Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(75)

His electronic eyes swiveled up to scrutinize the figures. “They are T’ien Lung, celestial dragons, who are believed to protect the houses of the gods.”

She stood, dislodging the clinging sand from her clothes. “What did you say your name was?”

“Sigmund.”

Cynda waved him over. She had questions. Perhaps the silver creature had answers.

~??~??~??~



Morrisey sat in his sanctuary, as he called it, attempting to find some balance. He tried another round of deep breathing to calm himself. Outwardly, it worked, but his mind was still warring with itself. It was all or nothing now. If Jacynda translated her anger into another assault, he would have no leverage to keep her out of an asylum. He was at the end of that rope. TPB and the judicial system had made that crystal clear.

Did I do the right thing? Maybe he should have allowed the psychiatrists free rein. Maybe he’d made a mistake.

“No,” he whispered. If he had, the Jacynda Lassiter he so admired would be gone, that exceptional personality subsumed, all in the name of conformity. His nephew had often spoken of her tenacity: once Jacynda made a decision, right or wrong, she’d move heaven and hell to get the job done. It’s what had made Morrisey hire her in the first place. She’d proved herself over and over, and if his intuition were right, she’d do the same this time.



Not everything was grim: her adrenalin-fueled temper had worked as a catalyst. In an unguarded moment, she’d admitted to the company physician that memories crowded her like neglected children, all howling for attention. Filing them away was what proved the problem.

“A significant lack of context,” was how the doctor had described the situation.

“But how do I help her now?”

He heard the outer door open and the soft pad of footsteps. Fulham and the rest of the staff were gone for the day, expect for a handful of security guards. They never came here unless summoned. He retrieved a second cup from the Chinoiserie cabinet, then set it close to its mate and the iron teapot.

The footsteps would stop every now and then as the visitor moved toward him. He didn’t call out. She’d find him eventually. For her, the journey was every bit as important as the destination.

The moment Jacynda stuck her head inside the room, he waved her forward. To his delight, he saw that her hair was combed and she had her sandals on. She was wearing one of the silk kimonos he’d given her. Clearly, she’d thought enough about this visit to tidy up. That meant it was important to her. Her face was scrubbed clean, but that wasn’t what caught his notice. It was her expression. Not contrite, nor was it defiant. More troubled than anything.

Let this go well. The last thing either of them needed was more conflict.

“Have a seat,” he said as casually as possible, gesturing to the pillow across from him. His heart was beating too fast, and he attempted to calm it.

“I—”

“Tea first,” he said. Jacynda settled opposite him, looking around the room in wonder. He gave her the time. She’d never been here before.

As she peered around, he poured a cup and then handed it to her with a bow. She took a sip and then smiled in surprise.



“That’s good.”

“White tea with pomegranate.” Only then did he pour himself a cup. To his annoyance, he noted a faint tremor in his hands.

“What kind of place is this?” she asked, her eyes still taking the tour.

“My sanctuary. You’re one of the rare few who’ve been in here.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“I like my privacy.”

“Why?” she repeated.

It was clear she would not allow him to evade the question.

“Because I’m not sure if people want to know what I’m really like.”

Before she could pursue that personal admission any further, he gently prodded, “Is there something you want to ask me?”

“Ah…yeah.” She pursed her lips, deep in thought. He waited her out. “Can you make the ants go away?”

“We have ants in the compound?” he asked, mystified.

She shook her head. “They’re inside me,” she explained. “Marching up and down, under my skin. I can’t get rid of them.”

Morrisey shoved aside the image of actual insects.

“The robot…Sig…Sigmund told me that the stuff Weber gave me might have done it. The ants make me angry. I don’t want to be this way. It’s not right.”

Her voice quavered. “I need…your help, Theo Morrisey.”

He sighed, long and low. She had just turned a corner.

“I think we need to find something to dampen that anger.”

“No medicine,” she shot back.

“No, that doesn’t work for you.” He rose. “Come with me. I have an idea.”

As Cynda followed him through the rooms, it seemed like she’d stumbled into a private world. She delighted in the waterfalls, the reed matting on the floors and the green carved bird nestled amongst a small bamboo forest. She gently touched the bird’s beak. It felt cold.

Noting her interest, he paused. “It’s a jade egret,” he said proudly. “I found it in China. It’s magnificent, don’t you think?”



She nodded. “Must be really heavy.”