Lightning Rider (17 page)

I jump up, overcome by the rah-rah speech. “Then teach me.”

He rears back like I struck him. “Did you not hear anything I said? This is to be taken seriously, not tossed away with some untrained female.”

Raw anger at the injustice coats every single speck of promise that glimmered from his speech, and I clamp my jaw until my teeth ache.

Papi clears his throat and steps between us, stroking my back and leading me away. “Okay, I think what Ilif meant was—”

“Exactly what I said.”

Papi turns me toward the sink, and I shake with anger. He flips the tap and fills a glass, then forces me to take a drink. Why isn’t he standing up for me?

I hand the glass back and he sets it next to the sink. “You okay?”

Am I? Drawing a deep breath, I nod and stare small, pointy daggers at Ilif’s back. This isn’t about him. This is about focusing on why I came home, why I lured Ilif into answering questions I knew might offend me. He caught me off guard, that’s all. I didn’t expect him to give a big inspirational speech and then close back down into an unemotional jackass.

Too bad. I could get on board with the passionate Ilif . . . but this one?

He flicks an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve.

Not so much.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, not sure if I mean to reassure Papi or me. The enormity of the situation weighs on my body, bowing me forward until I’m crushed by everything I’ve tried to ignore. Everything Constantine and Penya have been telling me. But Ilif may have just given me the insight I needed. How could I walk away after hearing that?

With a comforting pat on my shoulder that strengthens my resolve, Papi brushes past me. Next to Ilif, he’s lean and light, but tonight his vibrant energy is waning. Probably because he’s being sucked into the black hole of ass beside him. I study Ilif. Would he choose to help me if he knew what I was being tasked with, what I’m supposedly destined to craft? Would he train me then?

I tip my face to the ceiling. It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to tell him. I fell for his dynamo speech, opened myself up for the rejection . . . wanted to believe I was the person he was talking about. I still might be, but he’ll never see it. This isn’t new territory. I’ve been fighting for my spot my entire life.

No reason riding should be any different.

Papi straightens. “Well, on that note . . .”

I shove my own problems away and touch his arm. He looks haggard, even with his young, boxer face. “Are you sure? Do you want me to go with you?”

“No! No, I’ll be fine. I’m sure one more trip is all I need to finish this.” He turns to Ilif. “You’re sure the memory problem won’t affect anything?”

My ears perk.

Ilif answers. “I’m trusting your body to make adjustments as needed. Your assessment was correct, and your inexperience is causing your body to overcompensate—it’s the only way for you to pull off a convincing ruse.”

“Papi, what’s happening? Are you losing your memory?”

“Only when I’m at the other end.”

I look at Ilif. “Seriously?”

Ilif pats my hand like I’m a child, and I force myself not to tear it away.

“We’ll get it figured out,” he says.

I glare at the floor, not trusting myself to make eye contact. Don’t screw this up now, Evy.

Shifting my attention to Papi, I voice my concern. “Papi, I don’t think you should go. What if you don’t remember you’re supposed to come home?”

“I’ll be linked. No matter what, I’ll be able to track him,” Ilif says.

“You say that like you didn’t lose his father for six decades,” I snap, instantly regretting it.

“Different circumstances. I purposely gave him time away. I’ll be watching Vic’s every movement throughout the arc.”

“Why?” I ask, turning to face Ilif. “Why can’t he just skip this one?”

“It doesn’t work that way. I already told your father if he doesn’t complete this alteration, he’ll never arc anywhere else.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t.”

His arrogance annoys me on a celestial level. “What if he gets hurt?”

“You’re thinking in linear terms. His existence there may be affected, but not here.”

“So he’ll just fling home?”

“Basically.”

“Basically?” My voice rises.

Ilif rubs his forehead and his hand trembles. I’m pretty sure he’s about to lose it.

His hand slides down the side of his face, pulling his skin taut and distorted. “It depends. Usually, when an injury is inflicted, the rider returns to his birth time. Though there have been occasions when that didn’t happen.”

“What
did
happen?”

Even from the short amount of time I’ve been around Ilif, it’s pretty clear he works in absolutes. To hear him use words like
basically
and
usually
unnerves me. I’ve come to depend on him for answers, whether I like them or not.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “The wound was mortal and the rider never came home.”

This answer is beyond unsettling, especially considering my current alteration. Mortal wounds are highly likely.

I suppose it’s not really different in the grand scheme of things—I die, I go away. It never bothered me before. Any biker worth her ride has overcome the fear of death. Can’t straddle a thousand horses and be afraid of mights and possiblies. Death rides bitch every day—you either let him, or he yanks you off.

But am I ready to deal with
Papi’s
mortality? I study him, this youthful version of my father. I don’t like that he’s stuck in a loop of danger, and it gives me an idea. 

“I’m going in his place.”

“No!” Papi lunges forward and grabs my wrist.

“Over my dead body,” Ilif says, exploding toward me. He recovers and jerks to a stop a foot away, then clears his throat. “It won’t work. You can’t intercept someone else’s alteration.”

“How do you know?”

“We’re done talking about this,” Ilif says.

“Why don’t you give me a minute with my daughter?” Papi says to Ilif before wrapping an arm around me and leading me into the front room. “Evy, I have to agree,” he whispers. “I could never let you do that. There’s no way I could stay home knowing you’re in danger. Please don’t ask me to.”

“I’m just worried.”

“I know. But I’ll be fine. Ilif’s been doing this for years and years. There’s no better teacher for me.” He winks and forces a grin. “Remember the dancing? You know I’m a slow learner.”

I do remember the dancing. Mami made him do it for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary celebration. He was awful. It took him months to find any rhythm.

I lean into Papi’s hug. Do I trust Ilif? He’s forcing this on Papi and blatantly ignoring that I’m a willing participant. There’s no way his agenda is really as altruistic as it seems. While I’d like to believe he only wants us to keep the next Martin Luther King Jr. from getting on a runaway train, save the next Stephen Hawking from food poisoning, or get Steve Jobs to the cancer doctor sooner, I’m no fool.

So far, he’s only been antagonistic toward me.

For all that he’s a social misfit, I do think he’s smart, so if there were any other option, he’d have found it. In this one thing, I believe him. We
are
his only option.

He’ll do everything in his power to keep Papi safe, keep his program going, agenda or no. He’s worked with generations of riders, and this is his business. I’ve got to trust him with Papi.

But until Ilif pulls his head out of his ass about what a woman can do, I’m not giving him any more info than necessary. I’ll tell Papi later, when Ilif’s gone.

I step away.

Papi turns, a genuine smile lifting one cheek. He brushes the hair at my temple. “I’ll be back. Are you staying this time?”

My gaze flicks to Ilif before I can stop it. I forge ahead. “If it won’t interfere with you guys, I’d like to go back to Spain,” I whisper.

“Why Spain? Do you think there’s an alteration there?”

I attempt nonchalance. “Nah. But there’s this guy, Viriato.”

Papi snorts. “The Spanish legend?”

Shit.
“Um, yeah. I saw a fantastic sculpture of him I want to go back and check out.”

“Just don’t go back far enough to admire
him
. From the little I can remember, Viriato was ruthless. At least try to be careful.”

We return to the kitchen, and Ilif rubs his forehead, as if annoyed we needed privacy. “I’ll be tracking your father from the lab. I assume you’ll continue to travel despite my wishes. Would you like me to monitor as much of your progress as I can?”

My eyebrows shoot upward. “I—I . . . uh . . . no. That’s okay. I’m just going to sightsee again. Can’t hurt anything since I’m just a time traveler.”

He nods then addresses Papi. “Victor. I’ll be waiting.”

“I’m ready now.” He gathers a stack of documents from the counter and tucks them under his arm.

“Fine,” Ilif says.

They disappear together, leaving me wondering if I managed to accomplish Penya’s assignment or not.

Feeling grimy and in need of some quiet time before Spain, I head to the bathroom. I peel my clothes off and turn on the shower, willing the water to help me sort through what’s important and what’s not. This is the first chance I’ve had to stop and think.

Steam coats the inside of the glass doors, and I step into the heat. Water runs over my hair and into my face. I force my scattered thoughts to coalesce. I’m a time traveler. But not just any time traveler, one with the ability to change the world. That’s a little terrifying. I open my mouth until the water fills it and spit it against the wall.

I’m not normal. For the first time in my life I’m scared, and it’s because of responsibility. Granted, it’s responsibility the size of the planet, but still.

Rivers of water wear away my ragged edges, soothing the fear and replacing it with courage. If I’m going to take this on, I have to commit. Even Constantine’s demand of my willingness didn’t get me there. It got me close, and I lied about the rest so he’d get off my back. Now I need to get there for
me
. I blow out a huge breath. I don’t know how to do stuff half-assed. 

Next, I need to find out how Viriato died and align that with what Penya’s told me.

The water turns cold. I turn it off and twist my hair up in a towel, then wrap another around me and cross the hallway to my old room. I have exactly no new choices of clothes, but I’d really love an actual pair of pants and new underwear.

Behind me, I hear the clack of nails and turn to see Ike’s scaly figure emerging from his newest hiding place under the bed.

“Hey, buddy.”

I’ve completely forgotten about him, but as far as he’s concerned, it’s only been a day since we came to hang out here. Keeping track of when I fed him might be a challenge. I pull a few slices of melon out of his container and slide them under his nose.

Holding my towel, I slip down the hall and rifle through Tiana’s closet. Last time I raided her clothes, the sparse selection didn’t offer much. I’m hoping she has something stashed away large enough to fit me. We may be only a couple of years apart, but she’s the size of a pixie. Even pregnant, she was still a twig. I dig through her drawers and find some leftover hand-me-downs I gave her last spring.

A lightweight thermal, a yellow three-quarter-length tee, and baggy, low-slung jeans are all I can find. No chance her bra will fit, so I don’t even bother to look, but I jam my feet into my favorite hiking slip-ons. I don’t have anything non-barbarian, but I hope my shoes are close enough to sandals that Constantine will let me keep them.

On my way past the bed, I spot Tiana’s laptop and shove a pile of her clothes out of the way to open the lid. It’s ancient and slow as a cold motor. While it whirs and beeps, I think about Ilif’s grand speech and all the things he’s told us before today. Sometimes his vehemence toward me is so unchecked . . . like some woman wronged him and he sees her in every female alive. Not that it matters. Whether it’s me or someone else, the outcome is still the same. I’m not sure how Penya and Constantine thought I could play nice with him. He has no intention of teaching me anything.

Finally the computer screen lights up, and I type
Viriato
into the search engine and click the online encyclopedia entry. Before the window opens, the laptop’s critical battery alarm goes off. I will the page to load faster and kick at the clothes pile in search of her plug, but I don’t see it anywhere. The battery readout says less than four minutes. The computer will shut down in two, which I know all too well from trying to chance it when I’m finishing a new design. I skip the plug and scan the page. I need details. Lots of them.

Words jump out:

. . . Betrayed by Romans . . .

. . . Man of great physical strength . . .

Very clear on both these points, but not what I need.

The battery chirps again.

I scroll and scan.

. . . Part of a legend . . .

Yeah, me too.

The header for ‘Death’ jumps out and I lean closer. Scan the words faster.

. . . final battle . . . Small entourage of Roman soldiers . . . Enemies died . . . Viriato returned to his village a hero . . . Years later Viriato’s son led a massive battle . . . Tens of thousands killed . . . Destroyed Spain’s infrastructure . . . Country never recovered . . . Viriato died of complications from old age.

No. I clap my hand over my mouth.

The screen goes dark and her hard drive shuts down.

“
No!
” I leap off the bed, toss the laptop on it, and pace.

We don’t win. I don’t affect anything.

Screw that.

There has to be a different answer. Penya said my future would cease to exist if we failed. What I just read must be the future that happens without my alteration.

Small entourage of Roman soldiers.

Died.

I squeeze my eyes shut and fold my body in half. Constantine cannot die on me. Sure, he’s intense and overbearing, but I need him. Not only has he agreed to train me, he’s kept me alive. I can’t do this without him. I’ll do whatever Penya says if it means keeping my team alive. I’ll play nice with Ilif. We can’t lose.