning-voices? groaned a tired voice from the patio doorway. Even with her dark, sleep-tousled hair and puffy blue eyes, my roommate still managed to look like a goddess. Those swollen eyes popped open fully when they landed on Charles, however. Molly’s expression turned from slightly annoyed to incredibly curious, and sort of devious.

What’s up, Chuck? Glad to see you’ve been elevated to overnight guest status, she chirped, suddenly more alive, alert, and enthusiastic.

Baylarian sent me a gift, I blurted, both to change the topic and bring Molly into the loop.

The grin vanished, as did my roommate’s good humor. "Excuse me? Who did what?"

Baylarian sent me a gift, I repeated, slower this time. It was amazing how in control I sounded. Because that was totally not how I felt. I felt like…well, I didn’t know exactly.

Shocked? Terrified? Nauseous, definitely nauseous. And, admittedly, excited.

Maybe Baylarian did know pertinent details about my past, maybe he didn’t. But Justess Jacobson definitely did. She’d commissioned my locket, the only item in my possession that once belonged to my mother. So yeah, Justess Jacobson’s journal was extremely valuable to me.

Let me see that. Molly plucked the journal from Charles’ hands and paled visibly. This can’t be…is this real?

I hadn’t considered a forgery. Was that stupid of me? No, I decided. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew the journal was legit. And the optimistic part of me really believed there were answers inside those pages.

Hold the frack on. Molly’s angry words and even angrier tone snapped me back to the present. This is how you spell Justess? she demanded, the question directed at Charles. She didn’t wait for a response, her tone scarily calm when she continued. How long have you known?

What did I miss? The conversation seemed to have taken a turn while I was busy wandering through the dark forest of my mind.

Charles cleared his throat uneasily. I didn’t. Not until just now, when I saw the name.

Am I the only one who gets that we’re on vacation? Gaige’s voice cut in. He stepped through the double doors to the patio, a foamy latte in each hand. He held one out to Molly. My roommate glared at the cup as though the caffeine had personally offended her. Gaige shrugged. More for me.

He sat on the end of my long lounge chair, pushing my feet over in the process.

Don’t mind me, I said dryly. I just live here.

So you do believe it’s the same woman? Molly pressed Charles, undeterred.

What are we talking about? Seems juicy, Gaige interjected, sipping his coffee. He grinned, showing off a foam mustache.

Well, Chuck, you want to tell them? Molly asked pointedly.

I glanced between Molly and Charles, becoming increasingly sick to my stomach.

The name. She said something about the way Justess was spelled. I’d considered the spelling in the journal odd, but only because I’d assumed the woman used J-U-S-T-I-C-E.

Gaige bounced on the end of the chair, nearly sending me toppling over the side. Wedging my big toe in the soft spot beneath his ribs, I jabbed hard and said, Simmer down, Sparky. Let the lady talk. I turned to Molly, my expression serious. What’s going on?

But it was Charles who answered. It seems that your Justess and my Tessa….

I leapt to my feet. Gaige was on the ground, complaining about his sore ass from the seesaw effect, like Charles didn’t just drop a truth bomb.

The woman who gave you the pocket watch…who moved you to the DuPrees…. That was Justess Jacobson, I said. It wasn’t a question. You never thought to mention this before now?

Stassi, I am so— he started.

Sorry? I supplied for Charles. "Because ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it. You knew and yet you said nothing? You know what this all means to me. How important all of this is to me."

He stood slowly, cautiously, appearing nervous that I might lash out physically. Until that moment, I didn’t realize I was hovering over him, screaming in his face. Charles reached for me, as though to cup my cheeks in his hands. I swatted his arm.

Don’t. Don’t touch me. Not until you explain yourself.

A different arm went around my shoulders—Molly, I realized belatedly. She guided me back to the lounge chair and sat alongside me. Gaige, finally grasping the seriousness of the situation, sobered and joined us. Three against one, I thought numbly, both relieved and slightly guilty that my friends stood by me.

Never taking his gaze from mine, Charles lowered himself back down onto his lounge chair. After several false starts and a lot of glares from our side of the patio, he finally began. When Mr. Koppelman informed us that J was short for Justess, I honestly did not think much of it, he said. "The name is not common in my time, and I never saw it on paper. He swallowed audibly before continuing. It was not until just now, the moment you showed me the front page of the journal that it occurred to me. He met my gaze and held it. I am sorry, Stassi. I would have said something, just as soon as the shock wore off."

For several awkward moments, no one spoke. All around us the sun was chasing away the remaining shadows from the night. Even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, it felt as though I was viewing the world through a dreary haze.

Should I believe him?

Why would he lie?

To save his own behind from Molly.

Yeah, well, there’s that.

My eyes darted back and forth between Charles, Molly, and Gaige as I played my own devil’s advocate.

Okay, I said finally, nodding decisively. Tell me about her. Tell me about Tessa.

Wait. Molly snapped her fingers in front of my face, driving home just how strongly she objected to the conversational tangent. That’s it? ‘Okay’? No more discussion? We don’t need to be hasty, let’s grill him.

I put a hand on my roommate’s shoulder. His explanation makes sense. I didn’t put it together either. I just really don’t want to dwell on this.

Gaige eyed me suspiciously. "Since when don’t you want to dwell on something?"

Cute, I deadpanned, gesturing between my roommate and Gaige. You two share a brain now? Ignoring their matching smirks, I turned back to Charles. Please, what can you tell us about Tessa?

She showed up not long after my parents died and informed me that I was to live with the DuPrees. Charles seemed flustered, but both his gaze and his voice were steady when he spoke.

What I’d told Molly was, for the most part, true. Charles’ version of events sounded plausible. I could buy that he’d never considered Tessa and Justess might be the same person until he saw the name inside the journal. After all, I hadn’t made the connection even after seeing Justess spelled out. Still, a niggling sensation in the back of my mind warned me to be cautious. The flipside of being a great liar, I was also a pretty good lie detector. So, I studied Charles’ micro-expressions and the gestures he made, trying to parse fact from fiction as he continued his story.

She was very kind. I recall liking her immediately.

True, I thought.

Did you ever meet Tessa before the day she told you that you were going to live with the DuPrees? Molly interrupted.

Charles shook his head. No.

True.

Did you see her around? Molly pressed. I smiled. My roommate was a great interrogator.

He started to say no again but seemed to reconsider. I can’t say for certain. She might have paid visits to my family, but my parents were quite social and had many guests. I honestly don’t know whether Tessa was one of them.

True-ish, I thought, mulling over his precise words. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was a little off.

When did she give you the pocket watch? Gaige interrupted.

The day she left me with the DuPrees, Charles said quickly.

True.

Did she tell you anything about it? I asked. Like why she was giving it to you?

In Paris, he’d told me the watch was a gift from Tessa. At the time, the explanation hadn’t seemed strange. Now, though, it did sort of seem weird for a woman Charles barely knew to give him such an obviously valuable item.

No, just that she wanted for me to have it. Charles chuckled humorlessly. That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

Just a smidge, Molly said dryly.

For the next hour, the three of us fired questions at Charles. Well, only twenty minutes was spent on actual questions. The rest was filled with Gaige’s wild theories. When he suggested that Tessa might have been Charles’ father’s mistress, I thought the Frenchman might faint.

You’re contradicting yourself, Gaige, Molly replied, while Charles gulped air. "Just yesterday you were going on and on about Justess being a pirate involved in some torrid love affair with the original Bonheur. Oh, and you thought she was cast as a honeypot for Cyrus to steal the chunk of prima for the jewelry."

Gaige furrowed his brow in confusion. These things are not mutually exclusive, Molls. I’m beginning to think our girl Tessa was quite the heartbreaker. He turned to Charles. You said she was pretty, right?

Dark brown hair, dark blue eyes—that was how Charles described Tessa. And, yes, pretty. On one hand, the description was more than we had the previous day. On the other, it was scant on detail. Still, I planned to use FRED to run an image search.

As Gaige grilled Charles on Tessa’s bone structure—Pointy chin or round? Widow’s peak? What about her ears?—I started flipping through the journal. Somehow, the contents were forgotten amidst the whole Tessa-is-Justess-thing. Like the name on the very first page, all the text inside was handwritten. Single-sided pages continued Tessa’s beautiful scrawl.

Each entry began with a series of numbers that might have been a date, but I wasn’t positive. Coded? I wondered. Next, three words were listed on consecutive lines: Passenger(s), Departure, and Arrival. The Passenger line read Test more often than not, with the occasional number one or two. The departure and arrival columns each had an extremely long string of alphanumeric characters—possibly some sort of geospatial coordinates. Since I suspected it was encoded, really, the sequences could have stood for anything.

What’s our femme fatale have to say for herself? Gaige’s ridiculous question pulled me from the journal.

I’m sorry, when did Tessa became a murderess? I asked.

When she offed Caesar, Molly answered, like it should’ve been obvious.

Right…, I replied, drawing out the syllable. She’s not really saying anything. This looks like a travel log.

I handed the journal to my roommate. Molly set it in her lap so all four of us could see the pages while she flipped.

I’m pretty sure these entries are encoded, though, I continued. If Tessa is the only one who knew the cipher, I don’t know if we’ll crack it.

Gaige wrinkled his nose, then wiggled it from side to side. It looks…familiar. The structure or whatever.

I agree, I said. Like they’re coordinates.

Which makes sense for arrivals and departures, Molly chimed in.

I smiled at my friends. It was nice when we were all on the same page.

What about the passengers? Charles asked. What do you suppose that means?

Time tourism, Molly and I replied in unison.

We all grew quiet. Time tourism was a big no-no in our present, but it wasn’t always taboo. Keeping that in mind, I tried to not judge Tessa too harshly.

Finally, Gaige broke the silence. So, dibs on not telling Cyrus.

The honor fell to me, and I didn’t waste any more time before heading to Epicenter. Outside his office door, I made a snap decision and shoved the journal behind a potted palm. My boss needed to see the note from Baylarian. But Tessa’s journal….

I wasn’t ready to part with it. There were answers in those pages, answers about my locket and Charles’ pocket watch and the other Bonheur jewelry. Once I found them, they would lead me to my birth family.

Somehow, someway.

One

August 30, 2465

OVER THREE WEEKS had passed since I first opened Tessa’s journal, and we were no closer to discovering any more about her than Charles had told us initially. More than once, I had considered going to Cyrus for help. If Mr. Koppelman remembered her, then my boss knew everything down to her shoe size. And yet…I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I’d been using company resources for personal reasons, or that a chunk of stolen prima was hidden inside my locket.

Baylarian’s note had concerned Cyrus a great deal, and the fact that I’d seen that in my boss’s expression concerned me. As though determined to keep me as busy as possible, Cyrus assigned the Quad task after task after task. A lot were sort of silly, like stealing Historian Jefferson’s pet eagle from the cage in his office—while he was inside his office. Some were surprisingly hard, like disguising ourselves and fooling at least three people on the island into believing we were a cover identity. The catch? If even one person recognized us, we had to start over. The games were for Charles, but all four of us benefited from the practice.

There had also been a handful of mainland heist assignments, all designed to force our team to work as one cohesive unit. At first, I’d been a little surprised by the number of these missions, but a quad was very different than a partnership. And we needed these test runs to make sure we could handle a real run in another time period.

The helo dipped, swerving sharply to the left and jolting me out of my thoughts. Sorry about the turbulence, guys, called Aiden, our pilot, through the intercom. He righted the helo, but the craft kept bumping along as though we were riding the waves instead of flying among the clouds. Strap in tight, we can’t afford any injuries.

Beside me, Molly took long, slow breaths as she double and triple checked her safety harness. I did the same, but my movements were less jerky than my roommate’s.

You okay? I asked, resting a hand on her arm.

Molly bobbed her head, but her porcelain skin was turning a sickly shade of green that made me worry she might lose her breakfast.

Fine, she managed to choke out.

Across the aisle, Gaige started undoing buckles and straps, his worried expression a stark contrast to his usual carefree nature.

No, don’t. I’m fine, Molly protested, waving off Gaige with the hand she had been using to cover her mouth.

Maybe a fizzy would help? suggested Charles.

We’ll be touching down in Miami in five, guys, Aiden informed us. Molly, I promise I’ll do my best for smooth landing.

Miami, Florida, the location of our latest assignment. All four of us had received messages to our Qubes that morning, informing us that we were to be at the helo-pad by noon and that Cyrus would meet us in Miami. No further details provided.

The helo came to a jerky stop, and my roommate exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

Sit tight until I give the all-clear, guys, Aiden called.

Across the aisle, Charles looked confused. Is there a problem, do you think?

No. No problems, I reassured him.

The welcoming crew needs to look over our entrance papers, Gaige added off-handedly.

Entrance papers? Charles repeated as though the words didn’t quite make sense to him. That hasn’t been necessary before now.

Privately-owned states often have their own rules and laws. Since they are still part of the U.S. they must follow all federal regulations at a minimum, some are much stricter. Florida is particularly volatile, a lot of unrest outside the city gates. Espinoza Consolidated, the ACorp owner, requires proper identification to enter the territory, I explained.

So far, our assignments had steered clear of contentious cities and states—maybe that meant this Miami run would be our final test? A girl could hope. Much as being home was nice, I really missed jumping.

Do I have proper identification? Charles asked.

Gaige scoffed, as though he found the question absurd. Of course you do, I’m sure Cyrus took care of it. Don’t worry, this is just a formality.

I offered Charles my most winsome smile, but Gaige was understating the situation. Yes, the entrance papers were a formality. And it was unlikely that we’d be denied entrance. A helo from Branson Isle wasn’t going to be turned away. Still, since he didn’t have any current records, Charles’ papers were forgeries. The syndicate had the very best forgers money could buy, but if even one box on Charles’ documents appeared the least bit fishy, the armed guards on the helo-pad could choose to detain him for questioning.

Our worries were for nothing. Five minutes after landing, Aiden announced that we were cleared. We climbed out of the helo and onto the top of a six-hundred-foot building. Thanks to Molly’s aversion to transparent travel, we hadn’t seen the city as we flew in.

Standing atop one of the tallest buildings in Miami, wind whipped my hair as the structure swayed beneath us. Charles reached for my hand, squeezing my fingers hard enough to restrict blood flow. When I glanced over, his golden eyes were wide and his expression awestruck.

Scared? I called over the wind.

A little, he admitted, but his grin indicated that he was enjoying the adrenaline rush.

At one time, Miami had been a sprawling mecca of entertainment and business. Now, the city was much smaller, a fifty-foot fence encircled an area approximately three miles in diameter. From our vantage, I could see the land outside the fence. To the north, dilapidated buildings and ramshackle homes with cavernous holes in the ceilings, or wrecking-ball-sized craters in the siding made my stomach clench. To the west, burned-out black shells from the fire-sprayers used by insurgents during the Epic War. Nonetheless, desperate men, women, and children likely sought refuge in the ruins—for many, there was no other choice.

This is far worse than any of the other cities, Charles breathed, leaning down so his lips brushed my ear when he spoke.

A pleasant tingle spread across my cheek and down my neck, where his warm breath fanned over my skin. It’s one of the worst there is, here and Chicago, I told him.

Where Trista was, he mused.

I said nothing. In the weeks since our first run together as a quad, I hadn’t spoken much about Trista or all that had happened in