Page 36 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

Now.

But my heart and spirit order me otherwise. Loudly.

“Max? Max.” I grip him tighter. He stays as immobile as one of the ornate suits of armor flanking the doorway. “Hey. You okay?”

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t have to. I already see the tension plowing across his forehead, tightening the corners of his eyes. I already feel it in the tautening muscles beneath my touch. I have no idea what to do. What to say.

“Max.”

I try again anyway.

“Is this a trigger or something? Do…do you—” But I clench the words into silence. They make no sense.

Do you know this woman?

I need to get a huge grip. And stop entertaining ideas that are more stupid than surgical rib removal for an ideal dress fit.

As I wage that inner war, Drue moves over and bounces a probing stare between Max and me. “What’s going on? Why do you both look like Satan’s suddenly ripping out your spleens?”

“I—I don’t know,” I whisper.

She jumps her brows. “What the hell is up with him and the paintings?”

I barely hear her—though every word she speaks is like a scream.

Because she’s right.

Max has wandered—okay, stumbled—over to the next portrait on the wall. The painting triggers equal tension up and down his tall form. That means I’m throttled by the same reaction from my own senses. The feeling that he’s peering at somebody he actually knows…

This is crazy.

Beyond insane.

I shake my head. Desperately fight to clear it of this chaos.

“M-Maybe it’s all tied into his reenacting thing.” I don’t sound convinced, but I’m a big fan of fake-it-till-you-make-it. “I said he was really a method guy, right?”

“Is he going to melt down?” Drue doesn’t buy my explanation either. Not one bit. “Shit. We didn’t check the cutlery at the breakfast table, did we?”

“The cutlery?” I snap around to face her. “Hold on. You are worried about the bats in his belfry, aren’t you? Like, really and truly?”

“And you didn’t believe me until now?”

“Which means?”

“Honey, the dude’s got bats, all right. As long as they stay cute and funny, we’re good. But if his shit starts going goth rock video or—”

She’s prevented from taking that any further by the tour guide’s new spiel. “Chambord is the largest castle in the Loire Valley and one of the most famous in the world. It has four hundred twenty-six rooms, two hundred eighty-two fireplaces, and over eighty staircases, including the famous double spiral staircase, rumored to be designed by Leonardo Da Vinci. Remarkably, the longest the château was ever occupied was a period of twelve years, though it had its fair share of regal guests and visitors. You see many of them in the paintings along these walls. Sadly, Chambord’s golden era ended with the French Revolution, during which the castle was stripped of its furniture, artwork, and flooring. Though you shall see many recreated chambers on our tour, the glory that was Chambord will never be as it was when these nobles roamed its halls and gardens…”

The girl keeps droning, as engaged as a fifth grader giving a book report. But I’m not listening from the second Max bolts the opposite direction, pushing back through the crowd.

“Shit.” I match his urgency to escape. I need to get to him. Need him to know that no matter how freakish his behavior, I know the emotions beneath it are real. The aloneness. The sensation that nobody in the world gets the weirdness—and the need to flee it as fast as possible.

“What the hell is going on?” Raegan charges. In her book, skipping out on a guided tour is on par with a hit-and-run. “Allie? Where’s Max—”

“I’ll handle it.” Because my heart will allow me no other choice.

“That’s not an answer.”