have been better if you could have gone on blissfully ignorant, but at this point we have no choice. We don’t contact the police or the FBI because I am already on the job. I work for the government, and I’ve been assigned to your father for some years now. These young people work for me. Believe me, we are on top of this.”
Tesla closed her eyes. She needed a moment to process this craziness, not to mention shut out the sight of every single set of eyes in the room searching her face to see—what, exactly? If she would cry? Run from the room in fear, unable to handle it? Did they assume she’d be a total narcissist and focus on the creepiness of being spied on by strangers (because that actually was pretty creepy)—that she’d only care about herself, not about her dad or Max, or the larger issues that were obviously at work here?
She looked right at Finn, then, sick and tired of being out of the loop, treated like a fragile child, because of her heart, because of her age, because of her lack of experience. Because her mother had died. She was worried about her dad, but these people seemed to think he was okay. She wasn’t sure what she should do next, but before she got to any of that, Tesla had to ask what seemed the most fundamentally important question at that moment.
“What, exactly, is my father working on?”
Before Lydia could stop him, Finn stepped forward, crouched down in front of the sofa so his eyes were on a level with Tesla’s. In the split second before he spoke she wished she could take back the question, but it was already too late.
“Time travel,” Finn said.
CHAPTER 9
Bizzy reached up to twist the tiny silver stud pierced through the delicate flesh of her left nostril while she watched Tesla. The redhead was always so explosive, so pissed at everyone, and Bizzy was not inclined to miss anything she might do or say because of some archaic, Miss Manners rule about staring.
Lydia frowned. “We should have talked about this first, Finnegan.”
Finn sat on the couch next to Tesla and faced Lydia. He said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow at her, waiting. Joley stopped pacing and stood in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest. Lydia drummed her fingers on the cracked, fat brown arm of her leather chair, then appeared to come to some sort of decision.
“Tesla, we’ll have to trust that you can handle this, and that you can absolutely, without any room for error, keep your mouth shut.”
Everyone looked at her expectantly, and Tesla nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Lydia looked at her a moment longer. The woman’s eyes did not waver, as though they could see right through the injured girl. Then—satisfied, it seemed—Lydia nodded. “There are aspects of your father’s work that we haven’t been able to piece together, and you may be able to help.”
“Well, if my dad couldn’t help you, I can’t believe I would be able to,” Tesla began as her gaze darted about the room. She seemed nervous, jumpy.
“No, that’s not what I mean. Your father is of course the scientist, and this is about the project he’s been immersed in for nearly two decades. But while he’s willing to have us around to keep you and Max safe, he does not, by any stretch of the imagination, share that work with us.”
“What about you, Bizzy?” Tesla asked, and the goth girl jumped at the sound of her name. “You’re there, in the lab, every day. Don’t you know what’s going on?”
“Well, yes and no,” Bizzy said, surprised and chagrined to find Tesla’s attention so fully hers—she was far more comfortable observing than being observed. “I got this research assistantship in the spring semester, so I haven’t been there that long. And Dr. Abbott doesn’t really include me—or anybody else—in every aspect of his work. I work on some discrete pieces of the project, but he’s the only one with the big picture.” Bizzy chewed on her
Tesla closed her eyes. She needed a moment to process this craziness, not to mention shut out the sight of every single set of eyes in the room searching her face to see—what, exactly? If she would cry? Run from the room in fear, unable to handle it? Did they assume she’d be a total narcissist and focus on the creepiness of being spied on by strangers (because that actually was pretty creepy)—that she’d only care about herself, not about her dad or Max, or the larger issues that were obviously at work here?
She looked right at Finn, then, sick and tired of being out of the loop, treated like a fragile child, because of her heart, because of her age, because of her lack of experience. Because her mother had died. She was worried about her dad, but these people seemed to think he was okay. She wasn’t sure what she should do next, but before she got to any of that, Tesla had to ask what seemed the most fundamentally important question at that moment.
“What, exactly, is my father working on?”
Before Lydia could stop him, Finn stepped forward, crouched down in front of the sofa so his eyes were on a level with Tesla’s. In the split second before he spoke she wished she could take back the question, but it was already too late.
“Time travel,” Finn said.
CHAPTER 9
Bizzy reached up to twist the tiny silver stud pierced through the delicate flesh of her left nostril while she watched Tesla. The redhead was always so explosive, so pissed at everyone, and Bizzy was not inclined to miss anything she might do or say because of some archaic, Miss Manners rule about staring.
Lydia frowned. “We should have talked about this first, Finnegan.”
Finn sat on the couch next to Tesla and faced Lydia. He said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow at her, waiting. Joley stopped pacing and stood in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest. Lydia drummed her fingers on the cracked, fat brown arm of her leather chair, then appeared to come to some sort of decision.
“Tesla, we’ll have to trust that you can handle this, and that you can absolutely, without any room for error, keep your mouth shut.”
Everyone looked at her expectantly, and Tesla nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Lydia looked at her a moment longer. The woman’s eyes did not waver, as though they could see right through the injured girl. Then—satisfied, it seemed—Lydia nodded. “There are aspects of your father’s work that we haven’t been able to piece together, and you may be able to help.”
“Well, if my dad couldn’t help you, I can’t believe I would be able to,” Tesla began as her gaze darted about the room. She seemed nervous, jumpy.
“No, that’s not what I mean. Your father is of course the scientist, and this is about the project he’s been immersed in for nearly two decades. But while he’s willing to have us around to keep you and Max safe, he does not, by any stretch of the imagination, share that work with us.”
“What about you, Bizzy?” Tesla asked, and the goth girl jumped at the sound of her name. “You’re there, in the lab, every day. Don’t you know what’s going on?”
“Well, yes and no,” Bizzy said, surprised and chagrined to find Tesla’s attention so fully hers—she was far more comfortable observing than being observed. “I got this research assistantship in the spring semester, so I haven’t been there that long. And Dr. Abbott doesn’t really include me—or anybody else—in every aspect of his work. I work on some discrete pieces of the project, but he’s the only one with the big picture.” Bizzy chewed on her
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