than the Institute. We might be on the same side now, but I still avoided Quigleyâs office whenever I could. She had somehow managed to procure the most uncomfortable chairs made in the last three centuries, and every time I came to talk to her, I felt like an interrogation victim.
After she had her chip disabled, she knew it would be impossible to keep her position teaching history at the Institute. It would only be a matter of time before she couldnât hide the fact that, for her, history was changing. Still, I knew she missed it.
What I didnât know was why she, at midnight, was wearing a floor-length saffron velvet gown complete with ruched sleeves and a delicate lace veil instead of pajamas.
âDid I interrupt something?â I asked.
âA lovely lunch with Leo.â She was referring to Leonardo da Vinci. Turned out the Quig was quite his little muse. She was the model for the Mona Lisa .
âColor study,â she added. âHeâs having a bit of trouble capturing the exact shade of my irises.â
âBrown,â I said.
âThank you for your expert analysis.â She yanked the veil off and slid behind her desk.
âYou look kind of ridiculââ
âI know how I look,â she said. âWhy are you here?â
Never one to mince words.
âFinn and I were on a date earlier, but then Wyckââ
âIf youâve come to me for boy adviceââ
âDo you honestly think Iâd come to you for boy advice?â Dr. Quigley and I had been on slightly friendlier terms now that she was my mentor and leader at the Haven Society rather than my teacher, but puh-lease.
âWell.â Quigley tugged at the delicate embroidery at her neck. âIf you ever do find yourself in need of guidance about behavior of the male persuasion, you know that you can alwaysââ
âGo to my mom or Mimi. Never you. Never.â
âFair enough.â
âBut if Iâm ever in need of a lecture on appropriate Renaissance etiquette, I know where to go.â
âAgain, why are you here?â she said.
I spent the next hour updating her on everything that had happened since I landed in London. When I stopped and considered that it was only one dayâless than a full day at thatâit didnât seem possible.
âYouâre positive Wyck was the one who made the change to the timeline?â she asked.
âYep. I saw him do it.â
Quigley pulled up my file.
âAhh, here it is,â she said. âYes. âTransporter OâBanion states that Ms. Bennis has expressed that she is overwhelmed by her workload and shows signs of debilitating fatigue.â I cancelled your mid-term assignment, and Nurse Granderson placed you on medical Anchorment soon after. Apparently all this occurred without any protest on your part. Granderson has been handling your care, and it looks like heâs forged all the chip maintenance data to look normal.â
She tucked the soligraphic file back into its data disk and tossed it to me.
âSo there you go,â she said. âIt seems that even if nonShifters make these changes, there are still inevitabilities that drive our actions. Youâre still Anchored. Granderson and I still ended up here at Resthaven. Wyck is unfortunately still tangled up with ICE.â
âHonestly,â I said, âthat doesnât shock me. You didnât see him last year at the Monument, Quigley. He was like a feral animal.â
âAnd he was acting the same way when you saw him make the change?â
âNo. That was the weird part. He was acting normal. Well, I mean, there were some flashes.â
âFlashes?â
âThatâs what Iâve been calling them. I donât know the technical medical jargon. But you know those glimpses into the different timeline that nonShifters experience after Iâve reverted one of their changes? Well, they seem to be