Queen's Peril Read online

  That being said, of them all, Steven watched Archie in a way he didn’t the others. His counsel could be on point one day and seemingly counter to their best interests the next. Kindness could fill his gaze one moment; an instant later, mischief. As it had been since the beginning, nothing ever happened that Steven could put his finger on, but he knew one thing for certain: Whatever agenda rested behind those dark eyes, only one person knew.

  “Okay.” Steven’s eyes narrowed at the priest. “I’ll bite. What do you think, Archie? Do we get involved or do we sit this one out?”

  Archie studied him intently, his mouth flirting with a smile before settling into a subtle grimace. “I understand your trepidation about the days to come, Steven, but I’m afraid I must side with the ladies. As Audrey pointed out, our moral duty is to do all we can to help, though the issue at hand goes far beyond that.” Archie’s eyes glazed over, a phenomenon they had seen time and again when the priest received or recalled one of his visions.

  “I’ve had flashes of this discussion for days, but until now they were like pieces of a puzzle that only now are coming together sufficiently to see a pattern. I can’t speak to the outcome or even what our purpose there might be, but I am certain of one thing: we are meant to stand on that bridge.” Archie’s chest rose and fell three times as Steven and the others awaited his next cryptic words.

  “We are likely all that stands between those unfortunate souls and a watery grave, but in the grand scheme, even that is unimportant.” He pointed a trembling finger at the flickering television screen. “I believe our presence there is yet another step in preparing us for what is to come, a second trial by fire, if you will, an inexorable prelude to the Game.” Archie’s eyes returned to normal as he met Steven’s frustrated gaze. “The choice is out of our hands. We must go, and soon. If we don’t, many more than the hundreds trapped on that bridge will suffer.”

  Steven surveyed the room and found every eye fastened on Archie’s quivering form and knew his cause was lost. The final vote had been cast, and soon, he’d be obligated against his better judgment to transport the six of them almost two thousand miles northeast to again face the fire.

  How could he have gotten it so wrong? No one, not even Grey, understood the Game the way Archie did. In such matters, he rarely made mistakes, and Steven had learned to take his interpretation of his various flashes of the future as all but fact.

  Still, as Steven brought out the pouch and crossed the door of their apartment to open a mystic doorway from Texas to New York, his inner Han Solo bubbled to the surface.

  I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

  3

  Live & Learn

  “We’re here.” Ron pulled his truck into the hospital parking lot and stopped by a set of double doors marked with a small sign that read EMERGENCY. “Now, you boys stay put till the storm passes, you hear?”

  Niklaus stepped gingerly from the blue pickup onto his good leg, a Polish curse falling from his lips as his injured ankle grazed the bottom of the door.

  “Watch that ankle.” Steven hopped out and slid under Niklaus’ arm before he could fall. “We’re almost there.” He glanced back into the cab of the truck. “Thanks for the ride, Ron. We owe you big time.”

  “Yeah.” Niklaus pivoted on his good foot and shot Ron a pained grin. “Thanks a mil.”

  “No problem.” Ron hit the clutch and shifted the truck into gear. “Time for me to go. Rain’s picking up again, and it’s going to take me an hour to get back to the house.”

  “Be careful out there.” Steven pushed the heavy door closed and muttered, “Last thing I need is another person on my conscience.”

  “He’ll be fine, Steven.” Niklaus took one faltering step forward. “Unless this thing blows up in the next hour, this is his turf. Not to mention, last I checked, we’re the ones who just hit ground some thirty years before either of us was born.”

  “Time travel.” Steven let out a long sigh. “And I thought horses moonlighting as motorcycles would be the strangest thing I’d ever see.”

  “Hate to break it to you, Steven, but till this is all over, anything goes.” Niklaus took another cautious step and despite Steven’s support, his bad leg nearly buckled beneath him.

  “You all right?” Steven grunted as he did his best to support Niklaus’ massive frame.

  “Not even close.” The White Rook’s laugh came out as a groan. “Help me inside?”

  Steven supported Niklaus as he limped the last few feet to the door of the hospital and hobbled inside. Flopping down into a chair, he peeled his shoe off, revealing an ankle twice again as swollen and purple as Steven remembered. Who could have guessed a mile-long hike over uneven terrain on a likely broken ankle would be a bad idea?

  The waiting room sat vacant other than a gurgling water cooler in the corner. Steven strode over to a large desk at the far wall and pressed the plunger on a bell marked “Ring for Service.” He suppressed a chuckle as a solitary morbid thought tickled his brain.

  We sure spend a lot of time in hospitals.

  A moment later, a round-faced woman in her fifties dressed in a blue sweater and a full-length plaid skirt came through the door behind the desk. She carried an old-timey radio, no doubt state-of-the-art in 1945, that looked like a set piece from The Andy Griffith Show.

  “Be right with you,” she said as she set the radio on the desk and plugged it into the wall. “Trying to get the latest on the hurricane and…” Her voice trailed off as she looked up into Steven’s bloodied face. “Good Lord. I’m so sorry. You’re hurt.” Her gaze shot over to Niklaus’ hulking form seated by the door and the swollen mess at the end of his leg. “Both of you. My goodness. I’ll get the doctor.”

  “We’ll be all right for the moment.” Steven rested a hand atop the wooden box radio. “Let’s see what this has to say about what’s going on with the storm.”

  Her eyes narrowed for a moment, and then she sat at the desk and fiddled with the four knobs beneath the large analog dial that sported the cursive logo American Overseas.

  “Still getting nothing but static,” she whispered after a frustrated few seconds. “Just like in the back.”

  “Maybe the static is the latest on the storm. I imagine a radio tower would be one of the first things to go in a hurricane.”

  “Last we heard, the forward edge of the storm was about to make landfall.” The woman grabbed a pair of clipboards from her desk. “In any case, you two didn’t come here for the latest weather report. Fill out these forms, and we’ll get you back to see the doctor as soon as possible. I just pray the electricity holds out. If you’re right about the radio, the power lines won’t be far behind.”

  “Curious.” Steven’s brow furrowed. “I’m not from around here. How far inland are we?”

  Her lips turned up in an enigmatic smile. “Not nearly far enough.”

  As the woman disappeared behind the door, the wind outside screamed and the rain began to come down in buckets. A green awning ripped from its moorings rolled like tumbleweed down the abandoned street, followed soon by a pair of road signs and what Steven hoped was an empty baby carriage.

  “I hope Mr. Springer is able to get home all right.” Steven handed Niklaus a clipboard and pen. “He could’ve just come in with us to wait out the storm.”

  “Quit worrying about him.” Niklaus scrawled his personal information onto the paper. “If the rain gets too bad, he can just hunker down.”

  “And get squished by a falling tree.”

  “Come on, Steven. You’re supposed to be the team optimist, remember?” Niklaus let out a half-bitter chuckle and held the clipboard up to his face. “Funny. Even in 1945, these stupid forms are unreadable. Guess some things never change.”

  “I guess we use our real names.” Steven’s mouth shifted to one side. “But make your birthdate something believable.”

  “Of course.” Niklaus put pen to paper. “How’s 1915 sound?”

  “Right on target.” Stev
en filled in the same line on his form. “And, what do you know? Looks like we were both born during The Great War.”

  The howling wind outside gusted as a middle-aged man in a long white coat entered from behind the nurse’s desk and motioned for them to follow him.

  “Come with me, gentlemen.” The doctor straightened his coat and adjusted his glasses. “Away from the windows.”

  Steven helped Niklaus to his feet, and the pair followed the man through the door.

  “Do you think we’ll be all right in here?” Steven asked. “Storm sounds pretty bad.”

  “They built this hospital pretty sturdy, but we should probably stay near the center of the building.” He shot Steven a raised eyebrow, his lips turning up in a slight smirk. “Not our first hurricane, you know.”

  Miniscule by twenty-first century standards, the ER consisted of a single space divided by curtains into four small treatment areas, two on either side of a narrow hallway that culminated on a double door marked “AMBULANCE” at the opposite end.

  “Wow.” The lights flickered as Steven helped Niklaus onto one of the two gurneys. “We’re really the only ones here?”

  “To be honest, we weren’t expecting much business today other than true emergencies as everyone is home preparing for the storm.” The doctor pulled over a chair and rested his hands on the back. “Make no mistake, we’ll more than make up for the lull later today.” He extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Jim Bolton.”

  “Steven Bauer.” Steven accepted the man’s firm handshake. “And this is—”

  “Niklaus Zamek.” Niklaus gave the doctor a jaunty salute, though the sudden movement left him wincing with pain. “Glad you were open today.”

  “You two are lucky. In a few hours, the storm will be on top of us. After it passes, this place is going to be packed.” Bolton’s voice dropped. “God only knows what the death toll will be this time.” He sat in the chair and took Niklaus’ foot in his hands, shaking his head. “Well, I hate to tell you this, Mr. Zamek, but this ankle is going to need an x-ray.”

  “Does it look bad, Doc?” Niklaus asked.

  “Could be just a bad sprain.” Bolton rested his fingers on the most swollen part of the ankle, and Niklaus answered with a quiet groan. “What the hell did you do?”

  Niklaus flashed Steven a hesitant look. “I zigged when I should’ve zagged.”

  Bolton’s eyes narrowed at the comment. “And you, Mr. Bauer? What in the world left such a gash over your eye?”

  “Got whacked by a tree branch.” Steven’s cheeks grew hot at the lie.

  Bolton’s mouth turned up at one corner. “That was one angry tree, young man.”

  Steven shook his head and let out a half-chuckle. “You have no idea.”

  “What were you two doing out and about today anyway?” Bolton’s gaze shot to Niklaus and then back to Steven. “It’s been all over the radio for days for everyone to stay put till after the storm passed.”

  “Being in your hospital today was the last thing either of us had planned.” Steven massaged the bridge of his nose. “Trust me.”

  A nurse entered from the hallway. “Do you need anything, Dr. Bolton?”

  He glanced down at his clipboard. “Please bring me a suturing tray for Mr. Bauer’s brow and then wheel Mr. Zamek down the hall for an x-ray of his left ankle.”

  Bolton stepped out of the room with the nurse, but before Niklaus and Steven could resume their conversation, she returned with a wheelchair and took Niklaus away, leaving Steven alone in an emergency room from another time. Rickety gurneys, wooden tables covered with bottles and bandages, and a smattering of medical equipment that would have looked right at home in a Humphrey Bogart film filled the space.

  1945. Steven’s scalp crawled. We’re really in 1945.

  Bolton returned with a rolling tray outfitted with a metal syringe and a suturing kit.

  “Ready, Mr. Bauer?”

  Steven laughed. “Depends on how long that needle is.”

  “Don’t worry. Nothing but a little medicine to help lessen the pain.”

  “If it’s all the same, can you just clean it up and put in the stitches without the shot?”

  Bolton raised an eyebrow, shaking his head dubiously. “That’s going to hurt.”

  “I can take it.”

  “Very well.” Bolton set aside the syringe and grabbed a towel from a pan filled with hot soapy water. “Shall we begin?”

  Steven gritted his teeth as Bolton cleansed the wound and put in seven stitches. The process hurt like hell, but when the doctor had finished, the cut had all but vanished save the few knots of black suture holding it closed.

  “Bobbi?” Bolton called. “Can you please bandage up Mr. Bauer here while I attend to his friend?”

  The nurse from before returned with a roll of gauze in her hand. Bolton gave her a few whispered instructions and vanished down the hall.

  “You’re looking a lot better.” Likely a good ten years younger than her sunbaked skin would suggest, the nurse’s name tag read “Bobbi Southern, RN” though her inflection marked her as a New Yorker. “I must ask, what in the world were you and your friend doing out on a day like today?”

  “Just trying to get from Point A to Point B. We…had a little car trouble.” Pick a lie and stick with it, Steven thought. “We’d still be out in it if it weren’t for this guy named Ron. He really saved our bacon.”

  “Would that be Ron Springer?” she asked. “Old guy from down in Homestead? Face like a worn-out saddlebag?”

  “That’s him.” Steven let out a quiet laugh. “I can’t believe you know him.”

  “I may work up here in the city, but I drive in from Homestead every day.” She shook her head. “Ron never did have the good sense to come in out of the rain.”

  “You two don’t talk anything alike.” Steven raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here.”

  “Queens, born and bred.” Her eyes narrowed at Steven. “And you? I’m guessing east coast? Maybe North Carolina?”

  “Virginia, up in the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

  “Never been there. Heard it’s pretty, though.” Bobbi applied some ointment to Steven’s wound and covered it with a bandage. “Me and the husband got tired of all the snow a few years back and headed south. Never looked back.”

  “Traded blizzards for hurricanes, huh?”

  She smiled. “We all pick our poisons in this life, Mr. Bauer.”

  As Bobbi continued to dress his forehead, Steven’s eyes slid shut allowing his mind to wander. Images, welcome and otherwise, washed across his consciousness as he continued to process the events of the preceding hours.

  Unbelievably, he and Niklaus were alive and walking the earth some thirty years before either of their births, and without the magic of the pouch, Steven didn’t have the first clue how to get them back to where and when they belonged.

  And that was only the beginning of their problems.

  What about the others?

  Lena and Emilio. Archie. Grey.

  Audrey.

  All of them likely scattered to the four corners of the earth, stripped of their powers, and as out of their time as he and Niklaus were.

  And the worst part, overshadowing everything else: the inescapable fact that back in their own time, seconds continued to tick away until the advent of the latest iteration of the Game, an iteration now primed to be played uncontested.

  Zed’s ploy had played out perfectly.

  And Steven knew in his heart of hearts he had no one but himself to blame.

  4

  Bait & Switch

  The middle span of the Brooklyn Bridge dangled precariously above the East River’s slow current, its entire length twisted like an airplane propeller blade. Torn loose from the Brooklyn tower and hanging askew some fifteen feet below its usual mooring, the deck rested atop an intricate series of rocky buttresses that rose from the river like the ivory tentacles of some impossibly huge octopus. The main suspension
cables remained intact, but the majority of the vertical cables along the entire span had either snapped or pulled loose from the bridge. The few that remained appeared stretched beyond any reasonable limit of integrity.

  “All right, Steven,” Niklaus shouted, his voice like shattered granite. “I’ve secured the bridge, but I don’t know how long I can hold it.”

  In his rocky form, Niklaus cut an impressive figure. Twelve feet tall and as broad as a locomotive, he resembled one of Michelangelo’s marble masterpieces, yet moved as fluidly as the Grecian athletes the legendary sculptor once immortalized.

  Steven had never seen him like this.

  Hunched over like Sisyphus at the stone, the Rook stood rooted to the concrete surface of the bridge deck, his legs like twin tree trunks and his hands and arms melded with one of the Brooklyn tower’s upright columns. His body now essentially a part of the architecture, the strain etched in Niklaus’ rocky features made plain the toll of such a juxtaposition of man and mortar. That one man’s will alone kept the fragmented middle span of the bridge from plunging into the river below left Steven in awe.

  I just hope Nik can hold on till we finish this.

  The earthquake had struck at the bottom of the five o’clock hour and, as such, had left the fractured bridge strewn with hundreds of stranded vehicles and terrified commuters. A few of the bravest had managed to negotiate the ever-widening gap at the base of the Manhattan tower and escape onto the intact segment of bridge to the north. Several more had risked life and limb and jumped for the turbid water below. Even so, over two hundred men, women, and children remained on the ruined structure once considered a pinnacle of human engineering.

  “What now, Steven?” Audrey scanned the panicked throng teeming below her vantage atop the Brooklyn tower. “There are just so many of them.”

  Remember what Grey said. Steven took a breath. You’ve got to lead.