Chapter Twenty-eight
William Balthazar Solan was dressed as he had always dressed, in a dark three-piece suit of the finest material and tailoring, complete with a silk tie that sported thin emerald lines which sparked the green in his striking, magnetic eyes. As always, when he smiled at those he passed, his smile held an edge of cruelty to it, of quiet cynicism that kept people at bay. As always, he moved with ultimate grace, tall and regal, silent but for the slight resonance of his leather-soled shoes on the pavement.
And as always, he garnered the attention of those he passed by. Men paid attention because he awakened a primal fear and envy within them. Business officials paid attention because he looked like an opportunity, but a dangerous one. And women turned his way for obvious reasons.
William had always been the Time King. Always.
But he’d been without the astronomical abilities that had made him that King for eons. He would always be able to flash from place to place, always comprehend the intricacies of Time and where it came from, how it moved, and why. He would always be able to manipulate it as no one else to just make that appointment or perform a random act in “the nick of time.” He was good at Time. Very good.
But he’d once been much, much better. There was a space in history when he’d been its master. The ability to travel through it, to pass beyond the boundaries of each individual second, to remain hidden in the spaces in-between the ticks and the tocks, to… change things. It was unheard of, illogical, and frankly impossible. Just ask Einstein.
And it had once been a power solely gifted to him.
But he’d given that power up long, long ago. Because of her.
The thought of her flickered through his mind like a painful flash, and William slowed, his gaze darkening for only a moment. But it passed, and he continued on his way.
He was pushing through the doors of a massive bank branch in New York City when he felt the disturbance. It stopped him in his tracks, drawing more curious looks from those who had been watching him.
Most humans would never know what it felt like to die until it was too late to share the experience. But he knew. It was an overwhelming sense of wrongness, of something going awry – askew – deep, deep inside. Things skipped, and they were things that shouldn’t skip. Things stopped moving, and other things moved too much. There was a sickness that rode it through the human form, like a horseman with a scythe, inky and insidious.
And then the sickness was gone. The pain went away… and you were floating. There was no feeling, no scent, no sound but what the mind created as the neurons slowly shut down and stopped sending feedback to the brain. Those sounds were snippets of songs you’d recently heard, or conversations you’d recently had. And then they were gone too. And there was only silence.
There was no stronger sense of peace, so complete that it was often thought to be Nirvana or Heaven.
William felt the death of his old self then and there, just inside the doors of his bank. It swept through him in record time, stopping his heart, and cruelly starting it back up again like a pocket watch slammed against a hard surface, its gears knocked into rhythm after eons of sleep.
He stood barely able to catch his breath, and turned slowly in place, meeting the gazes of those around him.
For the first time in countless generations, he realized he could go back. He could go back and make his presence disappear from their minds, vanish from their recollection. He could make them forget he’d ever been there – because he could not be there in the first place.
The flood of that returning power was too enormous for a man to bear. But he wasn’t a mere man and never had been. So he bore it with the grace of a gentleman, even as his mind bellowed in opposition.
No, he thought. Dread pumped through his veins as thick as his blood. No, no, no. This was not happening. Time would not dare break its contract with him.
But as he finished his slow, disbelieving turn and once again faced the glass storefront of the bank, his gaze slipped past the faces of those close by to settle on one that was emerging across the street outside.
He zeroed in on her with practiced ease. His soul was drawn to hers, after all. He would always find her. As she stepped lithely out of a Taxi cab and gave the man a tip and a smile, people turned to study her in the same way they always did William. She was graceful beyond measure. Enormous luminous eyes the color of moonbeams, silver-white and inhumanly stark gazed from the face of a manga angel. She had hair like a China doll, thick and full and carelessly long, shimmering like the cosmos trapped in silken strands.
He’d run that hair through his hands before. It felt how it looked.
She had an angelic face. Perfect as ever.
Helena.
The tip she’d given the driver was most likely a huge one. She’d always been ridiculously kind. Recklessly kind. To everyone.
William felt his heart go hard inside him, even as it heated up, turning red as cinders and cracking in two. He experienced a sinking sensation of defeat, of helpless fated betrayal at the core of him, coupled with inescapable, driving, and merciless need. That need was so far beyond cruel it had once forced him to give up the very essence of who he was.
It begins again, he thought bitterly. Oh yes, Time absolutely dared break the contract.
But it had been too long since he’d seen her this time. Too many years, countless centuries, had passed since he’d made his deal with Time and Helena had vanished, supposedly forever. He’d had leisure to think, he’d had generations to grow – and prepare. Perhaps he’d always known. Maybe, as the Master of Time, he had always been well aware this moment would come.
Perhaps? his mind mocked him. Because it knew he was lying to himself.
Now, as he watched Helena move down the sidewalk and out of sight, William Solan felt two dichotomous and yet perfectly matched emotions. War and love were mated in Greek mythology for a reason. They went hand in hand more often than not.
He felt them both, and his tall form was filled with a severe and concentrated fury.
In a flash, he was gone, and with a single post-thought, no one who saw him disappear remembered he was even there. The video cameras would show nothing. There would be no sign of his existence. Not that it was important; he owned the bank.
But it didn’t matter.
He reappeared in his ancient home. He stormed through it, and the multitude of non-working clocks along his walls sprang once again to life as he passed them by like a gale force wind. Time, in all of its pitiless glory, emanated from him as he moved down his hall, past several rooms, and into the study that held his collection of first edition books and scrolls from around the world.
None of it mattered. Nothing. Mattered. Now.
Nothing but Helena.
He approached his polished wood desk and placed his hands atop it, dropping his head to close his burning green eyes, trying for all the world to regain his composure. But there was so much pain.
How could you? he asked Time. How could you do this to me? How could you do this her? We had a deal.
You are the Time King, it told him. The hands are moving once again. And so you are their Master.
Time’s response was without words, but William had possessed a million lifetimes to learn to translate its language.
“We had a deal!” he roared.
He spun in the room, and the books exploded from their places in the bookshelves, ancient parchment, first edition pages, and authentic author signatures flying outward as if caught in a hurricane wind. But a mere second later, they froze where they had flown, held aloft and utterly still in the pulsing air of the room.
As William looked at the frozen objects around him and his green eyes glowed with the recharged batteries of Time, he knew he was good and doomed. Slowly, and in that stillness, he lowered his handsome head.
I did not do this, Time quietly said. She did.
But William only exhaled softly. “I know.”