Free Time's Mirror: A CHRONOS Files Novella (The CHRONOS Files) by Rysa Walker

see that you’re putting our amenities to excellent use…or did Poulsen dress you?”
    “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Campbell.”
    “It’s just Campbell. Or Morgen, if you prefer. And I’m sure you’re very capable, but just to put your mind at ease, the information attendant in the Juvapod center has been fired.”
    My first inclination is to ask how he knew about the incident, but who knows what sort of surveillance Campbell has in this place. My second inclination is to say that he didn’t need to fire the man, but then I think about what very nearly happened. I’d look like the woman in that Star Trek movie if another customer hadn’t overheard the exchange and warned me to carefully specify which sections of your body when you ordered hair removal.
    “What happened at the Juvapods?” Tate asks me. “You said—”
    “Just a…miscommunication.” I turn back to Campbell. “I’m glad to see that you don’t tolerate incompetent employees.”
    “Oh, it was neither miscommunication nor incompetence, my dear. It was revenge, pure and simple. That man’s daughter was a makeup artist at CHRONOS, and, unlike your friend Poulsen, she did not receive a message that conveniently kept her out of the building that fateful day.”
    Tate’s arm tenses beneath my fingers. This is the first I’ve heard about any warning message.
    Still, as furious as I was at the attendant, this puts a somewhat different light on the situation.
    “I didn’t know,” I tell Campbell. “Maybe…I mean, it still wasn’t right, but maybe you should reconsider.”
    Campbell laughs. “Somehow I doubt you’d be quite as magnanimous if those gorgeous curls weren’t still on your head. No, the man put his own feelings before the interests of the OC, and that’s beyond pardon.” He raises his bushy eyebrows, looking over our heads at the crowd, and then settles back into his chair with a smug look.
    I find out why two seconds later. A woman walks up next to Tate and gives me a brief, scathing stare before pasting on a fake smile. Her dark red hair is stacked up in an ornate style that reminds me of a lattice piecrust. I can see through it in spots to the walls beyond and little ribbons of blue light are wound through the rows of hair. More of those very same ribbons make up her dress, except it’s skin that shows through there. A lot of skin.
    “Surely this can’t be the child CHRONOS has you babysitting, Tate? She looks a bit old for you to be fixing her toys.”
    “Hi, Dana.” Tate’s voice is tired, and I get the feeling I now know what—or rather who—he was looking around the room and hoping he didn’t find when we walked in. “This is Prudence Pierce. She’s not…as old as she looks.”
    I wish I could sink into the floor.
    “That’s true.” Campbell’s tone is cheerful, making it clear that he’s thoroughly enjoying our discomfort. “She’s what, sixteen? But I doubt that’s a problem for Poulsen. From what Saul told me, his taste runs toward… younger women.”
    Campbell’s eyes slide back over to Dana as he says the last sentence. Dana is stunning, especially in that dress, but she’s also clearly older than Tate. Her mouth flops open twice, like she’s trying to think of something to say. Instead, she pivots around on her stilettos (which make my heels look like Mary Janes) and stomps off into the crowd.
    Tate runs one hand through his hair and then looks down at me. “Dana’s a friend. I don’t want her to leave angry. Are you okay here for a moment, Pru?”
    The very last thing I want is to stand here talking to this creepazoid while Tate goes off after his girlfriend. But I’m not going to admit it. “Sure. I’ll be fine.”
    “Thanks. Just…wait here, okay?” Then he starts pushing back through the crowd.
    “Poulsen should know that sex with friends is a bad idea,” Campbell says. “So many ways it can go sour. And he should also know better than to entrust Saul