Page 74 of Misadventures with a Duke

“I went time traveling.”

“Mierde.”

“By five minutes.” He is more relaxed about the recall now, seeming to warm to the moment in his memory. “And only to the other room in our apartment, where my heart was truly longing to be the whole time.” He returns to reptilian inspiration for the look he casts now, his gaze as knowing as an old crocodile’s. “So you see, I have learned from personal experience. The wardrobe is not like a hired livery driver. It will not take you where you are not destined to go. I am not even certain it has a reverse mode.”

His pause is deliberate and watchful. I return the scrutiny with as much determination. Does he think his assertion will dissuade me that easily?

“But you were not focusing on the past,” I claim. “The cabinet gets its direction from our energy and desires, oui? Your heart already knew where it wanted to be. You merely needed to prove that to Alessandra.”

“And you are still certain that your heart is not here?” Max rebuts. “Just wait, Bast, and stop to consider that. If Kavia told you—”

“The same thing she told you,” I snap. Damn it, he knows that. We have already reviewed the many details of our experiences, noting the uncanny similarities of them—especially this part. “Which is exactly what I did.”

“So why did the wardrobe not cast you back instead of forward?” he charges. “Why did it not fling you back to a place where you could get to Magique and then flee France with her? If it was indeed possible, why were you propelled here instead of there? Would 1788 not have been an easier push than the twenty-first century?”

I fume. Not vociferously, but enough for him to feel my pique. Cheeky fucking churl.

“Perhaps I should just summon Kavia up to our little chat, hmm?” I drawl. “I am certain she would love to expound on the subject, as long as we toss a few soup dumplings at Carl and keep him amused.”

My cynicism does not dissuade the man. Secretly, I would be disappointed if it did. “I just think there is more magic at work here than we think,” Max asserts. “Obviously Kavia found a way to harness the divine—but she is not the cosmic author. The Almighty, in all its different and magnificent forms, is still in charge. In this case, perhaps it also exercised some mercy. If Magique was snuffed from this realm before her sacred time, perhaps parts of her have been secured and brought back as Raegan. Maybe those are the parts your own soul was drawn to and now has found once again.”

I sway where I stand. The bâtard seems to savor that, grinning like the few occasions when he bested me on the combat training field. But I cannot summon a shred of malice—because yet again, all his words sound so right. Feel so right.

Good God.

What if he truly is right?

That moment when Marq’s dagger sank into Magique’s chest…that terrible sweep of violence, with every moment that felt so wrong…

What if it was?

What if that fratricide was a gross gash in the canvas of divine destiny? And what if the cosmos recognized that her soul was too precious to expire with her? What if a troupe of angels themselves flew across time and retrieved everything they could before her body gave up breath and form? What if they searched through centuries for the right person who could share her perfect magic—and they flew to this year to find it?

To find her…

My mind feels like it is juggling cows, but I manage to keep them all in the air while reviewing the ramifications of Max’s suggestion.

That perhaps I am meant to remain here. Ordained to all this oddness. Fated for this wilderness of the future. But for what? Not just to save my sorry skin. Not good enough. Not by half.

But a reunion with my beloved…

If I can truly stretch my mind around the concept…

She would be worth staying for. Worth trying for. Even fighting for, if it comes to that.

I nod with definition, attempting to say as much to Maximillian with the motion. Aloud, I offer more. “All right, then. How do we figure all that out?” I note the change across his face, a reiteration of his earlier earnestness. “How do we…focus on keeping me here?”

A long pause. Perhaps his face changes again, but I don’t know because of his deeply dipped head. When he raises it again, at once casting his stare down the alley, the situation is no better.

This is either very good or very bad.

I wish my heart wasn’t hammering so hard with the need to find out.

“It is a specific set of conditions that must be met,” he finally says. “Within one rotation of the moon.”

The pressure in my chest subsides. A little.

“Fair enough,” I reply. “Unless it is a trip to hell and back, or locating Atlantis, or some insane quest such as—”