Extracted, p.3
Extracted, page 3
Stein blows me a kiss from her perch. I pretend to grab it out of the air and stuff it in my pocket near a handful of bottle caps. Some couples snuggle or hold hands and take long walks. Not us. This is how we dance.
A cloud of dust rises from the couch as Stein lunges off the edge and runs at me. I swing the axe, knowing it won’t connect. She drops to her knees at the last second and uses a worn Oriental rug to slide past me, the blade narrowly missing the top of her head. On her knees, she punches me in the side of the leg, knocking me off-balance just long enough for her to tuck and roll away.
The crowd stamps its boots to the beat. Some of the kids are slapping their knees and singing along. Somewhere behind me is a shrill whistle, the release of steam pressure from a prosthetic appendage.
“How did that redhead at the Fair ever get a piece of you?” I ask as we begin to exchange blows.
“Please. That chick had zero skills. She just got lucky.”
“I wish I could get that lucky with you sometimes,” I grumble.
That pulls Stein to a stop, and I’m able to kick her in the stomach and send her tumbling backward. For a split second, I’m afraid I might have really hurt her. But when she looks up at me, she’s all smiles. “Is that so?”
Now I stop. “That’s not quite what I meant.”
“Oh, I know what you meant.” She lunges again and kicks the axe out of my hands. It lands with a clang and skids across the floor. “You know, you’re lucky Nobel shoved that spare Contra down your throat, or you never would have made it back to the Tower.”
“Your point is…?”
“My point is, be more careful, or next time I’ll kill you myself.”
I look around at my friends. They’re all cheering, and all eyes are on us. I love this moment.
“Aww, shucks. You really do care.”
Stein turns her back to me, wraps her arm around the long, golden rope attached to the drapes, and uses it to climb her way up the window covering until she is balancing on a thick ledge of crown molding above the main window.
“What are you planning to do from way up there?” I call, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice. “You getting tired already?”
“You wish. I’m just giving you a breather. I’m not even breaking a sweat here.”
“You don’t sweat.”
She laughs, and the sound is smooth and deep, like honey. “True. I glisten. You on the other hand, you look a bit peaked. You sure you aren’t going to pass out again?”
I sigh. “I’m never living that down, am I?”
She makes a face like she’s thinking about it, then brushes her dark hair out of her eyes and winks at me.
I reach over to retrieve the axe and pitch it toward the plaster ceiling above her. A light dusting of white powder rains down on her, making her cough and release one hand from the rod to cover her mouth. I yank the curtain and she falls, landing right in my arms. I’ve almost forgotten the crowd is there until they start cheering and clapping again.
“Nice catch,” she whispers, her face so close to mine I’m sure no one else can hear. I relish in the moment even though we have an audience. She gently touches the scarred sides of my face and neck.
Her fingers take me back to the first time I lay in Stein’s lap and let her give me my first rifting tattoo. We all get chevrons for each mission. Most of us put them down our spine, but Stein convinced me to tattoo my scar—to change it—so that it looks like a hand made out of smoke. Its inky fingers crawl up along my jawline, as if cradling the side of my face. It’s a piece of her that’s always holding on to a piece of me.
I lower my face to hers, and we touch noses. But when I tilt my head to steal a kiss, she wriggles free and runs into the crowd. Soon enough, she emerges from our cheering fans, wielding a blunt-edged broadsword.
“No fair,” I grumble. Something hits me in the foot. I look down to see that someone has slid me a flail. Standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding the sword like a cane, Stein grins. Behind her, the crowd thrusts fistfuls of money into the air as Nobel scrambles to collect the bets.
“Five to one on Stein,” he shouts, winking at me over his shoulder.
Stein lunges, slicing wildly at me. She’s not used to fighting with such a heavy weapon, and the weight of it is throwing her off-balance. I take advantage and press forward. She holds the sword like a baseball player, and I manage to wrap the ball and chain around the blade. Both flail and sword fall to the floor.
“No cheating!” she yells, backing up slowly.
“If you aren’t cheating, you aren’t trying,” I say.
Stein backs away, and another weapon slides from the crowd of Hollows in her direction. She picks up the sickle. In her head to toe black, I can’t help but think, if that’s what death looks like, he can take me now.
“Guys! Quit being so helpful, okay?” she says with a grin as she takes a step forward.
I expect her to force the advantage, but instead she blows past me and runs down the stairs toward Nobel’s workshop.
“Oh man. I hope you don’t have anything important in there.” The last time we sparred in the lab we almost destroyed a cabinet full of rifting tech. I cringe at the memory of the three-day clean-up duty.
A look of near panic crosses Nobel’s face and he jerks his head. “Go get her.”
I chase her, grabbing two sai from the crowd like a marathon runner grabbing a baton.
“Really, guys?” I say, blowing past them. “Sai against a sickle? Thanks.”
The stairwell is narrow, steep, and empty all the way down. I look back as our audience begins pressing itself into the stairwell.
Slowly slinking down the spiral stairway, I take one step at a time with my back to the outer wall. Stein likes to scale things, so I scan the rafters as I go. Walking down these steps is like entering a tomb that’s been sealed for thousands of years. Why Nobel keeps his lab down here is beyond me.
“Stein, where are you?” I call out.
I kick a small rock down the stairs to see if I can draw her out. No luck. I hold the sai out in a defensive position and keep descending.
Once I clear the stairs, I enter the short hallway that leads to Nobel’s lab. Fortunately, he leaves a light on outside the doorway. With a quick hand in the air, I stop the crowd following behind me. A soft chorus of disappointed groans follows me as I inch forward.
“Stein?”
I creep along the hallway expecting Stein to drop down on me any minute. There’s no place to hide in the hallway except the rafters. I reach the end, where Nobel’s lab door is normally locked. It’s made out of ornate wood, with a brass owl perched on the top of the door’s molding. The door is ajar. I give it a gentle push and carefully step inside. The room is mostly dark, the only glow coming from a Bunsen burner on the corner table. The dark-blue bubbling liquid suspended above it stinks of rotten eggs. Not exactly romantic candlelight, but it’ll do.
“Stein? You can’t hide from me forever, you know.”
“I’m not hiding,” she says. I follow the sound of her voice to a large cabinet full of chemistry glassware in the corner of the room. Just as I fling the doors open, rattling the jars, I hear her add, “I just wanted to get you away from the crowd, so I could do this—”
Too late, I see that she’s crouching on top of the cabinet. She drops, taking me by surprise as she knocks me to the ground and pins me to the floor. The sickle is gone, but she’s pressing her forearm into my throat. Just when I think I’m going to have to tap out, she leans forward and kisses me. Relaxing, I let the sai drop to the floor and wrap my arms around her. She smells like cotton and grease and metal, and even though we’ve been sparring, her bare skin is cool to the touch. When she pulls away, I sigh.
“Do you submit?” Stein asks with a huge grin.
“Um, no,” I say and rear up, flipping us over so she’s pinned beneath me. After a short struggle, I have both of her hands pinned over her head. As strong as she is, my weight is too much for her. Leaning forward, I press a kiss to the hollow of her neck. “You give?”
“Never,” she says, squirming. I bring one hand down and hold her by the neck. She squeezes her eyes closed, her body tensing beneath me. It only takes me a second to realize something is wrong and withdraw my hand.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, rocking back on my feet so I’m perched over her legs but no longer touching her.
She shakes her head and blows out a long breath. Slowly, she rises up so she’s on her elbows, half-sitting.
“Stein? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
I stroke her hair and tuck the strands behind her ear. “You’re lying.”
She finally reopens her eyes. “No really, I’m okay. Just forgot how to breathe for a second. What can I say? You have that effect on me.”
I notice that her shirt has crept up enough to reveal the small, sun-shaped birthmark around her belly button. I trace it with my finger. It’s perfectly symmetrical, and it’s only a few shades pinker than her skin. I know how she wonders about that mark—where it came from, what it means. We’re both only half of a timeline, our pasts missing.
“You know you can tell me anything,” I say gently, looking her in the eye as I tug the lace of her shirt back down over the mark.
Sitting up the rest of the way, she looks away from me. I reach out and take hold of her chin, turning her face back to mine.
“I mean it, Stein.”
At first I think she’s going to say something, but the mask of fierceness returns, and she throws me off instead. For a second, I’m lying on my back, stunned. Then I look up and see faces watching us from the doorway.
“Looks like my adoring fans have found us.” I snicker and roll to my feet.
I look back at Stein. She pulls her hair into a ponytail using some surgical tubing she found on a lab bench, and her expression is sour. I can’t blame her. We get so little time to ourselves here. But that’s what happens when the two strongest Rifters get together. We tend to draw a crowd. Normally, it’s fun. But I would have liked a few more minutes alone with her.
Stein drops her hands to her sides and takes a step toward me. “Yeah, well, your adoring fans can kiss my—”
She kicks me, and I fly out the door into the short hallway. My face stings from hitting the ground and my fingers come away bloody.
A mix of cheers and taunts ring out above me as I roll over and look up at the water-stained ceiling. Nobel leans over me, the goggles over his eyes making him look even more manic and bug-like than usual.
“Thanks for keeping the damage to a minimum this time,” he says. He offers me a hand up, which I gratefully accept. “Oh, by the way, Gloves wants to see you.”
I look around as the crowd disperses, but Stein is nowhere to be seen. “Where’d Stein go?”
Nobel points into the crowd at the bottom of the stairs. “I think she went that way.”
The crowd parts, and she looks over her shoulder.
“So I guess we’ll finish this later?” I say as I walk up to her.
She smiles, and it’s satisfied, but not happy. “First blood wins, Lex.” She takes her free hand and rubs her thumb over my top lip, holding it up so I can see the blood.
I can’t help grinning. “Can you keep a secret?”
Stein frowns and slips a finger into my belt loop. “I suppose.”
“I like it when you win.”
* * *
The hallway to Gloves’s office always smells like beef stew or some other thick, spicy meal. The kitchen is just at the other end of the hall, and I’m sorely tempted to keep walking. An ache in my stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten yet today. I take a deep whiff of it and instantly I’m almost drooling.
Only Stein pulling me to a stop outside the gloomy office keeps me from walking past.
“Come in,” Gloves says after Stein’s knock. A rush of hot steam and smoke billows out the door into the hall, overtaking the other, more pleasant smells.
“I always feel like we’re walking around in a smoker’s lung,” Stein says, motioning for me to go in first.
Gloves’s office is filled floor to ceiling with toy trains that run off of coal. There are stacks of black rock scattered around, and it just happens to be Gloves’s favorite interior design element.
“Sir?” I call out to get his attention. It’s almost impossible to see anything other than the smoke. Beside me, Stein coughs and pulls her shirt over her nose and mouth.
“I’m here,” Gloves says. “Follow the red locomotive.”
Taking Stein’s hand, I lead her through the maze of coal piles behind the red toy train. When we complete our journey through the “Land of the Locomotives,” Gloves is in the back of the room, polishing one of his toy engines.
“I need you to go to the Amber Room again,” Gloves says matter-of-factly, rolling his wheelchair closer to where we are standing.
“Why?” Stein demands. The Amber Room isn’t her favorite place. Actually, though she’d probably never admit it, the place creeps her out. The Amber Room is a chunk of eighteenth-century Russian royal palace. It’s beautiful, all covered in gold leafing and mirrors. But every time we go there for something, she gets tense and jumpy. I’m not sure even she knows why. When I ask, she waves it off, but I can see the change in her expression. How she clenches her teeth and cracks her knuckles just talking about it. Her annoyance radiates off her like heat waves.
“This time you need to retrieve the hairbrush from the vanity in the northeast corner.”
I can see Stein is about to protest, but I interrupt her. “Sir? With all due respect, this is our third trip to the Amber Room. Even if we manage not to overlap ourselves, the stream around it is already weak. Is it worth the risk?”
He glares at me. His normally white muttonchops are black with soot and his face is etched with grime. I fold my arms over my chest. It’s a valid question. Risking a paradox by going back to a place and time we’ve already been is just stupid. All it takes is one touch, one second of physical contact, to unravel the time stream. Granted, there are precautions we can take to prevent it, but it’s a bit like Russian roulette. Eventually, someone’s going to bite the bullet.
“If you must know,” Gloves says, “we’ve stolen it.”
It takes me a second to process that. I look at Stein. Her face is neutral though her voice is edged with disbelief.
“What do you mean, you stole it? You stole a whole room?”
Gloves nods.
I hold up a hand. “Wait a second. Why steal the whole room? Why not just take whatever you wanted to begin with?”
Gloves sighs. Turning his back to us, he picks up an old pocket watch and begins dismantling it as he speaks. “It’s a very long story. Suffice it to say that there is an object inside that Tesla wants. And he wants it so badly that Helena—the woman who discovered the object—stole it from Tesla, and hid it somewhere inside. The problem is that she was never able to tell us what it was or where in the room she hid it. But make no mistake, whatever it is, it’s dangerous. That’s why we stole the Amber Room and hid it in time so Tesla will never find it. We are taking it apart piece by piece to find what we are looking for, testing everything as we go.”
“Why not just take a big group and clear the whole room?” I ask.
Pocket watch innards fly through the air as he jams the screwdriver in too far. “The time bubble holding it is fragile. Too many Rifters coming through at once might damage it. Stewart Stills created it, much like the bubble that surrounds the Hollow Tower now, but because it exists out of its original time, it must be explored carefully.”
Stein cocks her head to the side. “Why don’t you just ask Helena about it?”
Gloves slams his fists into the workbench, sending tools and tiny pieces of trains flying. I’m so caught off-guard by his response that I take an involuntary step back. I don’t think I’ve seen Gloves lose his temper. Ever.
“Because she’s dead,” he says through clenched teeth. “And traveling back into her timeline isn’t an option.” Dropping the remnants of the watch, he turns back to us. “Do you really think you’re the first team we’ve sent in there? We’ve all done missions to the Amber Room. Some of us more than once. We stagger the rifts out as much as possible, but our repeated visits are weakening the time bubble Stills placed it in. It’s collapsing. Our time to find the object is running out.”
He lowers his head, glaring at us, daring us to defy him.
It’s all I can do not to cough my response. “Yes, sir.”
“Have you had the beef stew?” Gloves asks out of nowhere. Gloves is always distracted with weird stuff like that. It’s one of the reasons we aren’t supposed to have sugary sweets in the Tower. He says it rots our minds and bodies, makes us lose focus. We have a running bet that he knows firsthand.
I shake my head.
“Not yet, sir,” Stein says. She looks at me with a worried look.
I shrug my shoulders.
“You need to go eat,” Gloves says. “But let me make your Contra before you go.”
He putts over to a fish tank that is illuminated by a wall of small, cast-iron furnaces. Snails with geared shells hold tightly to the inner wall. He reaches over the side of the reservoir like a kid reaching into a cookie jar and pulls four snails from their home, bringing them over to us. Twisting the gears on the shell, he removes the slimy bodies and tosses the slick creatures back into the tank.
“I’ve never seen him actually make the Contra,” Stein whispers out the side of her mouth while watching him intently.
“The time stream is a very unique organism. Every time that exists in the past, present, and future, and every event in it, has a unique frequency.” One by one he cracks open the geared-shells until he holds four pieces in his hand.
“These snails are a very unique hybrid of mollusk, part invertebrate, part machine,” Gloves explains. “They secrete a neural stimulant that attaches to basal ganglia at the base of the brain. This neural stimulant is what fires a specific neural pathway in your brain that resonates at the same frequency to the specific time you are traveling to.”
