All’s Fair in Love and Poison

By Katie Hanna

If I told you I’d picked up a girl in the French Revolution and brought her to 1930’s Berlin to assassinate Hitler, you wouldn’t believe me… would you?

“It’s time.” Charlotte Corday’s soft whisper brushes my ear as she accepts a champagne flute from my tray. “Colonel Geissler promised to introduce me to the Fürher in a moment.”

“I’ll, uh—” My brain scrambles to focus on anything but the way her sapphire gown brings out the brilliant blue in her eyes. “I’ll be ready.”

Charlotte dazzles me with a smile and swishes across the ballroom toward her escort. He offers his arm, and she accepts it gracefully. She’s taken to espionage like a duck to water.

We’ve been traveling together for a month, and like a coward, I haven’t even kissed her yet… which is definitely not where my mind should be right now. Focus, Hernandez.

A man clears his throat loudly. I find a pompous little Nazi at my elbow, eyeing the drinks on my tray. “Sorry, sir,” I stammer. “Champagne?”

The fellow snatches his drink and stalks off. He melts into the sea of uniforms and cocktail dresses that sparkle like jewels under the crystal chandeliers. The parquet dance floor is so polished I can see my face in it. Only the best for Adolf Hitler, fearless Fürher of the Third Reich.

It takes all my self-control not to spit on the shiny wood. Instead, I finger the poison capsule in my pocket.

Scanning the crowded room, I spot Charlotte’s auburn curls near the opposite wall. She’s talking to a man with a black tie and red Nazi armband. When he turns, I see the toothbrush mustache on his upper lip.

Showtime.

I have to work fast. There are six champagne flutes on my tray, but I only need half that. I offload three glasses on a nearby table, positioning the remaining three in a triangle.

My hand slips into my pocket and grasps the poison capsule. I pretend to stumble. While making a show of steadying the tray, I drop the capsule neatly into the left-hand glass.

It’s the latest in twenty-sixth century poisons, a colorless, tasteless substance that dissolves instantly. A smirk tugs my mouth. Only the best for Adolf Hitler.

I weave my way through the crowd toward Charlotte. She stands poised and unruffled before the Fürher. Hitler cracks a joke, and Charlotte’s laugh ripples like water. The chandelier casts a warm glow on her glossy curls and smooth red lipstick.

I approach and extend the tray. “Champagne?”

“Danke schön,” Charlotte murmurs. Her German is as flawless as everything else about her. Right on cue, she reaches for the right-hand glass.

Her blue eyes pull my gaze like magnets, but I force myself to focus on Hitler. I angle the tray so the poisoned drink is nearest to him, lowering my voice deferentially.

“Champagne, mein Fürher?”

His ratlike face cracks into a sneer at my godawful accent, but no alarm flickers in his eyes. His fingers close around the champagne flute. Charlotte unleashes her most radiant smile and raises her drink for a toast. The glasses clink musically.

Adolf Hitler lifts the champagne to his lips and swallows…

Fifteen minutes later, Charlotte Corday bursts into our basement headquarters, her cheeks pink with triumph.

“Success!” she cries. “The mission is complete!”

As usual, her beauty stuns me. No, paralyzes me. I gawk like an idiot until instinct takes over. Guess I’m tired of being a coward.

I sprint to meet her, squeezing her waist and sweeping her off her feet. Charlotte’s gasp turns into a giggle. She lifts her face to mine, and I lean down to do the bravest thing I’ve ever done.

“Oh,” Charlotte breathes when I finish kissing her.

Except I’m not finished, not by a long shot. She smiles into my eager lips, sliding her arms around my neck. I stroke her hair, savoring her sweet fragrance. “We changed the world,” I murmur.

“We saved all those people?” Charlotte whispers. “Those millions of victims you told me about—we saved them?”

“We saved them.” My chest swells with relief. “We changed history, Charlotte.”

Before I can kiss her again, an ominous rumble shakes the air. I glance up sharply. Thunder?

The sky outside the basement window flashes lurid red. The ground beneath us trembles. Charlotte sways unsteadily. I grip her tighter, twisting my head to scan our surroundings.

Charlotte’s eyes are saucers. “What was that?”

“Uh.” My pulse races. “Something that’s definitely not supposed to be happening?”

The ground shudders again. The window panes rattle. The sky is the color of blood.

“Mr. Hernandez!”

I know that voice.

I spin around to see Miss O’Reilly, the Green Room agent who sent me to rescue Charlotte from the French Revolution.

The hatchet-faced woman stalks forward, the doors of her time machine swinging crazily in her wake. She has a titanium blaster in her hand and a bright green parrot on her shoulder.

Oh, nuts, I forgot about the parrot—and the coded message—and my promise not to stir up any more trouble.

Judging by Miss O’Reilly’s icy glare, she hasn’t forgotten any of it.

“Young man,” she barks, “do you have the faintest conception of what you’ve done?”

“Bought you a nice parrot?” I mumble, because I’m a fathead.

Miss O’Reilly crosses the room in three strides and grabs a fistful of my shirt, yanking me close. I’m suddenly very aware of the lipstick smeared on my face.

“You set off a temporal earthquake!” The crimson light casts an eerie glow on her disheveled hair and wild eyes. “This entire timeline is going to collapse!”

My jaw hangs slack, but no words fall out. The silence swells like a bomb about to explode.

“If I told you it was an accident,” I croak, “you wouldn’t believe me… would you?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katie Hanna is a writer in her spare time and a Hufflepunk all the time.  She has a Master’s degree in history from the University of Memphis, and puts it to work writing historical fiction and historical fantasy.  Katie likes strong women in her adventure stories and Oreos in her ice cream.

---

More Stories | Author Website