Mirrored Time (A Time Archivist Novel Book 1) Read online

  MIRRORED TIME

  J.D. FAULKNER

  www.timearchivistnovels.com

  G-

  Every day is a wish you were still here.

  “Thus, we must ask ourselves: Is the power of destiny too great? Even Pandora, with the gods’ warnings ringing in her ears, was unable to fight against her fate.”

  The Cursed Scribe, Identity Omitted

  2503 C.E.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  WORLDWISEWRITERS GROUP

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE CRACKED FLUORESCENT PANEL on the ceiling buzzed, flickering to darkness for a brief second before flaring back to life with a loud crack. Standing outside the dingy office, a newspaper advertisement clutched in her hand, Gwen Conway wondered what she was doing. Here she was, answering some vague classified with the desperate hope it would lead to a job. A glorified secretarial job. I wonder if I’ll get to fetch coffee too. Oh, lucky day.

  The hallway itself did little to settle her nerves. The stained linoleum flooring and the bad lighting brought to mind too many horror movies to count. Standing there was creepy enough. Working there? Imagine how charming it would be at night. She read the lettering on the glass-paned door. Alistair Fletcher, Legal Files Specialist and … something. The rest was too faded to make out. Although curious about the full title, she was content with the use of the word ‘legal.’ Not her dream job by any stretch of the imagination, but it was good enough.

  Running a hand over her chestnut hair, she hoped it wasn’t a frizzy mess from the rain. It was hard to act the functioning adult when her hair was snarled as if she’d been dragged backward through a hedge. With a sigh, she practiced a smile. No one was going to hire her if she walked around like a kid who dropped her ice cream cone. Great, now I’m depressed and craving ice cream.

  She knocked. Here we go.

  The office was bigger than it looked from the outside, and after the dim light of the hallway, it was brighter too. Her attention was focused on the solitary figure standing in front of a large desk. At her approach, the man offered his hand for her to shake.

  “Miss Conway, I presume?” His voice carried a distant hint of rolling green hills and waves on a rocky shore.

  Alistair Fletcher wasn’t what she imagined at all. She was expecting an academic eccentric: a smart, but odd man; thinning white hair, stooped shoulders, and owlish eyes hidden behind thick-framed glasses—a grandfatherly type. Who else would be banished to this forgotten basement corridor?

  Instead, Mr. Fletcher was tall, and while somewhere on the far side of middle age, he hadn’t let himself diminish with time. His thick, silver hair was combed back from a high forehead, and his jaw was covered with a neat beard. She didn’t realize she was staring until his eyebrow arched over his steel gray eye.

  “That’s me.” Gwen blushed. “Mr. Fletcher?” Her voice cracked, disbelief coloring her words. She was expecting a little old man. Not someone who was … kind of attractive. Her cheeks burned hotter.

  “Yes.” The one word contained the hint of a smile. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the office?”

  “Not at all.” Her gaze bounced around the room trying to find a safe place to land. Biting her lip, in a gesture carried over from childhood, she dragged her gaze back to the man’s face. Gwen wanted to blame her nerves on the rudeness of the courthouse secretary. As Gwen had asked for directions, the woman’s daggered fingernails tapped out an irritated beat. She had made Gwen feel as welcome as a cockroach in a five-star hotel. “The secretary upstairs, um, told me where to go. I didn’t know we were supposed to use the back entrance to the courthouse. After that, an elevator ride and a couple flights of stairs, nothing too difficult.” She tried not to wince. You’re blathering, Conway. He knows you can go down stairs. How impressive.

  This time his amusement was obvious. Motioning for her to sit, he folded himself back into the chair. “I must say, Miss Conway, I was surprised to receive your resume. With your accomplishments, I would think you’d be more interested in furthering your education.”

  He made a valid point. On paper, she was a college graduate and the recipient of the highest LSAT scores in the state. However, her resume wouldn’t describe how her law school applications sat in the back of her closet collecting dust. Or how she was drowning and needed something to keep her afloat. “Mr. Fletcher, I need the job.”

  He didn’t appear offended by her bluntness, so she continued. “My test results were … adequate, but the timing isn’t right for law school. It’s a difficult job market out there. And I believe this job offers a chance to—” Here she struggled for a polite way to say ‘pad her resume with a job containing legal in the title.’ “—a chance to increase my skill set. If I decide to go to law school, this may be the edge I need to succeed.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Fair enough. However, as advertised, this is little more than a filing job. I can’t promise that you would gain any real legal experience.”

  Gwen tried to hide her surprise. Interviews were all about smoke and mirrors, creating an image of perfection. The picture-perfect employee was smart, not arrogant; self-possessed, not cocky; complimentary, not sycophantic. A smart interviewee would never question the validity of the offered job. The idea the potential employer would do so himself? Welcome to the Twilight Zone.

  Mr. Fletcher continued speaking. “There are a few things to work out, Miss Conway.” He waved his hand. “The usual: hours, pay, benefits. But minus any disagreements, the job is yours. It appears, Miss Conway, you are tailor-made for a job here at the Archives.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.” Gwen smiled despite herself. The interview wasn’t going at all like she imagined. And she hadn’t asked any of the questions she drafted up the night before. Still, some good news. For once. But am I really going to accept a job after such a short interview? “I would love to accept.” Apparently I am.

  He rested his chin on his folded hands, studying her face. “I would also ask you to consider your future here at the Archives. Certain occasions are known to arise when an Archivist is given a chance to perform outside their normal responsibilities.”

  He must have seen her confusion. “Employment in the Archives may not be as dull as you expect. You are never sure what mysteries you might uncover.”

  Gwen somehow doubted filing legal documents would unearth any great mysteries. Still, she smiled politely. At a brisk pace, the preliminary questions and required paperwork were dispatched, and with a flourish, she signed the final page.

 
; Mr. Fletcher took the last sheet and stacked it with the others. “Well, alea iacta est.” With something resembling a sigh, he rose.

  She might have considered the strange pronouncement, but she noticed a heavy oak door behind Mr. Fletcher’s shoulder.

  Mr. Fletcher followed her gaze. “Welcome to the Archives, Miss Conway.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.”

  “Please, call me Alistair.”

  “Of course.” However, she had a feeling calling her boss by his first name might be a little tricky, particularly when he was as formal as Mr. Fletcher, Alistair, seemed to be. “I look forward to starting.”

  Some hidden emotion darkened his gray eyes. But when he smiled, Gwen was convinced she must have imagined it. “Until then, Miss Conway.”

  “It’s Gwen.” She smiled.

  He made a soft sound that could have been a laugh and repeated her earlier words. “Of course.”

  A few moments later, she stood outside the office staring at the faded lettering for a second time. With a soft laugh, Gwen walked towards the old service elevator the receptionist demanded she use. This time the clicking of her heels didn’t register. A job. An honest to goodness—something slammed into her shoulder and the force sent her spinning. Blinking, she steadied herself against the wall. She scanned the empty hallway in confusion. Didn’t someone just …? Rubbing the back of her neck, she shook her head. Thanks to the creepy hallway, she was already imagining things.

  A job. An honest to goodness job. She couldn’t prevent the slight skip in her step. When she noticed she wasn’t alone in the hallway, however, she slowed her walk, biting her cheek to prevent an embarrassed laugh from escaping.

  The old man nodded a greeting at her as he brushed a mop back and forth across the floor. “Any luck, miss? Heard they were hiring some kind of secretary down here.”

  Gwen couldn’t help but smile. Turns out she wasn’t too far off with her imagining; she just had been picturing the janitor instead of her future boss. “Actually, I was lucky. They won’t be looking for someone any longer.”

  The man peered at her from behind his thick glasses, his eyes faded but sweet. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to get a fresh face down here, if you don’t mind me saying.” He turned his attention back to his mopping. “Nice meeting you.”

  He moved down the hallway, his mop leaving a wet trail behind him. Gwen almost could hear his joints pop and creak with the movement.

  Her good mood stayed with her as she waited for the elevator to descend to her level. Goodbye unemployment; hello steady income.

  In a room hidden within a twisting labyrinth, an ancient presence stirred. Something drew him from his rest. Too aware to sleep, he instead spent the endless years dwelling on past events. And planning. Always planning. The ages dripped by at a maddeningly slow pace. Yet he could do nothing, imprisoned behind the glimmering surface of a black framed mirror.

  The mirror hung alone in the dusty room. It was crafted with extraordinary skill, each carved figure waiting to come to life at the softest breath. On closer examination, the mirror’s beauty turned grotesque. Hercules, driven mad by Hera, slaughtered his entire family. Prometheus, chained and bound, screamed in agony while a skeletal eagle tore at his liver. Sisyphus, tired and bloodied, struggled to press a boulder up a jagged hill. Set, smile as wicked and sharp as his knife, carved his brother Osiris into tiny pieces and hid them along the banks of the Nile. Each image was more disturbing than the last. Out of the corner of the eye, they writhed in pain.

  With a soft crack, a thin fissure appeared on the face of the mirror. A dark smoke slithered out from the flaw and disappeared into the shadows clinging to the corners of the room. A wavering light illuminated the glittering mirror before the room was once again plunged into darkness.

  He had waited for eons and conserved his strength. Whatever weakened his prison, it was sufficient. Complete freedom could wait. For now, the power to change would be enough. The Guardians had forced the time streams to remain static for too long. Change would be good.

  In fact, change would be excellent. Through change, he would find revenge.

  Alistair sat at his desk, chin still resting on his folded fingers. His gaze shifted to the neat signature on the bottom of the paperwork. Miss Gwen Conway. She reminded him of days better left forgotten. He wished he could throw away the paperwork and call to explain why the job was no longer hers. Or if he was asking for the unattainable, he wished he had never written the advertisement in the first place. But he had very little control over what would come next. It didn’t matter if he only wanted to keep Gwen safe from a world she knew nothing about.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the tension to ease from his temples. His wife would have reminded him that only Gwen could control her future. Keeping her from the Archives might spare her pain, but it would also prevent her from following her fated path, regardless of where the path would lead her.

  The darkness was soothing, so he allowed himself to sit, alone and aching. Then he stacked up the papers and locked them in a desk drawer. His hands were steady, yet he fought the need to run. To hide. Alistair stood and walked down the hallway at a deliberate pace.

  It may be the coward’s way, but nothing prevented him from avoiding the girl. It would give him time to think. To plan. He walked the familiar path through the Archives to his living quarters. Entering his front room, a small dark form wrapped itself around Alistair’s legs. Its angry mews admonished him for being late. He paid it no mind, too focused on his destination.

  On his bedroom dresser, with a vase of pale pink tea roses, was a photograph of a young woman, her eyes shining in a laughing face. With gentle fingers, he shifted it so it was centered and parallel to the vase.

  “I’ll do my best.” His words broke the still silence and were every bit as empty as the dark room. The die has been cast, indeed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GWEN SAT AT HER DESK nibbling on a crisp apple and staring at the wall in front of her. Her chair was tipped back on two legs, and she braced herself against the desk, one leg swinging an absentminded beat. With a sigh, she took another bite of the apple. Her job was boring her out of her skull.

  In Alistair’s defense, he had tried to warn her.

  It wasn’t that she hated her job. The files she worked with did contain snippets of interesting information. Her favorite case was about a man trying to sue Lucifer. The court’s opinion explained that the case couldn’t proceed due to an inability to serve Satan his notice papers. Gwen was sure there was plenty of room for a joke about how lawyers had easy access to hell.

  The real issue with her job was that she was almost always alone. The office was located deep in the basement of the courthouse. Not a prime lunch break location. The one person she saw on a regular basis was the janitor. Even Alistair was gone more often than not. She kept hoping to run into him so he would show her the Archives. So far, no luck.

  With a swoosh, she tossed the core of her apple into the garbage can. She still had time before she had to get back to work. Not that anyone is around to keep track. Careful to keep her chair balanced, she grabbed a book off her desk and began to read.

  A crash interrupted her reading, and her chair slammed to the floor. Gwen jumped to her feet and peeked into the main office.

  “Hello? Alistair?”

  No answer. Slipping out of her office, she stood in the main room, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Another crash broke the silence. The sound was coming from the Archives. Blocked by a closed door—one she didn’t have permission to open. Alistair, when she saw him, was friendly and polite. But he was still her boss. Until he offered to show her the Archives, she wasn’t going to open the door. Even if curiosity kills me.

  The strange sound of splashing water was too much. Gwen raced into the Archives. So much for self-restraint. An endless hallway stood before her. It offered no clue as to the maker of the noise.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

>   This time there was a softer thud, and Gwen could hear muttering. She inched farther into the hallway.

  “Whoever’s there … you …” Her voice trailed off. What did one intruder say to the other intruder? For all she knew, the maker of the noise was Alistair or someone who actually had permission to be in the Archives. Unlike her. She crept farther down the hallway, following the sound of the voice.

  “Idiot, bloody idiot. How many times are we going to fall for this one? Of course there won’t be guards, he says. Why would there be guards? Why indeed? Maybe because you are trying to steal the—”

  At a touch of her hand, the door swung open. She blinked. The sight of the shirtless and soaking wet man was difficult to process.

  “Um … oh …” She wasn’t sure what to say.

  The man didn’t share her struggle to adapt to the situation. With a quick glance down her body, he grinned. “Well, hello lovely. How did Alistair lure you into this pile of dust?”

  Gwen was horrified to feel herself blushing. “Um … what?” Trying for calm and collected, her voice went for squeaky.

  His smile grew. With a final wring of his shirt, he pulled it over his head. Dark hair clung to his face and shadowed his jaw. His blue eyes regarded her as he smoothed the material over his stomach. His rather nicely muscled stomach. Too fast for her to back up, he darted forward to peer around her shoulder.

  “So, the old man not in?” He tugged on a lock of her hair, eliciting an indignant gasp, before moving back to the middle of the room. A bag, heavy with water, sat in a growing puddle. He started digging through it. “Pity. Could have used his advice.” His voice was heavy with an accent she didn’t recognize.

  “Look, you can’t …”

  He continued speaking, raising his voice so his was louder. “Shame, of course, that you couldn’t be of help.” He threw an exaggerated leer in her direction before turning back to his search. “Now where did I … Ah ha!” With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a long black jacket from his bag.