Page 39 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

“Kavia.”

I repeat it, this time as an apology.

“I doubted you,” I rasp. “I even attempted to fight you.”

I remember everything—everything—as if that moment were two days ago. The bloodthirsty mob. My throat-clutching fear. Kavia and Carl arguing in the hall. Her revelation of my birthright and his calling out the woman as a witch. I was ready to give up then. To simply surrender to the horde. If they were ready to take my life, at least I knew where my eternal soul would go.

But Kavia wouldn’t relent.

She knew of bigger things.

She knew.

But had she known…of all this?

Had she known her sorcery possessed the power to suspend the very fabric of my life—my body, my mind, my soul, my consciousness—for over two hundred years? Because of what? The force of…true love?

I clutch the back of my neck. Grip myself with punishing force. “True love,” I mutter—but finish with a caustic grunt. Am I truly expected to believe that is my salvation? To think Alessandra will?

You easily believed it all last night. You were confident of that poetry when it came time to get your cock inside her, oui? It was not any trouble to believe in that magic when the situation suited you most.

And where did all that wizardry finally get me?

I am still racing for my life.

Chasing time itself.

In a world I know nothing about.

Depending on a woman who likely thinks my mind is barely my own. And would she be wrong, after my insane flight from the gallery?

A room that, the last time I was in it, was lined with opulence and filled with chamber music…

Gone now.

Everything I know…is gone.

Lost to the mists of history.

I have as little control over this reality as the bizarrely colored bird I watch defy the wind with its giant thwopping wings. The creature grows louder as it flies closer. It suspends midair, hovering over the land, its wings spinning so fast. Their sound is deafening.

Only as it rises and departs do I see the colorful creature is not a bird but a flying machine. My jaw slackens. I gape as the apparatus roars overhead. I am awed, afraid, and anxious. Will this be my state of mind for the rest of my time here? The rest of my living days?

The rest of my life.

Which is now…how long?

How many days remain for me to savor this existence, whatever it will be like at this point, in this time? If men are now creating flying contraptions like that, have they learned how to alter the cycles of the moon as well? If so, how long do I truly have left? A month? A week? An hour?

It does not matter.

Because it will not be enough.

I will not be able to simply sit Alessandra down, recount what happened with the mob and the wardrobe and Kavia’s spell, and expect her to believe a word. As for her supplying what I need to fulfill the hex and ensure my survival…

Her own heart?

Never.