Capturing Today (TimeShifters Book 2) (7 page)

He drops his head into his hands. “I don’t know why I’m here. Usually I know—I sense. But I don’t.” He fists his hands into his hair and pulls. Hard. “And I can’t help them. Not really.”

My stomach clenches. I want to do something to take Michael’s pain away. But I can’t. There’s nothing I can do to make what he’s experienced better.

“You helped Samuel yesterday.”

He tips his head to make eye contact again. His eyebrows gather together. “He’s dead.”

“He could have known incredible pain at the end. You saved him from that.”

Michael laughs once, but it holds no humor. “Yeah. By cheating.” He rests his elbow on his knee and then jams his thumb and pointer finger over his eyes. “But I can’t find it within me to feel bad about that. I only use Keleusma stuff if someone is passed out and it’s life or death—Samuel was different. He saved me when I first shifted. I owed him a peaceful last minute.” He sighs. “No. I owed him better than that.”

What can I say?

Nothing.

Michael deserves better than a
there-there
pat on the shoulder. I won’t cheapen whatever pain he’s sorting through by telling him he shouldn’t feel that way. Silence is the best gift I have.

Besides, even if I could find the perfect words, I wouldn’t be able to get them out of my mouth. Samuel saved Michael when he first shifted. What exactly does that mean? A wave of nausea ripples through me. If Michael had … if something happened to him when I wasn’t around, how would I know? I wouldn’t. He’d just be gone. Forever.

Nicholas is cruel. I press my teeth together so hard it hurts.

“Gabby?” His voice sounds different, like a kid asking his parent for something they might not grant.

“Yes?”

Michael shuffles his feet, puts his elbows on his knees, places his palms together, and stares at the ground. “It’s been so long. Why?” He hooks a hand on the back of his neck but keeps his eyes down. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

Because I must have T’ed off Nicholas and he doesn’t want me. “Are you kidding me?”

 “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” He lets out a long stream of air. “I had hoped.” He shrugs.

“I would have.”

He’s on his feet—one fist clenched—so quickly I’m afraid he might fall. “There’s a Portal
right
by your house.”

“No there isn’t.”

“There is. I know there is. That’s how I went back to Keleusma last time. You could have … I thought. If you really wanted to see … to come back, you would have tried to look.” He bats his hand like he’s shooing a bug. “Forget it. We’re wasting time.”

“No. Let’s not forget it.” My stride eats up the distance between us. “I looked, Michael. Every day for the past eight months, I looked for Portals.”

His eyes narrow. “It’s literally less than a block from your house.”

How did I miss one that near? Am I so inept at even basic shifting practices? All the research in the world means very little if I can’t locate a Portal.

“I tried. I promise. I tried to get back to you—” My voice catches. “To Keleusma.”

“We need to go.”

After selecting a few items from the trunk, Michael puts them in a small pack strapped near his hip and ushers me out of the tent. Tension stacks between us as we walk. We’re an arm’s length apart, close enough to grab if one of us starts to shift, but we might as well be in different times.

The solider with missing fingers flags us down. “Pace. I’ve been searching for you all morning. But I understand you were probably busy.” He passes a sly glance my way.

I snort. Super ladylike.

Michael glares at him.

The man’s grin falls. “They’re expecting you at the front. There’s a group of men who have trench foot real bad. They won’t make it here on their own power, and we can’t spare the stretchers.”

Michael stops walking and turns to me. “You shouldn’t come.”

Casually, I tap my shifting bracelet.

He groans. “Right.” Then starts walking again, leaving me and the soldier staring at each other.

I catch up to him quickly.

The muscle in his jaw flexes. “The front lines are bad.”

“You said that.”

“I don’t think you understand, though.”

“I’m guessing I will in a few minutes.”

He shakes his head and mutters, “Stick close.”

It’s a long walk to the trenches, but when we get there, the shock of reality dissipates my anger. Trenches, at least twelve feet deep, zigzag across the ground like angry fault lines as far as I can see in either direction. Moldy sandbags cushion the top, followed immediately by piles of barbed wire.

From my research, I know the area in between the fighting is called No Man’s Land. However, now that I’m here, the name makes no sense. How can anyone call a place No Man’s Land when the rotting bodies of men fill it? Their bones are crushed, their flesh twisted like shish kabobs in the barbed wire. Their blood flung like splatters of paint across the barren field.

The bodies of heroes no one will ever know.

Michael offers his hand to help me down the steps that lead into the nearest trench. He has to feel my arm trembling. Catching my eye, he gives my hand a squeeze and then pulls me within a few inches of his face. “I’m sorry you had to come here. If there was another way …”

“There’s not.”

The pressure of his fingers on my hand tightens. “We should have grabbed you a mask. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. We’ll get you one.” He tugs me along beside him.

The trench is wider than what I’ve pictured. We can walk side-by-side without an issue. Wooden planks line the bottom, but they don’t seem to be doing much good because water pools above most of them. Each step elicits a squashing sound. A rat with dirt-matted hair scampers between us, and I choke back a scream. None of the men we pass seem bothered by the furry visitor.

Michael locates a pile of equipment. “They pull whatever they can off the dead.” He hands me a face mask. “If something should happen, put this on before helping anyone. I’m not kidding. Seconds of the gas can burn your lungs, and even Darnell can’t cure that.”

A line of soldiers wait to have their feet checked. The first one removes his boots. Half of his foot is black. I gag and turn away.

Get it together. I press my palms into my temples.

Perhaps Nicholas hasn’t sent me anywhere because I can’t handle this stuff. Michael is talking softly to the man, giving him instructions, touching his dying skin. He hands him a dry pair of socks from the pack on his hip.

It’s then I notice a man a few feet away from me. Staring. He squints at me and then glances at my midsection where I wring my hands together. Squints again.

In a childish attempt to hide myself, I wrap my arms around my middle.

He hops to the nearest wooden plank. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

I step back but run into a mud wall. “If you want your feet checked, you have to get in line.”

He leans toward me, his eyes going to my wrist. “You’re a Shifter,” he whispers. “Aren’t you?”

How does he know? My heart stops. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The guy laughs. “You’re wearing all black, and I know you aren’t a nurse.”

I sneak a glance Michael’s way, but he’s completely focused on examining the next soldier in line.

I lift my chin. “Are you a Shade?”

“Ach.” He grimaces. “Those buggers? No. I’m a Pairing, so I can see you.”

“Oh.” That’s new.

Now that I know he’s not a creeper, I look him over. Despite the mud caked to his uniform, he’s handsome, in a Hallmark movie, pretty-boy-next-door kind of way.

He cocks his head. “Are you Gabby?”

I don’t even try to hold in my gasp.

“Sorry. That was rude. I should introduce myself.” He lays a hand on his chest. “I’m Eddie.” He unbuttons the pocket near his heart, gently pulls out a bent photograph, and hands it to me.

Draped in pearls, Lark looks like she walked off the set of the movie
Titanic
. Her hair is pinned back in an elaborate way, complete with a large hat.

 Eddie puts the picture back in his pocket. “Lark described you so well. I saw your bracelet and knew who you were straight away. I said to myself, there is Gabby.” He flashes a perfect set of white teeth at me. They stand out because everything around us is so dirty.

“You’re Lark’s Eddie?” I realize that was already established. Give a girl a minute to absorb some shock.

“I’m the lucky man.” And he means it.

“Lark talks about me?”

“Often. She considers you one of her closest friends.”

“Ah. I see you share her humor.”

“I’m in earnest.” Eddie’s eyes go wide. “I promise you that. You see, everyone in your place, especially the other ladies, are intimidated and tend to shy away from her. Which is unfortunate because she’s a wonderful person. I think it’s because of her father’s position. Too bad, there. But Lark said you’ve never acted in that manner. You were always up front with her. She values that.”

“Good to know. How is our Lark?”

Eddie beams. “Wonderful, I do believe. We’re planning our wedding for summer. As long as this war ends.”

“Wedding? But you’re both so young.”

“I love her. I want to be her husband. What do I gain from waiting any longer?”

My breath catches. Eddie speaks with such certainty. I wish I felt that sure about anything.

“I wonder.” He fiddles with the strap of his helmet. “Are you here to win the war for us?”

“You’ll do that on your own.”

“Ah, so are you here about all that trouble they’re having in the shifting world?”

“Troub—”

Michael comes barreling toward me as men start yelling. “Get down, Gabby. Down!” He yanks me toward the ground and throws himself on top of me. Mud shoots between my fingers and peppers my face. Men run past us to get into position.

“They’re coming across the field.” Even though Michael’s lips are right against my ear, it’s hard to hear him.

Near us, Eddie climbs into position behind a large gun mounted somehow to the sandbags. Hands trembling, he pulls the trigger, sending a rain of metal to cleave into the skin of people not unlike ourselves. Bullets that will rip into their warm flesh and lodge in their bones, making them crack like china plates against concrete.

My muscles burn to run. I start to get up, but Michael pulls me down again. I’m shivering as he turns me to face him.

He clamps onto my upper arms. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t do this. I have to get away. I shouldn’t be here.” I know I’m talking nonsense, but I can’t seem to help it.

“Look at me.” He tightens his hold on my arms until I lock my gaze with his. “Keep looking at me. Don’t focus on anything else.”

“I hate this,” I whisper.

“I do too.” His eyes blaze with something that I can’t put my finger on. I have a strange desire to lean in and kiss him. Which is ridiculous. I have Pairing drama that I still need to deal with. And—right—we’re in the middle of a war. 

“Mortar fire.” Voices reverberate through the trench.

A screech precedes the explosion. The earth seems to rock. I’m flat against the ground again, pinned under both Michael and Eddie who have joined together to form a human shield over me. I don’t remember Eddie jumping down from his post, but he’s there. Dirt and sand pelt us, stinging exposed flesh. Men scream and curse. Return fire begins. Someone jumps over us. 

I shove Michael and Eddie off of me. Then smack them both in the chest. Men and their ridiculous hero complexes. They should have taken cover. “You could have been hurt. Next time—”

But the blood all over Michael’s right side stops my words.

In theory, I know there’s noise all around us. Gunfire. Men shouting in pain. Commanding officers barking orders. Soldiers loading cannons—or whatever it is they’re called in this war. Men running down the trench, their boots squishing in putrid mud with each footfall.

I hear nothing.

“Gabby.” Michael shakes my shoulders. “Snap out of it.”

Everything moves in slow motion. I know that’s not true, but that’s how it feels. Despite an explosion down the trench that makes us rock to the left, I stare at Michael like he’s the only person alive.

How is he talking right now? With that much blood loss, he has to be in pain. I reach a trembling hand to his arm and touch the warm, slick blood soaking his shirt. It stretches from the side of his ribcage up onto his neck. Where is he hit? I swallow hard. Why isn’t he screaming?

This can’t be happening. Not again. But the blood says differently. He took the brunt of pain for me like when he tossed himself between me and a bomb on Wall Street. The first explosion left him with a huge scar on his back. A reminder of what I cost him.

Now this.

He’s yelling now. My name. Over and over again. His face a breath away.

Snap out of it. He needs my help. If he’s hurt, I need to get him to safety. To Keleusma. To Darnell.

Please let him live.

“Come on.” He leans even closer. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Blood.” I hold up my hand.

His eyes rake down me then back up. “Where? Where are you hurt?” He’s yelling, bent close to one of my ears in order for me to hear him.