Page 4 of Across Time

Marie-Therese heaves a sigh. "I panicked. The only American females I could think of were Amelia Earhart and Eleanor Roosevelt. And she's too pretty to be named after Eleanor Roosevelt."

He comes forward with heavy steps, reluctantly taking the seat across from mine. "And did you get her actual name,” he asks Marie-Therese, “or were you too busy giving her yours?"

My mouth opens but Marie-Therese holds out a hand to stop me. "No, don't. For your own safety, it's best you give us as little information as possible about who you are or where you’re from. So for now, you are Amelie Durand. I am Marie-Therese, as you know, and the sullen one here is my brother Henri."

A muscle ticks in his jaw. "Well don’t get attached. We have no idea who she is or what she's capable of."

"What she's capable of?" Marie-Therese asks with a laugh, setting a round of cheese in front of me, along with more bread. "She was comatose for days after she traveled here. You can't think she's capable of much."

She’s right, but it’s not the most flattering defense I’ve ever heard.

"Maybe it was all an act," he counters.

I turn toward Henri with an exasperated exhale. "What on earth do you think I'm planning to do? I'm a college student, not a criminal mastermind."

He rolls his eyes. "Believe me, I know you're no criminal mastermind. You couldn't even manage to steal an apple from my barn without being caught. Now tell us why you’re here.”

I’m deeply tired again, and my temper has begun to fray. "I'm here to help you, though you’re making me wish I hadn’t bothered."

Henri leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. "Help?" he scoffs, his pretty lip curling up at the corner. “Is this a joke?”

“Henri,” snaps Marie-Therese. “Tu es impoli.”

"You’ve forgotten," Henri says to his sister, "that our future savior doesn't speak a word of French."

I’m officially sick of his shit. "You don't have to be rude about it."

He sighs. "And you don't have to be idiotic about it. Who arrives naked in a country where she can't speak the language and can’t even stay awake?"

Marie swats his arm and turns to me. “Ignore him. Our mother insisted we both become fluent in several languages. Henri seems to forget not everyone has been so fortunate. Please continue.”

"By all means,” says Henri, turning back to me, “you were in the process of telling us how you—who showed up here naked and defenseless and proceeded to sleep for over two days—could offer assistance?”

His attitude leaves me longing to lash out rather than respond, except…he has a point. I'm young and terrible at time jumping. Aside from giving them some vague warnings about the future, I have nothing to offer.

I sigh, trying to think back to the weeks and weeks of nightmares before they finally got a little too realistic. They were always about Marie-Therese—other things came up too but since they made no sense to me, I mostly ignored them.

“My sister told me to find Marie-Therese, and I was hoping she’d understand. All I know is it’s got something to do with saving people and a circle of light.”

Marie-Therese’s jaw drops and the legs of Henri’s chair land heavily on the floor. They exchange a quiet, stunned look that worries me. It obviously means way more to them than it does to me. "C'est elle," Marie-Therese breathes, so stunned she's reverted to French. It's her. "Ma mere—my mother, she told me you would come.”

Ummm…what? “I don’t know your mother. This is the furthest I’ve ever gone back.”

But Marie’s eyes are bright, her head nodding eagerly. “She told us someone would come and would be important to us,” she argues. “That you would help us. It must be you.”

I shake my head. "I seriously doubt I’m the person your mother was expecting, but maybe if you told me what you need help with I could do something.”

She and Henri exchange another look. It’s clear that whatever it is she wants, Henri wants the opposite.

“Marie,” he growls. “Non.”

We need to know, she hisses back at him before she turns to me. “My mother left three years ago without explanation and never returned. If I travel back to see her, she won’t tell me anything. She’ll realize she’s not going to return, and she won’t say a word. But you could go.”

The conversation and Marie-Therese’s expectations have begun to drag on me like a weight. It’s the fatigue coming back, I’m sure, but the fact that I’m going to disappoint her in a minute doesn’t help. “You really have no idea where she went?” I ask.

Marie-Therese stares at the table. “Her car was found in Paris, along with her clothes, but we don’t know what year she was visiting.”

A chill goes down my spine. I have a disappearance in my family as well—my aunt, who left for Paris long ago and never returned. Though it happened before we were born, the mystery of our missing aunt always fascinated Kit. More than once she suggested I should travel back in time to help her. But if two people disappeared going after the same thing, I’m certain I don’t want to be the third.