The Fifth Healer

48.

With only six seconds remaining, Ainsley appears on the ledge at the top of the circular staircase. We all watch her descend silently, her fingertips running over the edges of the leather book spines, her face alternately shadowed or aglow as she passes the hanging orbs. She's carrying her small duffel.

Ainsley stares at the sun pattern on the floor as she walks toward us by the door. She looks up at Dr. Khan. I watch her eyes carefully for a sign of how she's feeling about me, but she doesn't meet my gaze.

"Sorry I was almost late," she says, her voice sharp and raspy. She looks at each person in turn-except me. As if I'm invisible to her. "I was changing."

Indeed, she has swapped that thick, baggy sweater for a button-up flannel shirt, which she wears unbuttoned over a white top. I find I miss the sweater. Not that I had any particular attachment to the garment itself, but it represented a time before I read the letter. When I thought we were yet to be able to have a relationship.

I take a breath to say something to her, to ask her if she's okay, but then I stop myself. Not in front of the others. What if I give away our attraction to one another, and we both get retromanced? Instead, I let my breath come out as a little cough.

Dr. Khan looks back and forth between Ainsley and me.

"Is there something I should know about?" she asks, like a parent threatening punishment.

I must pull myself together. If Dr. Khan finds out...

"No, of course not," I say.

For a moment, Ainsley does finally look at me, and it's a look that could melt through the toughest chronolock.

Unable to bear her scorching eyes, I turn to Wally and Niles, desperate for any distraction. I see they also took advantage of their bags and changed shirts. They all changed after the marathon yesterday, too, so each of them is on their third outfit now. Niles wears a white District Cheerleading Championship t-shirt with the outline of a cheerleader on the front and, on the back, a list of school names. Wally has on what can best be described as snake skin made into a t-shirt-black and shiny, with scales that shimmer even in the dim light.

I'm the only one without a bag or change of clothes. Well, I came straight here from the hospital. What else could be expected? I'll find a way to wash them. In the meantime, good thing there was deodorant available in the cell.

I watch Ainsley again. I know she's upset, and seeing that makes me feel even horrible. But I deserve it. It's my fault she's upset. So I punish myself by observing her flaring nostrils and slow, loud breaths. Her legs are planted wide, her arms folded stiffly across her chest. She glances up at me, and I feel a tingle of heat rise to my face in her flinty gaze. Her eye twitches, and then she looks away.

It deserve the harsh looks. I deserve even worse. This morning was the second time she gave clear indication of wanting to kiss me, and the second time I turned her down. There won't be a third.

There can't be. It's too dangerous.

"All four of you wish to continue?" says Dr. Khan, who looks some combination of relieved and happy. She puts on this cold exterior and this harsh, almost boot camp-like persona, but it's plain she wants all four of us to come with her.

We all nod.

"Very good," she says.

She turns, and we follow her through the strip-light hallway with the smooth, reflective floor.

I'm watching Ainsley's white retro sneakers clod along when I sense a looming presence over my shoulder. I turn and discover Sloan's pocked face inches from my own.

"I've still got my eye on you, boy," he hisses. "I've pieced together what's really going on, your parents and such. Don't worry, I'm watching for the right moment."

A chill runs the length of my spine.

He continues, "Make the smallest slip-up, and you'll be punished. So tread carefully. But I'm not afraid to use violence, if needed, to cut out the rot from the Guild."

I give the slightest nod in acknowledgment, and he drifts back several steps behind me. No one turns around, so I assume none of them overheard or noticed.

We load in the back of the dark, old-fashioned limo with white stripes on the side of the tires and a long flat-fronted grill like a hound's snout. I sit in the back with the other three. Speeding down the tunnel toward the elevator-the first time we went through, it was scary. This time, it's just a tunnel-Niles speaks through the opening to the front seat.

"Excuse me, I have a question."

Dr. Khan says nothing but raises her eyebrows in the rearview mirror.

Niles says, "Before you said you would cure us from the fainting problem. Was that, uh..." He trails off.

"A lie," says Ainsley, looking at me for the first time, though with a harshly penetrating stare. "I think the word you're looking for is lie."

"By coming with me today, all of you have officially become chronopathic initiates. As such, I am now free to speak more plainly with you," says Dr. Khan, "As to your question, Niles, to be quite honest, I cannot say for certain. On this particular matter, answers are known only to those above me. But rest assured, soon enough, all will be revealed."

The mid-day traffic in D.C. is moderate, but we stop every couple of blocks at traffic lights.

"Can we get our phones back now?" asks Wally.

"Not until you are fully initiated."

"How about just one story post?" Wally proposes. "Just to let my audience know I have some lowkey magical powers."

"Your words only prove why can't have it back yet."

"Seriously?" says Wally, increasingly frustrated. "Who cares if everyone knows about chronopathy?"

"By the gods, Wally," says Dr. Khan. "Do not speak such things."

Ainsley says toward the front seat, "Can you at least tell us where we're going?"

"Can you not guess?" asked Dr. Khan.

"Um, no," says Ainsley flatly. "That's why I asked."

"Do you know where the marathon first began? And the architecture here-on the Lincoln Memorial, the Bullfinch House and the rest of Washington, D.C.-does it not seem to be built as an homage to another city?"

"Can't you just answer the question like a normal person?" asked Ainsley, exasperated.

Dr. Khan chuckles. "A normal person? Like a Fourth?"

"See, there you go again. Asking more questions to avoid answering mine," says Ainsley.

"Forgive me, it is part of my training," says Dr. Khan. "As it will be yours-the Socratic Method. Which is a hint in itself."

We are making our way around the Jefferson Memorial, a white dome supported by a circle of tall marble columns. I watch Ainsley's face, seeing the moment she puts it all together: Socrates. The location of the first marathon. Our lunch yesterday. Those Greek-inspired columns on every D.C. monument.

"Athens?" says Ainsley. "You're taking us to Greece?"