“Let him have it,” J.C. said.
“It? What it are you speaking of?” Arnaud spoke with a smooth French accent, like butter melting over a browned game hen.
“You know,” J.C said. “The things you said about us?”
Arnaud adjusted his spectacles. “Well, um, you see, in quantum physics we talk about possibilities. One interpretation says that dimensions are infinite, and everything that can happen, has happened. It seems to follow if this is true, then each of us aspects somewhere has existed in some dimension or realm of possibility as a real person. A curious thought, would you not agree, Étienne?”
“Curious indeed,” I said. “It—”
“So I’m real,” J.C. interjected. “The smart guy just said it.”
“No, no,” Arnaud said. “I merely indicated that it is likely that somewhere, in another place and time, there really is a person who matches—”
J.C. shoved him aside and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, turning me away from Arnaud. “I’ve got it figured out, Skinny. We’re all from this other place, see. And when you need some help, you reach out and snatch us. You’re some kind of physics wizard.”
“A . . . physics wizard?”
“Yup. And I’m no Navy SEAL. I’ve just got to accept that.” He paused. “I’m an Interdimensional Time Ranger.”
I looked at him, grinning.
But he was dead serious.
“J.C.,” I said. “That’s as ridiculous as Owen’s ghost theory.”
“No it’s not,” J.C. said, stubborn. “Look, back in that Jerusalem mission. What happened there at the end?”
I hesitated. I had been surrounded, hands shaking, holding a gun I barely knew how to use. In that moment, J.C. had taken hold of my arm and directed it, causing me to fire my gun in the precise pattern needed to bring down every enemy.
“I learn quickly,” I said. “Physics, math, languages . . . I just need to spend a short time studying, and I can become an expert—via an aspect. Maybe gunplay isn’t different. I studied it, fired a few times at the range, and became an expert. But this skill is different—you can’t help me by talking—so I couldn’t use you properly until I imagined you guiding me. It’s not so different from what Kalyani does in guiding me through a conversation in another language.”
“You’re stretching,” J.C. said. “Why hasn’t this worked for any other skill you’ve tried?”
I didn’t know.
“I’m a Time Ranger,” J.C. said stubbornly.
“If that were true—which it’s not—wouldn’t you be angry at me for grabbing you from your other life and trapping your quantum ghost here?”
“Nah,” J.C. said. “It’s what I signed up for. The creed of the Time Ranger. We have to protect the universe, and for now that means protecting you as best I can.”
“Oh, for the love of—”
“Hey,” J.C. interrupted. “Aren’t we tight for time? You should be moving.”
“We can’t do much until morning arrives,” I said, but allowed myself to be moved on from the topic. I waved Tobias over. “Keep everyone working. I’m going to go take a shower and do some reading. After that, we’re hitting the field.”
“Will do,” Tobias said. “And the field team is?”
“Standard,” I said. “You, Ivy, J.C., and . . .” I looked through the room. “And we’ll see who else.”
Tobias gave me a curious look.
“Have the team meet me in the garage, ready to go, at seven thirty.”
9
I turned the cryptography book to text-to-voice, cranked the volume, and set it to 5x speed. The following shower was long and refreshing. I didn’t think about the problem—I just learned.
When I stepped into my bedroom in my bathrobe, I found that Wilson had set out breakfast for me, along with a tall glass of lemonade. I sent him a text, asking him to have the driver prep the SUV—much less conspicuous than taking the limo—for a seven-thirty departure.
I finished the book while eating, then made a call to Elsie, my contact in Homeland Security. I woke her up, unfortunately, but she was still willing to check on the matter for me. I put in a call to the coroner’s office—got the voicemail, but left a message for Liza—and as I was finishing, got a text back from Elsie. I3 was indeed under lockdown, with the CDC investigating and the FBI involved.
I strode into the garage a short time later, dressed and somewhat refreshed, right on time for our departure. There I found Wilson himself—square faced, bifocaled, and graying on top—flicking a speck of something off a chauffeur’s cap, which he proceeded to put on his head.
“Wait,” I said. “Isn’t Thomas supposed to be in this morning?”
“Unfortunately,” Wilson said, “he is not coming to work today. Or ever, apparently, as per his message this morning.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “What happened?”
“You do not recall explaining to him that you were a Satanist, Master Leeds?”
“Two percent Satanist,” I said. “And Xavier is very progressive for a devil-worshiper. He’s never made me sacrifice anything other than imaginary chickens.”
“Yes, well . . .”
I sighed. Another servant lost. “We can call in a driver for the day. We had a long night last night. You don’t need to do work this early.”
“I don’t mind,” Wilson said. “Somebody needs to look out for you, Master Leeds. Did you sleep at all?”
“Uh . . .”
“I see. And did you happen to eat anything at dinner last night before you ended up in the tabloids?”
“The story is out already, is it?”
“Written up in the Mag and posted on Squawker this morning—along with an exposé by Miss Bianca herself. You skipped dinner, and you skipped lunch yesterday as well, insisting that you didn’t want to spoil your appetite for the date.”
More like didn’t want to throw up from nervousness. “No wonder that breakfast tasted so good.” I reached for the door handle to the SUV.
Wilson rested his hand on my arm. “Do not become so preoccupied with saving the world, Master Leeds, that you forget to take care of yourself.” He patted my arm, then climbed into the driver’s seat.
My team waited inside, all but Audrey, who burst into the garage wearing a sweater and a scarf. No other aspect had appeared upon my reading the book; Audrey had gained the knowledge, as she’d expected. I was glad—each new aspect put a strain on me, and I’d rather have old ones learn new things. Though, having Audrey along on the mission could be its own special brand of difficult.