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Aside from a few minor scrapes and bruises, and an ankle that’s tender but thankfully not broken or sprained, I return to my room and head straight for the shower, where I lather myself up with the array of scented soaps and bath oils.
If nothing else, my journey back in time has given me a new appreciation for mundane things like running water, indoor plumbing, and mouthwash.
It’s funny to think how much I used to love watching romantic historical movies, imagining what it would be like to wear a fancy gown and glittering jewels while being courted by a handsome boy in breeches and a tailcoat. Well, now I know. And the truth is, the people from those long ago times smell really foul.
With the exception of one.
A vision of his wavy golden hair and masked face blooms in my mind. The impression so startling and real, the bar of soap slips from my fingers and lands hard on the drain. As I watch the water gather and swirl all around, a hot spray beating hard on my back, I wonder how memory can be so cruel as to make me forget Braxton when I Trip, while refusing to grant me the same courtesy of erasing the masked boy upon my return.
On my waist, I can feel the ghost of his hand.
There’s a place on my neck where his lips continue to haunt.
And I have no idea what to do with any of that.
Do I risk telling Braxton? I mean, he’ll understand, having Tripped plenty of times himself. Right?
Or do I lock the memory away in a metaphorical box?
Since Jago and Elodie were off on their own, it’s not like anyone saw. And besides, there’s really no point in confessing, when I’ll clearly never see the boy again.
I remember the way he spoke his name—Killian de Luce.
It sounds as made up as Elodie Blue.
The whole experience feels so surreal. And even though I experienced it firsthand, it’s still hard to believe I traveled thousands of miles and over two and a half centuries in less time than it takes to drive from here to the lighthouse.
Though, when I yawn, I realize that the phenomenon of Time Lag is real, so I shut off the taps, reach for a towel, and pad into my dressing room to find my slab buzzing with a message from Braxton.
Braxton:Welcome back. Meet me in my room to celebrate?
Me:?
Braxton:See you soon. Directions attached.
I’m tired, hungry, but also well-versed in the restorative power of a pretty dress. I slip into a backless velvet flocked minidress and a pair of jeweled heels. And though I keep my makeup to a minimum and leave my hair long and loose, I take a moment to add the diamond swan clip I took from that woman in Versailles just a few hours earlier.
By the time I arrive at Braxton’s door, I’m fully committed to keeping the encounter with Killian to myself. I just can’t see the point in confiding. And besides, I’m unwilling to do anything that’ll risk wrecking this night.
I take a deep breath, run a hand over my dress, and knock.
A moment later, Elodie opens the door.
