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  With a key, she opened a drawer of the desk, withdrawing another pen. "Addison, here's Renascentia. I kept it safe for you.”

  Jules lifted Memento out of its box. “All of the pens have names?"

  “Oui, ma belle. You have my pen, Memento. Your mother holds Specula. Addison has Renascentia. The other two pens are Animus and Incogitata. We believe each pen has unique capabilities, but this knowledge is hidden from us until we acquire the Alchimeía.”

  Addison turned his pen, its inscription glinting in the overhead lights.

  Jules held up a hand. “One more thing.”

  “Yes, Jules.”

  She glared at Nikki. “Will we be doing something a little less like, I don’t know, excruciating torture?”

  Fear clawed at Addison, but he didn’t want to show it. “Trust me. Dying from a free fall is way better than getting blown all to hell.”

  “I was eaten by a lion, Addy. A fucking lion.”

  Nikki rifled through a small accordion binder filled with yellowed index cards. “A bit too dramatic for you? Something less painful, maybe even pleasurable? Is that what you'd like?"

  "If it's not too much trouble, Yoda Girl."

  Nikki chuckled without conviction. "Yoda Girl. That's cute. Okay, something involving a bit less mastication. I can do that. Let me see. Ah, yes. This should do the trick." She fanned a worn card in the air as if it might be too hot to handle. "Now this inking is what I like to call a 'think n' ink' exercise."

  Jules nervously wobbled Memento in her hand. "Can I do something about it this time, or am I just supposed to stand there and take it?"

  "Sure. Whatever you think's appropriate. But to manipulate your host you'll need to Individuate."

  Addison moved to the edge of the desk. “You mean be ourselves?"

  "I mean have your consciousness rise to the surface. You might have noticed in the inking you’ve done that you haven’t had control over the situation. During this inking bring your consciousness to the foreground, and act as best you can. Don't be too disappointed if you falter this first time. You’ll get it eventually. Here's your card. As before, the date first, followed by the name."

  Jules took the card from Nikki. "Not going to give us a heads up about what we can expect? Gunned down by mobsters, locked in a room on the Titanic while she sinks in the North Atlantic, eaten by cannibals on an undiscovered Pacific island?"

  "I do love your imagination Jules. Just write the name, Caitlin Sawyer. And you, Addison. Here's your card. Ryan Sheldon."

  ***

  Yellow and white city lights shimmer through inky blackness to my right, a mountain range to the left filling part of the view from my aircraft's cockpit. A faint whiff of perfume mingles with the scent of avionics and leather. “So what do you think, Caitlin? Pretty outstanding view."

  "Yeah, Ryan. It's so beautiful. Like someone threw diamonds across a black velvet cloth."

  I'm so into this girl. I met her skiing in Sun Valley, made the date for dinner tonight and now I have her at eight thousand feet. I can't see her in the dimly lit cockpit, but I imagine she looks cute with the headset framing those baby blues. For some weird reason, I feel like I've forgotten something important. Indy-something. Independence? I look over my pre-flight checklist just to be sure.

  Individuate.

  A hand slips between my legs… it's not mine.

  I peer out my window, butterflies in my stomach. Where am I, anyway? I keep thinking about lions. Oh, right. Not lion—Ryan. I’m in his airplane. The altitude must be making me a bit light-headed. I look across to him. I can't believe I met this guy on the ski lifts. He asked for my number, but I didn’t think he’d call. Seemed like a nice guy and when I found out he flew his own plane into Sun Valley, well, I think pilots are hot. He looks very in control, his headset on, talking to people on his radio in pilot-speak.

  Time to land the plane.

  "Maybe we should land, Ryan?"

  "You're perfectly safe, Caitlin. Really."

  I don't know why I suggested landing. Megan's right. I never take any risks. Hmmm, maybe I'll show her who's the risk-taker tonight and give my flyboy the ride of his life. I think I’ll just reach across and slip a hand between his legs.

  "Maybe we could join that club."

  No, not the club.

  He looks over to me. I feel him getting hard. "Club? You mean the Mile-High Club?"

  "That's the one. Don't you have an autopilot thingy or something?"

  I've got a mountain range out my window and a girl's hand on my crotch.

  Individuate.

  Yeah, I'm going to individuate this girl 'til she begs for mercy.

  Come on, Ryan. Let's do this extracurricular activity in the warmth of a hangar. Forget the girl and fly the plane!

  I can hear my old flight instructor telling me to forget the girl and fly the plane, but the hand between my legs speaks louder than words. I set the autopilot, and move the seat back as far as she'll go.

  He moves his seat back and says some safety stuff. I suppose pilots do that sort of thing out of habit.

  "We're on autopilot, but just remember not to push the yoke."

  "The yoke? The steering wheel?"

  Let him fly the plane.

  I suppose he should be flying the plane, but he's got an auto thingy. This is crazy, but what the hell. I can't wait to see Megan's face when I tell her about my date. "Sure. I'll mind the yoke for you, baby." I free him from his pants, his little co-pilot coming to full attention in my hand while I work my way up his chest.

  Her voice purrs in my headset. Jesus.

  I can't believe this. You need to stop.

  "Oh, yeah, that feels good." We’re just about to do it, when she stops dead in her tracks.

  "What's the matter, babe? We're okay. I've got us on autopilot."

  "I don't know." Over the drone of the engine, I hear the frustration in her voice. "I want you. I really do. Just this nagging voice in the back of my head that's screaming 'stop'."

  This girl's killing me. There's a part of me screaming ‘stop’ too, but more of me wants her. Hell, why fly a fully equipped aircraft if I’m not going to use the technology to my advantage? “There's a natural fear of flying, darling. But I've got you. You're completely safe right here with me, baby."

  I’m straddling my man. Quite a feat, but I've always been pretty limber. "Fear of flying? Yeah, maybe that's it."

  Be afraid! Let him fly the plane, goddammit!

  A voice in my head wants me to stop. Get out of my head, Mom. I'm not leaving this guy without a story I can shove in Megan's face. I slip him inside. “You sure do feel good."

  His warm hands find my bare rear end.

  Stop. Fly the fucking plane!

  I know I should stop, but Jesus, she's got a fine ass. "Wow, how'd you slip those panties off so easily? Pretty amazing. Oh God…yes…fantastic amazing."

  She leans over me, pulling my headset away, her hot breath in my ear, her hips rocking. "If there's a will, oh yes baby, oh yes, there's a way."

  "Oh baby—”

  CAUTION. TERRAIN. TERRAIN.

  “Wait, hey baby…the yoke—”

  WARNING. TERRAIN. TERRAIN.

  “No, baby the yoke, the yoke!”

  Addy, individuate!

  WARNING—

  “Aw, hell."

  Holy mother of…”

  ***

  Addison leaned back in the chair, his groin aching. A sensation of his body crushed, then ripped apart in a fiery blast washed over him. He looked across the desk.

  Jules took in deep breaths, her face flushed. "Did we just…” She took in several gulps of air. "You know…”

  "As with our master sky-diver, technically, no. But our two lovebirds definitely joined the “Mile High” club.” Nikki had brought a stool in from the front room to perch above them. "So you two let Ryan and Caitlin fuck like bunnies at eight thousand feet. What did I say about individuating?"

  Addison pushed away fro
m the desk. "Are you out of your mind, Nikki? How have I known you for all of these years and only now discover what a twisted perv you are?”

  Jules stood up, turning on her. "Yeah, you little Marchioness de Sade. You think it's funny? I like to pick my own sex partners, thank you very much. Jesus. You call this training?"

  Nikki stood behind the stool, as if a few pieces of pine would keep Jules from beating her head first into the ground. "Easy. Easy. You two have no sense of humor."

  Addison came around the desk. They had her surrounded. "They're people, Nikki. We could have saved them. Instead they're smeared across some mountainside because Ryan was too horny to fly the damned plane."

  "So why didn't you save them, Addison?"

  Nikki’s question stopped Addison in his tracks. "I tried. But when Jules there shoved her hand up my legs..."

  "Excuse me? It's not like it was me doing that."

  "Sorry, Jules. You know what I mean. Caitlin."

  "So you tried to say something to your host and he let a beautiful woman keep him from listening.

  "And what about you?” Nikki turned to Jules. “What about it, Jules? Did you try to stop Caitlin or were you enjoying the ride?"

  "Up yours, Nikki.”

  She pressed. "So did you try to stop her or not?"

  Jules turned away, pacing the room. "Yes, I tried to stop her. I screamed 'stop' at her, but the crazy bitch wouldn't slow down."

  “Individuating isn’t screaming at your host.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “Next time, focus on your conscious awareness. The more you focus your awareness, the more control you have over your host.”

  She turned to Jules. “What do you think will help Addison with his self-awareness?”

  Jules bit her lower lip, glaring at Nikki, who leaned in, not giving her any space. "You're going to pout because you’ve been eaten by a lion, tossed out of a perfectly good airplane, and laid by an idiot on the same day?"

  "I hate you."

  Impatience in her voice, she pressed again. “How do you know I’m talking to you right now, Jules?”

  She kept her gaze on Nikki. “My name. We speak each other’s names when we’re inked."

  "Excellent, that's what I'm talking about." Nikki extended her hand for a high five, but Jules didn't give her the satisfaction. "Every time you ink, individuate first. If you don't, you may get so deep into the host that you can't break out until die back. And remember, you're partners. Think like partners. Always. If there's an obstacle, think about how, as a team, you can overcome it. Like calling out your partner's name to help individuate. Get it?"

  Jules stopped her pacing, directing her question at Nikki. "You had Addy and me inside Ryan and Caitlin just to make a point? Don't you think we ought to go back and save them?"

  Nikki crossed her arms, sitting back down on the stool. "Never."

  Addison asked, "Never? Why the hell not? What's the point of having this power if we don't do something useful with it?"

  "You're not here, the League is not here, to reverse the logical conclusions of Darwinism. We're here to safeguard the temporal flow and the integrity of our reality. Nothing else matters. Period."

  Addison lifted his cane, twirling it between his legs. "But you told us to act. What if we had saved them?"

  “You can’t save them. No matter what you do Ryan has a catastrophic instrument failure, which causes a fatal crash. However, if by some crazy circumstance you did manage to keep them safe, I would ink into Ryan and make sure he planted that plane firmly into that mountainside. If you save them, Caitlin or Ryan might do something which significantly shifts history. It might not happen in a year or a decade or even a century. But they could have a child who starts a chain of events and reactions to events that may lead to a catastrophic shift in our reality." She leaned forward. "Rule number one of inking, don't manipulate an inking unless you know the outcome you're creating. And for rookies, I shorten that to 'don't act, just individuate—until I say otherwise'."

  She knocked on the desk top, as if calling them to order. "Okay, my proby inkers. Let's do it again. And this time, remember to individuate. Addison, why don't you take a stab at Caitlin. And Jules, you can be Ryan. Should be educational, if you know what I mean..."

  The Alpha and the Omega

  Kairos, known in 15th-century London as Cuthbert Grimbald, inhaled deeply, letting the familiar rush of die back flush through him. The earthy odor hinted at a wood fire in the central hearth still burning from when he stepped away five minutes ago, five centuries ago.

  You failed, Grimbald.

  "Get back in the small dark corner of my mind you impertinent little bitch." Even in the blackness he sensed her self-satisfied smile, the grinning countenance of someone sneering down, much like his father glaring with disgust at the bastard son. The people in his village called him a thief. Scum. God, I hate them all. Especially this one, this Inker bitch I have imprisoned in my head. "Sneer all you want, my dear Rebecca. In the end, you will help me destroy your precious League."

  Give it up, Grimbald. You had Addison cornered at ten thousand feet in a firefight and you couldn't defeat him.

  "He was almost mine. I had him in my grasp!"

  And yet, Cuthbert, I am once again back with you in this filthy London pigsty.

  "Silence!"

  A leather flagon of ale rested on the workbench before him. He lifted the cup to his lips, swilling down the brew, but the cool liquid couldn't quench the fire burning in his heart, or silence the vixen's voice in his head.

  "Devil take his soul!" He hurled the cup across the room into a shelf of vials which shattered, their contents splashing to the floor and emitting a hazy sulfurous stench.

  I told you we would fail. The League will stop you.

  "Shut up, viper!" Grimbald lurched from his workbench, knocking over a three-legged stool. He held the woman captive in his mind, inside knowledge of the League, but he cringed with her constant nagging and droning. "One day you will push me too far."

  Go ahead. Kill me.

  "You'd like that, I know. But not until I have what I want."

  You cannot succeed. Tobias may not have known your dark heart, but he built a defense against the likes of you.

  Normally he could control her, will her consciousness into submission, but the inking, his failure to capture Addison, and the die back, all sapped his will.

  "I need time to think." He looked past the hearth to a small room hidden by a black curtain. "Smythe!"

  A thin boy, maybe fourteen, stepped past the curtain. He glanced around like a hunted animal, his hair bedraggled, his gray wool cloak worn and tattered, the pointed toe of one his poulains torn open. He reminded Grimbald of a small rodent, easily spooked and nasty to the touch.

  "I'm here Master Grimbald. Is there something you need? More ale?"

  "Come here, boy."

  Smythe edged closer, licking his lips, his right eye twitching.

  "Quit twitching, Smythe."

  "Sorry, sir."

  He smacked Smythe across the face. The boy lifted one of his mousey little hands to cover the reddening cheek.

  "S-s-s-sorry."

  Grimbald withdrew a dagger from the folds of his coat, slicing diagonally across the scarred palm of his left hand.

  The boy's eyes went wide with terror. "No, Master. Please. Not again." Smythe sniveled, his body shaking. "Please. No."

  Grimbald tossed the blade onto the workbench with one arm, while he draped the other around the boy's thin, boney shoulders. "This will only take a moment."

  The boy jerked away, but Grimbald had his neck in the vice of his arm, his other hand rushing to Smythe's face. He spoke calmly into his victim's ear. "I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, the First and the Last."

  Smythe, frantic, kicked and squirmed, but Grimbald held him fast, shoving his bloodied hand into the boy's mouth. When he stopped his struggle, eyes turning from fear to hate, Grimbald knew the
woman's consciousness had transferred.

  He glowered at the boy. "Are you in there, Rebecca, or am I just talking to this sorry excuse for a living organism?"

  Smythe's posture shifted. The twitching stopped. Grimbald released his grip on the boy. Standing tall, erect, he moved away from Grimbald. "I'm here."

  "Excellent. Would you like some ale?" He reached for a large, clay pitcher on the workbench.

  "Drink with you? We're not friends, Grimbald."

  He chuckled, turning to look at the boy, knowing an Inker's consciousness burned within him. "Ah, but we are…colleagues. All I ask, all I have ever asked from you, is your loyalty. And yet, you can't seem to deliver on your word."

  "I will never be loyal to you."

  "Ah, but I think you will. I will possess the pens and the Alchimeía, and you will help me."

  The boy glared at him. "Never."

  Grimbald stepped toward Smythe. "Think carefully, Rebecca. Either you give me your loyalty, or I will get to your son, Addison. Sooner or later, and I'm guessing sooner, I will take his consciousness. And when I do, once I extract the information I need—"

  "You wouldn't!"

  "No, I wouldn't dream of killing your only son." Grimbald brushed the boy's cheek with the back of his hand. "But I would condemn him to an endless string of inkings in the minds of the insane. Imagine an eternity of asylums and padded cells, his consciousness trapped in oblivion."

  "No!"

  Grimbald grabbed the boy by his throat, striding with him across the room and slamming him against a timbered wall. "Without me, Kairos, the Lord of Alchemy, you'd be dead. Your singular task is to deliver up the League. You may not care about your own fate, but if you still care about your son, you better find a way to make this right. And by God's wounds, if you stand in the way of my goals ever again, your boy will wish he were dead!”