FF: Time After Time | Warehouse 13 | HG/Myka | NC-17 | Part 8
I don't know nothing except change will come
Year after year what we do is undone
Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home…
But if you break down
I'll drive out and find you
If you forget my love
I'll try to remind you
And stay by you when it don't come easy
Myka opened her eyes, blinking in the dim light of a darkened pub, and groaned as her head immediately started pounding. It could have been from the time travel, or she realized as she took a good look around her surroundings, it could have been the half empty bottle of whiskey set out in front of her.
She tried to look around and felt the world swim. Yep, she was definitely drunk. Which made no sense… except…
Her head thundered as she stared down at very unfamiliar hands. Oh, not again… She’d jumped time again into the body of, god help her, another man. What the hell was going on?
Looking around the pub she found most of the clientele either passed out at their tables, or in a near-stupor. She felt down her pockets for any sort of identification but came up short. What she did find, however, were two knives, a pistol, and brass knuckles along with a handful of coins.
Shaking her head, she stood up and lurched toward the door, intent to get some air and try and clear her mind a bit, but the alley into which she stumbled was rank and dark and offered little more than the immediate need to wretch. Something Myka promptly did as her stomach and head revolted in unison.
“Oi Johnny, can’t keep your liquor down?” The voice behind her sounded less than pleased.
Myka wiped her mouth on her sleeve, feeling not a moment of guilt as the sleeve was already quite filthy, and stood up. “I was… uh…”
“Stuff it and come on. Got some place to be.”
Seeing as the man knew her, or at least the owner of the body she occupied, and apparently knew they had someplace to be, Myka followed along. She sized her companion up as they walked as she would have a suspect: 5’10, medium build, dark clothes, dirty hair that could have been blonde if washed, and a very nasty scar across his cheek where it appeared someone had cracked him across the face with a bottle. She nicknamed him Mr. Bad Guy and kept pace as he cut through one alley and then another, weaving through the streets in the dark as if he’d been born in them. He probably had, Myka decided. She managed to catch a glimpse of her own profile and blanched at the rather frightening figure staring back. A hulking six feet of muscle, her hair was close cropped, her face marred by more than one jagged scar, the worst of which turned her top lip into a permanent sneer. Great… so she was Mr. Bad Guy Number Two.
They turned a corner onto a main street where newsstands were just starting to open. Myka eyed one as they walked past, noting the date: July 14, 1891. She also noted the paper was in French. Something about that date pinged in her mind but she couldn’t quite place it and didn’t have time as Mr. Bad Guy darted across the street and into another unsavory looking shack of a pub. Having no other choice, she followed him inside.
At a back booth, barely lit by one candle that seemed on the edge of sputtering out at any moment, Mr. Bad Guy sat down across from a hooded figure. Myka took a seat beside him.
“I understand you have a job for us.”
“I do.”
“Money up front, governor.”
The hooded man placed an enveloped stuffed with cash on the table and slid it across to Mr. Bad Guy who promptly thumbed through it. “Looks like the right amount. What can we do for you?”
The man leaned forward and Myka nearly gasped.
Charles Wells stared back at her from under the hood. “There is a house at 19 Rue de la Mar. The housekeeper and children leave every day for the park at noon and do not return until two-thirty. The house is empty.”
“And what do you want us to do with this empty house?”
“It’s not the house I care about, it’s the children. The youngest, a small brunette child named Christina. I want you to abduct her at the park.”
Mr. Bad Guy simply nodded, as if kidnapping a small child was something he did everyday. Myka tried not to look horrified. “The money you hold now is a down payment. Once I receive the ransom from her mother, that amount will double.” Charles slid a piece of paper across the table. “Take her to that address. It’s a small apartment with enough amenities to last until the ransom is paid.”
“And how long will that be?”
“A few days at most. Her mother will be most eager to have her returned.”
Myka felt the anger building inside her, burning away the lingering effects of alcohol the body’s previous owner had imbibed. It took all she had not to leap across the table and throttle Charles right then and there. But she couldn’t - not yet anyway. Not until she understood why she’d been brought to this place and time.
“Everything has been arranged,” Charles was saying, giving Mr. Bad Guy the address and keys.
“When do you want this done?”
“Today.”
Mr. Bad guy nodded and that was it. Charles simply got up and walked out. In the span of ten minutes three men had come together and arranged to kidnap and ransom a child. It was enough to make her sick - if she hadn’t already been that way from the booze roiling around in her stomach.
“You wanna get some food,” he asked, his voice a low grumble. “Plenty of time.”
Myka shook her head. “Gonna walk around a bit. Clear my head.”
Mr. Bad Guy gave her a friendly sneer. “Piss off then and don’t be late.”
She nodded and lurched from her chair out the door. Shaking her head to clear it, she looked up and down the street, trying to gauge which way Charles had gone. One end led back to a main street, the other deeper into alleys that criss-crossed behind buildings. Myka took a chance and headed for the street, catching sight of Charles three blocks down before he turned a corner. She followed him, discreetly of course, but he never looked back over his shoulder once, arrogant fool. Down one street and then the next, Myka followed until Charles finally opened the gate on a stately corner property and walked whistling into the house. Myka inched closer and looked at the address: 19 Rue de le Mar.
“Bastard.”
It made sense of course - who else would Helena trust to take her only child from London to Paris? Charles may have been a bit feckless but he wasn’t dangerous. At least not so far as Helena knew. Now, Myka knew better. But what could she do about it? She simply couldn’t allow Christina to get kidnapped… And that was when it hit her again, another ping as she remembered the date. July 14, 1891… the day that Christina died.
Her knees trembled. She ducked behind a bakery and felt the world spin around her as the past, present, and future aligned. She knew the story - both as described by Claudia who had heard it first hand from HG and from her own research into Helena’s files. Thieves, believing the house to be empty broke in to her cousin’s home but the housekeeper had kept Christina home because she had a fever. There had been a fight, which Helena revealed had actually been her fighting inside the housekeeper’s body, and although the housekeeper had survived, somehow Christina had not.
Another thought occurred to Myka, something that she’d never asked Helena or even considered, but which now seemed so obvious. Christina had been born on May 16, 1884. Myka didn’t need to do the math to know exactly when and where the child had been conceived. The world tilted again and this time Myka vomited once more, expelling the rot gut alcohol the man had seemed to have guzzled by the quart.
Christina… Helena’s Christina… was also hers.
And Charles wanted to kidnap and hold her ransom.
White, hot anger coursed through her, focusing her mind in a terrifying way. It didn’t matter to Myka that she’d never met Christina, that she knew nothing more than stories Helena had told her. In a way, she’d always loved the child because Helena had loved her. Now, she loved Christina because she knew, she knew she was her child as well. And she would be damned if she allowed Charles to lay one finger on her, much less hold her for ransom. She would save Christina. That was the only logical explanation that Myka could find in the limitless reasons for why she’d been thrust so far back in time. She would save Christina and God help anyone who tried to stop her.
~*~
It hadn’t been easy. Time, ironically, was working against her as she tried to formulate a plan and pull together all the necessary supplies all while being in an unfamiliar body, being in an unfamiliar city, and up against a time deadline of just a few hours. But she was Myka Bering after all and she simply refused to fail.
She found Mr. Bad Guy lurking around the corner from the house just before noon.
He grunted, “About time,” but left it at that.
They waited. At precisely noon the front door opened and two adorable blonde boys, about nine and six, came tromping down the steps, wooden swords in their hands, already battling out onto the sidewalk. An elegant looking woman with dark hair and dark eyes followed after them, smiling indulgently. She called something back to the housekeeper at the door and then took each boy in hand before walking down the street and disappearing around the corner.
Mr. Bad Guy nudged Myka in the ribs. “No little girl’s with ‘em.”
“She probably stayed home. Maybe we should call this off?”
Mr. Bad Guy shook his head. “Got half the money already. Mr. Fancy Pants says we snatch her today, then we snatch her today. Come on.”
This was what Myka had feared and come prepared for. He led them around the back of the house, easily scaling the gate and shimmying into the back garden. She followed suit and watched as an obviously master thief spotted a cellar window and jimmied it open in less than thirty seconds. He slithered inside first then Myka.
“What if there are people upstairs,” she asked.
“Then we do what we always do,” he sneered. Myka had a fairly good idea what he meant by that but she nodded anyway and tried to look grim and mean.
They crept up the cellar stairs, listening for movement, but there was none. Myka followed behind as Mr. Bad Guy let them into the empty kitchen and the across into the dining room. He motioned for Myka to check out the adjoining sitting room while he checked the hallway. Both of them came up empty. “Upstairs,” he whispered, then pulled a rag and a bottle of chloroform out of his pocket. She nodded and continued to follow behind. At the top of the stairs he nodded for her to head left while he searched the rooms on the right. Myka hadn’t even gotten three steps when she heard the gasp followed just as quickly by a slight scream. She turned in time to see Mr. Bad Guy backhand the housekeeper and knock her to the ground.
And that was when she saw something miraculous happen.
One moment she was staring into the terrified eyes of a housekeeper, the next she was staring into the deadly, rage filled eyes of a mother hell-bent on saving her child. Helena had jumped into the housekeeper’s body. Mr. Bad Guy smirked down at Helena - and it was the last smirk he ever made as she spun on the floor and swept his legs out from under him. There was a brief look of surprise as his feet left the ground and his body lurched horizontal, and then a longer look of resignation as he took a header straight for the staircase. The sound of bones breaking, and then a wheezing grunt, let them know he’d hit the bottom of the staircase and wouldn’t be getting up any time soon, if ever.
Helena jumped to her feet. Myka put her hands up. “Please, just wait… I can explain…” but it was too late.
Behind her, Myka heard a door open. Both she and Helena looked as Christina stepped into the hall, oblivious to the danger. “Sophie?”
“Get back in the room!”
Myka turned back, trying to explain yet again, but Helena wasn’t about to give her a moment’s head start. A vase came flying past her head, followed in short succession by a small end table. Myka knocked it away, only to get punched square in the jaw, once, twice, and then three times before stumbling back.
Jesus she could move fast.
Myka blocked the next blow, grateful for her size relative to Helena’s fierceness. She didn’t want to hurt Helena, but there would be no conversation if she couldn’t somehow subdue the woman. Another blow, then a kick sent Myka sprawling. Helena attacked like a hellcat. Myka kicked out, knocking her feet out from under her, sprawling Helena out on the floor. She rolled on top of Helena, trying to pin her down, only to have her ears boxed viciously. She fell back, head ringing, and didn’t have time to protect herself as Helena staggered to her feet and aimed a kick square at her head.
The kick, however, never came. Instead, Helena dropped to the floor unconscious. In her place, standing over Myka, Charles loomed with a heavy looking cricket bat in his hand.
“My God, you two have made a mess of it, haven’t you?”
“We… she didn’t leave with the others…”
“So you broke in to take her?”
Myka shrugged. “It was his idea.”
“Where is she?” Myka jerked her head toward the bedroom. “Go get her and get out of here… I’ll deal with the rest. You can handle that, can’t you?”
She lumbered up slowly, fixed Charles with a deadly stare. “Yeah, I can handle it.”
“Take her out the back. I will meet you at the apartment later.”
Charles disappeared back down the stairs. Myka pulled herself to her feet and checked on Helena, finding the housekeeper’s body very much alive, if unconscious. Hurrying back down the hall, she picked up the bottle of chloroform and rag that Mr. Bad Guy had dropped and headed for the room Christina had barricaded herself into. As it had no lock, it was easy enough for Myka to use her extra size to wedge it open and get inside.
And there, in a pose utterly reminiscent of her mother, stood Christina - a fencing sword in hand.
Her voice waivered, but the sentiment was strong. “I’ll run you through.”
Myka held up her hands, yet again, in surrender. Dear God, the Wells women were feisty. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then why did you break in? Why were you hurting Sophie?”
“That was all a misunderstanding.” Christina raised an eyebrow. Her mother had not raised her to be foolish. “Look, you want the truth? Someone very dangerous hired me to kidnap you and hold you for ransom. But I know your mother… in a roundabout sort of way. And I would never do anything to hurt her, or you. The only way for me to protect you though, until I can deal with this dangerous person, is to get you away from here okay? Get you back to your mother. And for me to do that, you’re going to have to trust me.”
“If you know my mother… tell me something that only a friend would know.”
Myka sighed. Not just feisty like her mother, but intelligent as well. She thought for a moment. “Your mother is the real HG Wells - she writes all the books your Uncle Charles passes off as his own. And she wears a locket… given to her by, by someone special… but she carries a picture of you inside it.”
Christina’s jaw dropped open. “Mother said… no one could know that… How did you know?”
“We were friends once… or we will be anyway,” Myka smiled, then stopped herself, remembering the man’s sneer. “Please? Will you trust me?” Slowly, Christina lowered the sword. Myka sighed in relief. “Can you pretend to be asleep for me? I’m going to carry you out the back. It’s very important you look asleep so the, um, bad man doesn’t suspect anything.”
Christina nodded again. “Where are you going to take me?”
“To London. Back to your mother.” Myka took a breath. “Ready?”
Christina took a step forward then stopped. “What’s your name?”
Myka hadn’t lied to the girl yet, and she wasn’t about to start now. “Myka. My name is Myka.”
Charmingly, the little girl put her hand out to shake. “Christina Wells, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Myka shook her hand with a wry grin. “Okay, let’s go. Remember, pretend you’re asleep.” She swept Christina up and carried her out. Oddly enough, Charles hadn’t come back to move Sophie or Mr. Bad Guy at the bottom of the stairs. Myka walked carefully past each of them and then out the backdoor, shimmying up and over the back gate the same way she got in.
The explosion nearly knocked her to the ground.
Christina let out a cry of fear as the bottom level of the house burst into flames. It became clear then exactly what Charles had meant by “dealing with the rest.” He’d set fire to the cellar with its stock of heating fuel and lamp oil.
“Stay here,” Myka ordered. “Don’t move from this spot. I’ll be right back okay?”
Before Christina could do more than nod, Myka had lifted herself back up and over the fence and ran across the yard. She didn’t bother with the cellar this time, just barreled through the back door. Flames licked and spread across the dining room, the kitchen, the sitting room. At the bottom of the stairs she found Mr. Bad Guy still unconscious and unmoving even as flames and smoke rose around him. Grunting, Myka hefted him up over her shoulder and stumbled toward the back door only to find the kitchen completely engulfed in flame. She backtracked and headed for the front door, nearly falling down the steps until she could dump him on the lawn. In the distance she could hear shouts and the bells of the fire brigade and knew she didn’t have much time. Myka searched the man’s pockets, looking for anything that might help her at this point, but all she found was the money and the address for the apartment Charles had set up. She pocketed both and ran back inside.
The fire was worse, consuming nearly everything on the first floor. She covered her mouth, kept her head low, and fought her way back up the stairs. Helena was exactly where she’d fallen in the hallway. Myka picked her up, nearly blind now in the smoke, her lungs burning with each breath, and carried Helena down the stairs. But the fire had spread, cut off her route to the door. The only room yet to be completely consumed was the front parlor with its large bay window.
Myka pulled Helena tighter against her and lowered her head. Then she ran straight for the window.
The flames exploded outward with her as she burst through the glass, shards cutting into her skin even as the fire caught hold of her jacket. She fell to the ground, rolled, and kept Helena protected under her. Crawling to her knees, she checked to make sure the housekeeper, Helena, was still alive. Her breathing, although shallow, was there and her pulse strong. Myka dragged her across the lawn beside Mr. Bad Guy and heard the shouts of the fire brigade setting up hoses and buckets as well as someone else screaming for the police.
Staggering to her feet, she raced along the side of the house through the bushes, into the back yard, and then up and over the fence once more. Christina, thankfully, had done exactly as she’d said and stayed put.
“Sophie?”
“She’s alive… she’ll be fine…” Myka wheezed, “but you have to come with me now… it will be too hard to explain…”
“Explain what,” Christina demanded.
Myka looked the girl in the eyes, this child of Helena’s body and her heart. The lie just wouldn’t come. “Explain that your uncle just tried to burn down the whole house.”
Christina’s eyes got wide, but she didn’t cry. “We… should go find my mother.”
Myka took the girl’s hand and led her away from the burning house, thinking, I’m right here…
Part Nine
Year after year what we do is undone
Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home…
But if you break down
I'll drive out and find you
If you forget my love
I'll try to remind you
And stay by you when it don't come easy
Myka opened her eyes, blinking in the dim light of a darkened pub, and groaned as her head immediately started pounding. It could have been from the time travel, or she realized as she took a good look around her surroundings, it could have been the half empty bottle of whiskey set out in front of her.
She tried to look around and felt the world swim. Yep, she was definitely drunk. Which made no sense… except…
Her head thundered as she stared down at very unfamiliar hands. Oh, not again… She’d jumped time again into the body of, god help her, another man. What the hell was going on?
Looking around the pub she found most of the clientele either passed out at their tables, or in a near-stupor. She felt down her pockets for any sort of identification but came up short. What she did find, however, were two knives, a pistol, and brass knuckles along with a handful of coins.
Shaking her head, she stood up and lurched toward the door, intent to get some air and try and clear her mind a bit, but the alley into which she stumbled was rank and dark and offered little more than the immediate need to wretch. Something Myka promptly did as her stomach and head revolted in unison.
“Oi Johnny, can’t keep your liquor down?” The voice behind her sounded less than pleased.
Myka wiped her mouth on her sleeve, feeling not a moment of guilt as the sleeve was already quite filthy, and stood up. “I was… uh…”
“Stuff it and come on. Got some place to be.”
Seeing as the man knew her, or at least the owner of the body she occupied, and apparently knew they had someplace to be, Myka followed along. She sized her companion up as they walked as she would have a suspect: 5’10, medium build, dark clothes, dirty hair that could have been blonde if washed, and a very nasty scar across his cheek where it appeared someone had cracked him across the face with a bottle. She nicknamed him Mr. Bad Guy and kept pace as he cut through one alley and then another, weaving through the streets in the dark as if he’d been born in them. He probably had, Myka decided. She managed to catch a glimpse of her own profile and blanched at the rather frightening figure staring back. A hulking six feet of muscle, her hair was close cropped, her face marred by more than one jagged scar, the worst of which turned her top lip into a permanent sneer. Great… so she was Mr. Bad Guy Number Two.
They turned a corner onto a main street where newsstands were just starting to open. Myka eyed one as they walked past, noting the date: July 14, 1891. She also noted the paper was in French. Something about that date pinged in her mind but she couldn’t quite place it and didn’t have time as Mr. Bad Guy darted across the street and into another unsavory looking shack of a pub. Having no other choice, she followed him inside.
At a back booth, barely lit by one candle that seemed on the edge of sputtering out at any moment, Mr. Bad Guy sat down across from a hooded figure. Myka took a seat beside him.
“I understand you have a job for us.”
“I do.”
“Money up front, governor.”
The hooded man placed an enveloped stuffed with cash on the table and slid it across to Mr. Bad Guy who promptly thumbed through it. “Looks like the right amount. What can we do for you?”
The man leaned forward and Myka nearly gasped.
Charles Wells stared back at her from under the hood. “There is a house at 19 Rue de la Mar. The housekeeper and children leave every day for the park at noon and do not return until two-thirty. The house is empty.”
“And what do you want us to do with this empty house?”
“It’s not the house I care about, it’s the children. The youngest, a small brunette child named Christina. I want you to abduct her at the park.”
Mr. Bad Guy simply nodded, as if kidnapping a small child was something he did everyday. Myka tried not to look horrified. “The money you hold now is a down payment. Once I receive the ransom from her mother, that amount will double.” Charles slid a piece of paper across the table. “Take her to that address. It’s a small apartment with enough amenities to last until the ransom is paid.”
“And how long will that be?”
“A few days at most. Her mother will be most eager to have her returned.”
Myka felt the anger building inside her, burning away the lingering effects of alcohol the body’s previous owner had imbibed. It took all she had not to leap across the table and throttle Charles right then and there. But she couldn’t - not yet anyway. Not until she understood why she’d been brought to this place and time.
“Everything has been arranged,” Charles was saying, giving Mr. Bad Guy the address and keys.
“When do you want this done?”
“Today.”
Mr. Bad guy nodded and that was it. Charles simply got up and walked out. In the span of ten minutes three men had come together and arranged to kidnap and ransom a child. It was enough to make her sick - if she hadn’t already been that way from the booze roiling around in her stomach.
“You wanna get some food,” he asked, his voice a low grumble. “Plenty of time.”
Myka shook her head. “Gonna walk around a bit. Clear my head.”
Mr. Bad Guy gave her a friendly sneer. “Piss off then and don’t be late.”
She nodded and lurched from her chair out the door. Shaking her head to clear it, she looked up and down the street, trying to gauge which way Charles had gone. One end led back to a main street, the other deeper into alleys that criss-crossed behind buildings. Myka took a chance and headed for the street, catching sight of Charles three blocks down before he turned a corner. She followed him, discreetly of course, but he never looked back over his shoulder once, arrogant fool. Down one street and then the next, Myka followed until Charles finally opened the gate on a stately corner property and walked whistling into the house. Myka inched closer and looked at the address: 19 Rue de le Mar.
“Bastard.”
It made sense of course - who else would Helena trust to take her only child from London to Paris? Charles may have been a bit feckless but he wasn’t dangerous. At least not so far as Helena knew. Now, Myka knew better. But what could she do about it? She simply couldn’t allow Christina to get kidnapped… And that was when it hit her again, another ping as she remembered the date. July 14, 1891… the day that Christina died.
Her knees trembled. She ducked behind a bakery and felt the world spin around her as the past, present, and future aligned. She knew the story - both as described by Claudia who had heard it first hand from HG and from her own research into Helena’s files. Thieves, believing the house to be empty broke in to her cousin’s home but the housekeeper had kept Christina home because she had a fever. There had been a fight, which Helena revealed had actually been her fighting inside the housekeeper’s body, and although the housekeeper had survived, somehow Christina had not.
Another thought occurred to Myka, something that she’d never asked Helena or even considered, but which now seemed so obvious. Christina had been born on May 16, 1884. Myka didn’t need to do the math to know exactly when and where the child had been conceived. The world tilted again and this time Myka vomited once more, expelling the rot gut alcohol the man had seemed to have guzzled by the quart.
Christina… Helena’s Christina… was also hers.
And Charles wanted to kidnap and hold her ransom.
White, hot anger coursed through her, focusing her mind in a terrifying way. It didn’t matter to Myka that she’d never met Christina, that she knew nothing more than stories Helena had told her. In a way, she’d always loved the child because Helena had loved her. Now, she loved Christina because she knew, she knew she was her child as well. And she would be damned if she allowed Charles to lay one finger on her, much less hold her for ransom. She would save Christina. That was the only logical explanation that Myka could find in the limitless reasons for why she’d been thrust so far back in time. She would save Christina and God help anyone who tried to stop her.
~*~
It hadn’t been easy. Time, ironically, was working against her as she tried to formulate a plan and pull together all the necessary supplies all while being in an unfamiliar body, being in an unfamiliar city, and up against a time deadline of just a few hours. But she was Myka Bering after all and she simply refused to fail.
She found Mr. Bad Guy lurking around the corner from the house just before noon.
He grunted, “About time,” but left it at that.
They waited. At precisely noon the front door opened and two adorable blonde boys, about nine and six, came tromping down the steps, wooden swords in their hands, already battling out onto the sidewalk. An elegant looking woman with dark hair and dark eyes followed after them, smiling indulgently. She called something back to the housekeeper at the door and then took each boy in hand before walking down the street and disappearing around the corner.
Mr. Bad Guy nudged Myka in the ribs. “No little girl’s with ‘em.”
“She probably stayed home. Maybe we should call this off?”
Mr. Bad Guy shook his head. “Got half the money already. Mr. Fancy Pants says we snatch her today, then we snatch her today. Come on.”
This was what Myka had feared and come prepared for. He led them around the back of the house, easily scaling the gate and shimmying into the back garden. She followed suit and watched as an obviously master thief spotted a cellar window and jimmied it open in less than thirty seconds. He slithered inside first then Myka.
“What if there are people upstairs,” she asked.
“Then we do what we always do,” he sneered. Myka had a fairly good idea what he meant by that but she nodded anyway and tried to look grim and mean.
They crept up the cellar stairs, listening for movement, but there was none. Myka followed behind as Mr. Bad Guy let them into the empty kitchen and the across into the dining room. He motioned for Myka to check out the adjoining sitting room while he checked the hallway. Both of them came up empty. “Upstairs,” he whispered, then pulled a rag and a bottle of chloroform out of his pocket. She nodded and continued to follow behind. At the top of the stairs he nodded for her to head left while he searched the rooms on the right. Myka hadn’t even gotten three steps when she heard the gasp followed just as quickly by a slight scream. She turned in time to see Mr. Bad Guy backhand the housekeeper and knock her to the ground.
And that was when she saw something miraculous happen.
One moment she was staring into the terrified eyes of a housekeeper, the next she was staring into the deadly, rage filled eyes of a mother hell-bent on saving her child. Helena had jumped into the housekeeper’s body. Mr. Bad Guy smirked down at Helena - and it was the last smirk he ever made as she spun on the floor and swept his legs out from under him. There was a brief look of surprise as his feet left the ground and his body lurched horizontal, and then a longer look of resignation as he took a header straight for the staircase. The sound of bones breaking, and then a wheezing grunt, let them know he’d hit the bottom of the staircase and wouldn’t be getting up any time soon, if ever.
Helena jumped to her feet. Myka put her hands up. “Please, just wait… I can explain…” but it was too late.
Behind her, Myka heard a door open. Both she and Helena looked as Christina stepped into the hall, oblivious to the danger. “Sophie?”
“Get back in the room!”
Myka turned back, trying to explain yet again, but Helena wasn’t about to give her a moment’s head start. A vase came flying past her head, followed in short succession by a small end table. Myka knocked it away, only to get punched square in the jaw, once, twice, and then three times before stumbling back.
Jesus she could move fast.
Myka blocked the next blow, grateful for her size relative to Helena’s fierceness. She didn’t want to hurt Helena, but there would be no conversation if she couldn’t somehow subdue the woman. Another blow, then a kick sent Myka sprawling. Helena attacked like a hellcat. Myka kicked out, knocking her feet out from under her, sprawling Helena out on the floor. She rolled on top of Helena, trying to pin her down, only to have her ears boxed viciously. She fell back, head ringing, and didn’t have time to protect herself as Helena staggered to her feet and aimed a kick square at her head.
The kick, however, never came. Instead, Helena dropped to the floor unconscious. In her place, standing over Myka, Charles loomed with a heavy looking cricket bat in his hand.
“My God, you two have made a mess of it, haven’t you?”
“We… she didn’t leave with the others…”
“So you broke in to take her?”
Myka shrugged. “It was his idea.”
“Where is she?” Myka jerked her head toward the bedroom. “Go get her and get out of here… I’ll deal with the rest. You can handle that, can’t you?”
She lumbered up slowly, fixed Charles with a deadly stare. “Yeah, I can handle it.”
“Take her out the back. I will meet you at the apartment later.”
Charles disappeared back down the stairs. Myka pulled herself to her feet and checked on Helena, finding the housekeeper’s body very much alive, if unconscious. Hurrying back down the hall, she picked up the bottle of chloroform and rag that Mr. Bad Guy had dropped and headed for the room Christina had barricaded herself into. As it had no lock, it was easy enough for Myka to use her extra size to wedge it open and get inside.
And there, in a pose utterly reminiscent of her mother, stood Christina - a fencing sword in hand.
Her voice waivered, but the sentiment was strong. “I’ll run you through.”
Myka held up her hands, yet again, in surrender. Dear God, the Wells women were feisty. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then why did you break in? Why were you hurting Sophie?”
“That was all a misunderstanding.” Christina raised an eyebrow. Her mother had not raised her to be foolish. “Look, you want the truth? Someone very dangerous hired me to kidnap you and hold you for ransom. But I know your mother… in a roundabout sort of way. And I would never do anything to hurt her, or you. The only way for me to protect you though, until I can deal with this dangerous person, is to get you away from here okay? Get you back to your mother. And for me to do that, you’re going to have to trust me.”
“If you know my mother… tell me something that only a friend would know.”
Myka sighed. Not just feisty like her mother, but intelligent as well. She thought for a moment. “Your mother is the real HG Wells - she writes all the books your Uncle Charles passes off as his own. And she wears a locket… given to her by, by someone special… but she carries a picture of you inside it.”
Christina’s jaw dropped open. “Mother said… no one could know that… How did you know?”
“We were friends once… or we will be anyway,” Myka smiled, then stopped herself, remembering the man’s sneer. “Please? Will you trust me?” Slowly, Christina lowered the sword. Myka sighed in relief. “Can you pretend to be asleep for me? I’m going to carry you out the back. It’s very important you look asleep so the, um, bad man doesn’t suspect anything.”
Christina nodded again. “Where are you going to take me?”
“To London. Back to your mother.” Myka took a breath. “Ready?”
Christina took a step forward then stopped. “What’s your name?”
Myka hadn’t lied to the girl yet, and she wasn’t about to start now. “Myka. My name is Myka.”
Charmingly, the little girl put her hand out to shake. “Christina Wells, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Myka shook her hand with a wry grin. “Okay, let’s go. Remember, pretend you’re asleep.” She swept Christina up and carried her out. Oddly enough, Charles hadn’t come back to move Sophie or Mr. Bad Guy at the bottom of the stairs. Myka walked carefully past each of them and then out the backdoor, shimmying up and over the back gate the same way she got in.
The explosion nearly knocked her to the ground.
Christina let out a cry of fear as the bottom level of the house burst into flames. It became clear then exactly what Charles had meant by “dealing with the rest.” He’d set fire to the cellar with its stock of heating fuel and lamp oil.
“Stay here,” Myka ordered. “Don’t move from this spot. I’ll be right back okay?”
Before Christina could do more than nod, Myka had lifted herself back up and over the fence and ran across the yard. She didn’t bother with the cellar this time, just barreled through the back door. Flames licked and spread across the dining room, the kitchen, the sitting room. At the bottom of the stairs she found Mr. Bad Guy still unconscious and unmoving even as flames and smoke rose around him. Grunting, Myka hefted him up over her shoulder and stumbled toward the back door only to find the kitchen completely engulfed in flame. She backtracked and headed for the front door, nearly falling down the steps until she could dump him on the lawn. In the distance she could hear shouts and the bells of the fire brigade and knew she didn’t have much time. Myka searched the man’s pockets, looking for anything that might help her at this point, but all she found was the money and the address for the apartment Charles had set up. She pocketed both and ran back inside.
The fire was worse, consuming nearly everything on the first floor. She covered her mouth, kept her head low, and fought her way back up the stairs. Helena was exactly where she’d fallen in the hallway. Myka picked her up, nearly blind now in the smoke, her lungs burning with each breath, and carried Helena down the stairs. But the fire had spread, cut off her route to the door. The only room yet to be completely consumed was the front parlor with its large bay window.
Myka pulled Helena tighter against her and lowered her head. Then she ran straight for the window.
The flames exploded outward with her as she burst through the glass, shards cutting into her skin even as the fire caught hold of her jacket. She fell to the ground, rolled, and kept Helena protected under her. Crawling to her knees, she checked to make sure the housekeeper, Helena, was still alive. Her breathing, although shallow, was there and her pulse strong. Myka dragged her across the lawn beside Mr. Bad Guy and heard the shouts of the fire brigade setting up hoses and buckets as well as someone else screaming for the police.
Staggering to her feet, she raced along the side of the house through the bushes, into the back yard, and then up and over the fence once more. Christina, thankfully, had done exactly as she’d said and stayed put.
“Sophie?”
“She’s alive… she’ll be fine…” Myka wheezed, “but you have to come with me now… it will be too hard to explain…”
“Explain what,” Christina demanded.
Myka looked the girl in the eyes, this child of Helena’s body and her heart. The lie just wouldn’t come. “Explain that your uncle just tried to burn down the whole house.”
Christina’s eyes got wide, but she didn’t cry. “We… should go find my mother.”
Myka took the girl’s hand and led her away from the burning house, thinking, I’m right here…
Part Nine