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When they finally settle, Elodie looks at me and says, “Natasha, you’re the only one who hasn’t commented. And I know you must have an opinion, or at least a few questions. So, go ahead, say what’s on your mind.”
I try to imagine what I would’ve done in her position. It’s a moment before it dawns on me that I could easily find myself in a similar circumstance as early as tomorrow. And yet despite all the preparation and classes, despite Braxton giving me an early head’s up on what really goes on here at Gray Wolf, it’s still outrageous to think that one day soon I might actually find myself modeling for Michelangelo or taking part in anything resembling the types of stories they told.
Still, as hard as it is to wrap my head around the concept of actual time travel, there’s another mystery that looms even larger. A single murky detail they insist on glossing over—one that not even Braxton has seen fit to disclose. And, since Elodie opened the door to questions, I figure now’s my chance to get some answers.
“While it all sounds really cool and exciting,” I say, turning toward Elodie, “I’m not sure I get it. I mean, what’s the point?”
In an instant, Elodie’s face falls flat.
“I mean, it’s not like Arthur’s going to all this trouble and expense just so you can sleep with a king, and Finn can get his portrait sketched by a legend. Because, if that’s the case, then what about the class in procurement—what was that about?” I glance around the room only to find everyone has retreated into themselves.
Talk about killing a vibe. I pretty much slammed it with an ax, chopped it to bits, doused it in acid, then set fire to the remains.
Elodie squares her gaze on mine, the salacious glow of having bedded a notorious king completely snuffed out. “After we had our fun,” she says, her voice tight, “I waited for him to doze off, then I nicked some of his belongings and got the hell out of there as fast as I could.”
There it is. The one thing that no one, not even Braxton, has been willing to cop to: Arthur is training us to be time traveling thieves.
I remember my lunch with Arthur when he showed me the ring that once belonged to Edward the Black Prince. And suddenly I realize it was probably stolen from the past, along with every other precious object I’ve seen around Gray Wolf.
“And your partner?” I ask, voice shaky.
The room falls eerily silent. Elodie sinks back onto the settee, reaches for her glass, then, remembering it’s empty, reluctantly settles on me.
“The first Trip is always with a partner. What happened to yours?” I repeat.
Someone gasps, I think it was Song, but I can’t be sure because I’m focused on Elodie.
“Natasha—” Jago starts, but Elodie’s quick to call him off.
Breathing a resigned sigh, she says, “He’s…not a Blue anymore.”
“Then what is he?” I ask, wondering if it was maybe Hawke, Keane, or even Braxton.
“Not everyone’s cut out for Tripping,” she says, her gaze icy cold. “Tomorrow, we’ll find out if you are.”
The words hang heavy between us, and I watch as Elodie rises, pulls the empty bottle of champagne from the bucket, flips it upside down, and announces, “I pronounce this party officially over.”
As Song passes me on her way to the door, she turns briefly to me and says, “I really hope you don’t live to regret that.”
