The hearth glowed dim, tinting the room in amber, but he was too preoccupied to notice, drunk on peppermint kisses and the rosy scent of Sam's hair. His fingers slid from her face to the back of her head, down her spine, and back up again, relishing each sensation—the whispery brush of fallen curls, the supple movement of her neck, the rich velvet of her bodice. She clung to him as he dizzily lifted her up off the bench and carried her into his bedroom. His knees turned to water and they tumbled onto the mattress. In the brief moments when they pulled apart to gasp for air, he felt her fingers at his chest, unfastening his waistcoat buttons one by one…
But wait. This was wrong. "Sam, stop."
She froze under him and furrowed her brow. Her fingers fell limp on the sheets. "Sorry," she murmured, "I thought…never mind." Her expression was sad now—no, not sad—embarrassed, confused.
Every inch of him ached with a desperation to keep going, to dive into her embrace and assure her that he wanted this, but he knew it wouldn't be right. Not while he was still keeping secrets. If he wanted her, he would have to tell her everything, and hope that she still wanted him after that. "Sam, there's something…" What could he say? I lied to you. I was sent to trick you into following me to your doom, but then I changed my might so we're stuck in the past forever because the agency has disowned me? No, he couldn't say that. He had to make things right first.
"JB?" she breathed.
"There's something I have to do," he said, refastening his waistcoat and scooting off the bed. "I completely forgot and it's important. I'm so sorry."
"What—?"
"I'll explain when I get back," he assured her.
She frowned. "What is it? Are you okay?"
"Never been better, actually," he said. "Just let me take care of this, then we'll continue right where we left off." He kissed her one more time to seal his promise, then before she could press him further, he hurried into the entry hall, flung on his coat and hat, and sped out the front door.
The night greeted him with a sobering thrash of frigid wind. It was frankly astonishing that it still had not snowed. He sucked in a breath and descended the front steps, making his way down to the quiet street. The memory of their kiss glowed in his core and fought off the chill like a lantern in the dark.
...
Sam hugged her knees as she lay on the bed, completely stunned. What was so important that JB needed to bolt outside in the middle of the night, right when they were on the verge of something wonderful? Should she be angry? When he'd stepped away at Mrs. Arnold's ball in Baltimore, she'd iced him for getting her hopes up and changing his mind. But this felt different. This time felt like an interruption, not a retreat. There was no way he would have kissed her so ardently, embraced her with such tenderness, had he had second thoughts. She was certain of it.
Her anxiety melted away and she closed her eyes, replaying his words in her head: Just let me take care of this, then we'll continue right where we left off. She grinned at the ceiling and erupted into a fit of giggles. She must have looked like a lunatic, but there was no one around to see; besides, she was too happy to care. Any minute now, JB would return and all would be rapture.
...
After what felt like a reasonable distance from the cottage, JB stopped in front of a little stone church. He found a shadowy corner below the steeple and, after checking that no one was watching, he made the risky decision to teleport himself into the bookshop. There was a high likelihood that Sam would never speak to him again after he told her the truth about his mission, so this could be his last opportunity to give her the Les Misérables volumes. With it being four o'clock in the morning on Christmas Day, the shop would be closed, so his only option was to appear inside, take the books, and leave a handful of coins in the shop owner's desk drawer. The shop was so full of books, he doubted anyone would notice some missing.
Once in the shop, JB hurried to the French language section. He shone his elucidator light on the bookcase and immediately his heart sank. On the shelf, right where the volumes had stood just the day before, was a footlong gap of empty space. He was too late.
...
Sam hummed to herself as she readied a pot of water. JB was taking longer than she expected, but she tried not to worry. Instead, she peered out the window—still not a hint of snow—and waited for the water to boil. She was sure JB could use a cup of hot tea once he returned from the cold. The glow from the fireplace had fizzled into ash, flecked with a few leftover orange sparks. She lit a match and dropped it into the pile of wood. It hissed and she jumped back as the flames reignited. For a moment, a vision of JB lying on the ground under the fallen bookcase in the Harts' library flashed in her memory, but she shooed it away. He was fine, she told herself, just taking a little longer than anticipated.
...
Back in the shadow of the village church, JB sucked in a breath and whispered into his elucidator, "Okay, Cira. I'm willing to talk. I have a proposition for you."
Cira's voice shot out almost before he'd finished his sentence. "K'Tah, you are in no position to negotiate. Thank god for Mrs. Poe and the Correros' help or I might never have found you."
"What did they tell you?" For a moment, he felt a jolt of indignation. Could Hadley really have betrayed him?
"Don't be angry with your friends, K'Tah, they were only worried for your safety," said Cira. "Despite what I'd wanted you to believe, I haven't been monitoring your mission 24/7. I have a busy job and I'd hoped that you would behave yourself if you thought you were under constant supervision. Clearly, I was wrong."
"I know," he said. "I'm fully aware of what I did and I'm ready to face the consequences. But please, just hear me out first. I think there's a way to make this work for everyone."
He heard Cira sigh on the other end. "Go on."
Now was his chance. He rolled back his shoulders and attempted a confident stance in case Cira could see him. "I understand that I can't bring Sam back to the twenty-first century, but you said that some of history could be saved if she dies before 1920."
"I did."
"Well, as long as everything up to the 1920s is safe, plus the twenty-first century and the present, like you said before, the agency can work from within those periods to find a way to heal the rest of time. There's no need to send Sam back to her original identity when she can live here in the 1800s. I get that it will take longer to fix time if we go this route, but isn't it worth it if it means Sam can live a full life?"
"K'Tah, I realize you want—"
"It's not about what I want. I know I've betrayed the agency and I understand that you have to punish me. But please, don't punish Sam too. Take me back to the present, send me to time prison, do whatever you want with me. Just let Sam live." He could hear the strain in his own voice and had to pause so as not to reveal how truly desperate he felt.
Cira waited while he tried to compose himself. Then she said, "I don't want to punish you, K'Tah. I'll of course need to confiscate your elucidator once you return, but I have no desire to watch you suffer. In fact, I find your solution compelling." This should have given JB hope, but there was a heaviness in her voice that hinted at something else. "The problem is that the, um, nature of your relationship with Cretney—" he cringed at her tone "—has escalated to a point that places the nineteenth and early twentieth century at risk if she stays. She's emotionally invested in you, K'Tah, and you've encouraged it." He burned with humiliation. It was like Cira had stripped him naked and placed him under a spotlight. "Your emotional attachment to each other does not bode well for history according to our projections."
According to their projections? "What do you mean?"
"I mean, if you leave Cretney here, you have to make sure she doesn't try to reach you. If she holds any semblance of hope that you still care for her, she will try to find you and that will harm both her and the rest of time."
"Even when she learns why I brought her to the past in the first place? She'll still want me?" He knew the question was pathetic, but he couldn't stop the flutter that sprung up in his chest at the prospect.
"You know our projections are rarely wrong."
Hope faded to dread once he remembered what Cira was trying to tell him. "You mean she has no chance either way?"
"No. I'm telling you that if you want to save her life, you must convince her that all this romantic nonsense is just that—nonsense. Make her believe you do not feel anything for her, that she has no reason to seek you out."
"What if your projections are off?"
"Are you willing to risk Cretney's life on that chance?"
The ache in his heart dragged him to his knees. "No."
"The good news is," Cira continued, "if you do this, all of time will be safe, not just the periods we discussed before. Our elucidators will likely still have limitations and tracers may not return, but that shouldn't matter since time travel will cease anyway."
"But Sam…the only way she lives is if I completely break her heart? That isn't fair."
"Fair?" Cira sounded exasperated. "Since when has history been fair? Time to wake up, K'Tah. It's a miracle that we have a chance to solve this at all. If you want Creteny to live, this is your only option. Tell me you understand."
He managed a shaky gulp and nodded. "I know. I can't have my cake and eat it too."
"What? That doesn't make any—"
"Never mind, Cira." He just wanted this conversation to end. "I hear you. I'll do what I have to do."
"Thank you for coming to your senses. It really is the easiest solution."
Easiest solution? He could not think of a more absurd statement. There was nothing easy about any of this.