Free Twist by Karen Akins Page B

than the Institute. We might be on the same side now, but I still avoided Quigley’s 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 couldn’t hide the fact that, for her, history was changing. Still, I knew she missed it.
    What I didn’t 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.
    â€œDid I interrupt something?” I asked.
    â€œA lovely lunch with Leo.” She was referring to Leonardo da Vinci. Turned out the Quig was quite his little muse. She was the model for the Mona Lisa .
    â€œColor study,” she added. “He’s having a bit of trouble capturing the exact shade of my irises.”
    â€œBrown,” I said.
    â€œThank you for your expert analysis.” She yanked the veil off and slid behind her desk.
    â€œYou look kind of ridicul—”
    â€œI know how I look,” she said. “Why are you here?”
    Never one to mince words.
    â€œFinn and I were on a date earlier, but then Wyck—”
    â€œIf you’ve come to me for boy advice—”
    â€œDo you honestly think I’d come to you for boy advice?” 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.
    â€œWell.” Quigley tugged at the delicate embroidery at her neck. “If you ever do find yourself in need of guidance about behavior of the male persuasion, you know that you can always—”
    â€œGo to my mom or Mimi. Never you. Never.”
    â€œFair enough.”
    â€œBut if I’m ever in need of a lecture on appropriate Renaissance etiquette, I know where to go.”
    â€œAgain, why are you here?” 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 day—less than a full day at that—it didn’t seem possible.
    â€œYou’re positive Wyck was the one who made the change to the timeline?” she asked.
    â€œYep. I saw him do it.”
    Quigley pulled up my file.
    â€œAhh, here it is,” she said. “Yes. ‘Transporter O’Banion states that Ms. Bennis has expressed that she is overwhelmed by her workload and shows signs of debilitating fatigue.’ 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 he’s forged all the chip maintenance data to look normal.”
    She tucked the soligraphic file back into its data disk and tossed it to me.
    â€œSo there you go,” she said. “It seems that even if nonShifters make these changes, there are still inevitabilities that drive our actions. You’re still Anchored. Granderson and I still ended up here at Resthaven. Wyck is unfortunately still tangled up with ICE.”
    â€œHonestly,” I said, “that doesn’t shock me. You didn’t see him last year at the Monument, Quigley. He was like a feral animal.”
    â€œAnd he was acting the same way when you saw him make the change?”
    â€œNo. That was the weird part. He was acting normal. Well, I mean, there were some flashes.”
    â€œFlashes?”
    â€œThat’s what I’ve been calling them. I don’t know the technical medical jargon. But you know those glimpses into the different timeline that nonShifters experience after I’ve reverted one of their changes? Well, they seem to be