Capturing Today (TimeShifters Book 2) (14 page)

Darnell stands. “Everyone has nightmares and yours could be a reaction from getting awoken while under the sedation medication or you could be suffering from some shell shock. We need to be certain.”

Michael works his jaw back and forth.

Darnell zeroes in on me before leaving the room. “I’m going to write orders to keep him longer. Make sure he stays.”

“Traitor,” Michael grumbles, but the tilt of his lips lets me know he’s not upset. Something tight unknots in my chest, and I smile. I should have known he wouldn’t be angry. That’s not Michael’s style.

We pass the next half hour playing Crazy Eights with a deck of cards he found in the nightstand. The cards look like they’re from the seventies. We use the bottom half of his bed as a table, and he keeps adjusting how he’s sitting because he’s hunched over and it can’t be comfortable.

“All right.” He rubs his hands together. “One more game and I win the title.”

“Sure. You can be the craziest eight of them all. Quite an honor. I’ll make you a certificate.”

“Perfect. I’ll hang it on my wall.”

I stop shuffling the deck. “This is nice.”

“Being in the medical ward? I can think of better places.”

“No. The fact that we can be friends when we’re not in the middle of a mission. I always wondered.” I start to divide the deck, but his hand closes over the top of mine, preventing me.

Michael’s mouth is slightly parted as his eyes search mine. “Of course we can. Why would you think we can’t?”

“Michael. There you are.”

I look over my shoulder toward the doorway. There’s a young man entering—maybe sixteen—with sheepdog hair. He’s holding a long sword in his hand.

Instinctively I stand and put my arms out to shield Michael. Although last time I checked, being impenetrable to swords is not one of my talents. “Who are you, and why do you have that thing?” I use my chin to indicate the sword.

Michael’s hand lands on my shoulder. He squeezes lightly. “It’s fine. It’s Andy.”

Andy juts the sword toward Michael. “He’s my Trainer.”

“Your?” I look back and forth between the two of them. “Trainer?”

Michael grins.

“But you’re my Trainer?” Heat rushes to my face. Why did I say that out loud? And with a tone that made me sound like a toddler who doesn’t want to let go of her favorite toy?

Darnell clears his throat as he re-enters the room. “Learn to share, Gabby.”

For the record, I like philosopher Darnell better than comedic Darnell.

I face Michael who winks at me. Rat. “In that case, would you rather have Andy sit with you overnight? Seeing as you’re his Trainer too. I don’t want to monopolize.”

“No way. You’re prettier than Andy. No offense, Andy.”  

“None taken.” Andy shuffles forward, sword in hand. “I was hoping you could help me with the correct hold. ’Cause, man, I’m struggling.” This guy bumbling around with sharp objects is really making me nervous.

“Sure.” Michael slips off his bed and wheels the IV so he has a little more room. Then he holds out his hand. Andy passes the sword to him. “A katana. Nice.” He turns the blade over in his open hand. “So many Shifters don’t bother getting trained in Eastern swords, but they’re so much better than the bulky things used in Western fighting.”

I inch toward Darnell and keep my voice low. “Should he be doing that in his condition?”

Michael positions Andy so the younger man can copy his movements. “You can’t hold it like a baseball bat. Understood? Grip the tasuka—that’s the handle—right below the guard at a forty-five degree angle. Good. Grasp pretty firmly with your pinky and ring finger and then slightly looser with the others. Same with the rear hand, but space it as far away from the other on the tasuka as you can. Like this.” Michael demonstrates and then slices the air with enough force to make my breath catch.

Darnell leans his shoulder into the doorframe. “If by condition, you mean possible shell shock, then yes, it’s all right for him to do that.” He keeps his voice low so only I can hear. “We’re not dealing with post-traumatic stress here, this is different. The best treatment is rest—which we’re making sure he’s getting—and then returning him to familiar tasks in order to restore confidence.”

Michael holds the sword high and then does some fancy back and forth movements. “We’re trying to achieve a push and pull type motion, not swiping. That’s what usually trips people up. But a katana is a fast blade, and it’s really effective at cutting so be careful with it.”

“And sword fighting is a
familiar task
?” My voice rises in disbelief.

Lark slips in the doorway between me and Darnell. “Are you kidding? Michael’s the best swordsman in all of Keleusma.”

My eyes dart to Michael who holds the sword point down. “So I have a thing for swords. What little boy growing up didn’t? That hardly makes me the best.”

Darnell crosses his arms. “He’s the best. By far.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I don’t know when it started in the conversation, but I’m sweating. A lot. The heat on my arm almost burns.

“I guess it never came up.”

What else don’t I know about him? Shouldn’t best friends know that kind of thing?

Lark’s eyes go wide. “Your bracelet.”

It’s glowing.

Air starts to rush past my ears. Lark latches onto my arm with the strength of a vise.

The sword clatters to the ground. Michael lunges toward me, making the IV machine pitch to the side. He hisses, pain registering across his face. Darnell surges forward and grabs hold of Michael.

“Let go!” Michael struggles. “I’m supposed to stay with her. I have to—”

But whatever he says is cut off as Lark and I plunge into darkness.

Light rain spatters my face as we land on a sidewalk. It’s the annoying kind of rain that doesn’t soak but feels as if someone is standing in front of me spitting in my direction.

Buildings line the streets. Some are storefronts, and others are large warehouses wheezing smoke up into the air. A few old-fashioned cars rumble past us. They look exactly like the ones I first saw when I shifted with Michael to Wall Street. I know I’m in another time period—probably early nineteen hundreds, judging by the thin-wheeled cars—but a sensation of familiarity washes over me. Maybe that’s normal since I’ve actually started researching history. Wherever we are, perhaps I’ve read about it. Studied it even. Here’s hoping.

Lark lets go of my arm and glances around. “See anything out of the ordinary?”

I swat her. “Best swordsman in Keleusma. When were you guys going to tell me?”

“We all have things we’re the best at.”

“Maybe I should call him sensei from now on.” My lip twitches.

“Please do. Make sure I’m nearby. He’ll freak out and go into why that name shouldn’t be used because it’s a title of honor. Blah, blah, blah.” She uses her hand like a puppet at the end.

Groups of people rush past us. Many of the women are wearing simple shirtwaists tucked into long skirts. So we’re some time before pants were acceptable for ladies but after the ridiculous bustle phase in history.

Lark and I move out of the way of foot traffic, only to duck in order to avoid colliding with a woman’s large, white hat. Everyone who passes wears a suit or a dress. Not fancy, rich stuff—no jewelry. More like working class Sunday best. The sun is still low on the horizon. Where are they hustling to so early in the morning?

I drag Lark into a nearby alley. I know I should focus on why we shifted here, but I’m still absorbing the shock of seeing Michael bust out a sword. “Okay, in all seriousness though, I looked like an idiot back there. Is there anything else Michael’s considered amazing at that I should know about?”

Her eyes narrow. “Why does it matter so much?”

“Humor me.”

She bites her lip and looks up and to the left. “Relax. You wouldn’t have known about the swords because he had no reason to use them during your mission with Pinkerton. It would have seemed odd for him to wield a katana against someone, don’t you think? And I doubt a reason to talk about sword fighting presented itself.” She traces her finger down a crack in the wall. “But the others you should know by now if you’re the least bit observant.”

I level my best glare at her. “Did your father teach you the fine art of complimenting, because … wow.” At the end, I toss in an exaggerated eye roll so she understands I’m kidding.

She shakes her head but smiles. “Try.”

My mind goes blank. “I don’t know. He’s good with horse stuff?”

“See, you’re better at this than you thought. So there’s the swordsmanship, being a skilled rider, and you should know by now that he’s excellent with puzzles.” Lark ticks things off on her fingers. “He has more historical knowledge than anyone I know. And he has a pretty good grasp of medical stuff.”

I start feeling smaller and smaller as she rattles talents off. I scrub my hand across the back of my neck. “Oh. That’s all?”

“Well, there’s that insane capability for kindness.”

“Oh. Right. That.”

Lark paces to the opening of the alley. “And I don’t know. He probably has some others.”

My list? Fast runner. End of list.

Fear loosens my tongue. “I’m not good at anything.”

Lark swings back around, her head tilted, considering me. “Don’t say that. You’re good at lots of things.”

“I’m having a hard time thinking of what.”

“For starters, you’re selfless. And don’t say you’re not.” One of her eyebrows arches in challenge. “Your very first time shifting you risked your life for that little girl when you didn’t have to. And when I joined your mission during the Civil War, you stopped in the midst of rescuing Michael to save those runaway slaves.”

I lean against the building. From this angle, the rain can’t reach me, but it pools at our feet and causes a trail to wash into the street beyond the alley.

“But that’s normal stuff. Anyone would have done that.”

She shakes her head. Hard. “No. Not everyone. I wouldn’t have thought to do either of those things. I focus on my mission and only that. You doing that stuff had a huge impact on Michael. Since you shifted, he’s gone rogue on all his missions—helping anyone he comes in contact with instead of only the individual that comes to mind.”

I swallow hard and fidget with my bracelet. “He has?”

Lark steps closer. “He has.”

Michael started doing that because of me? My heart swells. While imagining him risking his safety even more than usual doesn’t sit well, the idea that Michael—the man who never fails a mission—would change because of how I do things, sends warmth radiating through my chest. There’s something that ties Michael and me together, isn’t there? Something beyond him being my Trainer. I care about him, probably more than anyone else in my life.

Does he feel the same way?

Lark puts her hands on her hips. I’ve been silent too long.

I shake Michael out of my mind. Focus. “Sorry. I got sidetracked.”

“You know, that’s the main issue standing in your way.”

“Getting sidetracked?”

“No. Doubting who you were born to be.” She holds up a finger. “There is only one Gabriella Creed. Only one person can do in this world what you’re supposed to do. Don’t minimize that.”

Lark is kind too. In a different way than Michael but still kind. I want to be like her, like Darnell and Eugene, and yes, like Michael too. How are they able to say exactly the right words at the right time? They pay attention. It’s as simple as that. If I want to acquire the superpower of kind words they all have, I need to be more aware of those around me. Instead of concentrating on my own struggles all the time, I have to learn to see theirs. 

And I can start with Lark.

I stare down at my fingers, working them together. Why are words—meaningful ones—so difficult sometimes? “You and me, we’re friends, right?
Real
friends?” Eddie told me Lark considered me her friend, but doubt nips at my ankles.

“Gabby.” The way she says my name makes me look up at her. “You’re the only female friend I’ve ever had in my life. Even before I started shifting, I just couldn’t ever … connect.” She looks to the side, focusing on a black stain that runs down the side of the bricked wall. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m too prickly. Or too—”

“You’re too nothing. Got that?” I clench my fists, wishing to wage war on all the snobby little girls who must have hurt Lark when she was a kid. “It’s because you’re gorgeous and confident and sometimes pretty fierce—in a completely awesome way of course.” Well, moving forward hopefully I’ll get better at imparting the right words. “Those other girls were insecure and intimidated. That’s their issue. Their failing.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “Thank you. Really. It means a lot.” She rubs her hands over her arms.

Hug her.
I lean forward then step back again.No. That would cause an awkward moment. Wouldn’t it? Sure, I’ve hugged Michael before, but I think every single time he’s been the one to lean in or make a move first. So it works then. But when it depends on me? Yeah, I’m like the fumbling kid on the peewee football team who is always a play behind or running the ball the wrong way.

Now I’m thinking too much. Time has passed, and it would definitely be awkward to give her a hug. Even if she looks like she could use one. Maybe later, sometime in the next few weeks or months or years of our friendship, I’ll be able to be there for her in the way she needs.