Miss O’Reilly’s Advice Column

By Katie Hanna

I’m going to enjoy shooting Hernandez.

I smile grimly as I run my feather duster along the balcony rail. My titanium blaster is a satisfying weight in my apron pocket. Too bad it’s set to “stun,” not “kill,” but I suppose one can’t have everything.

Twenty feet below me, the brightly-lit ballroom sparkles like a tropical ocean. Nazi partygoers swirl across the dance floor, each a vulnerable target for my blaster fire. I’m almost offended by the lax security. No wonder Hernandez and Charlotte were able to poison Hitler so easily…

Of course, they didn’t reckon on me tracking them through the time vortex to foil their plans. I confronted them after the assassination and grilled them until they admitted exactly how, where, and when they’d done it. Now I’ve traveled back in time to stop them before they succeed.

Confusing? For a novice, perhaps. But child’s play for a seasoned agent like me.

I spot Charlotte on the dance floor. Hernandez hovers nearby, balancing a champagne tray. It’s obvious he can’t take his eyes off her.

My lips purse sourly. Lovebirds.

Fine, I’m glad they’re happy—I matched them up, after all—but did they have to set off a temporal earthquake that will destroy the timeline if I can’t restore the natural balance?

That’s where my blaster comes in. My goal is to shoot Hernandez at the last possible moment before he delivers the tainted drink to Hitler. Of course, I could stun him before he poisons the champagne, but Charlotte would probably find some way to rescue the poison pill and complete the mission. Feisty girl.

I finger my weapon. The metal feels cool to the touch. I’ve missed that cold, smooth sensation during my years behind a Green Room desk.

Charlotte swishes across the ballroom. Hernandez stares after her, only to be jerked back to reality by a guest demanding champagne. I smirk.

Seconds tick by. Suddenly, Hernandez springs into action. He rearranges the glasses on his tray, then strides toward Charlotte. She chats animatedly with a brown-shirted Nazi sporting a toothbrush mustache—the Führer himself.

Hitler’s cruel sneer twists my stomach. It’s almost enough to convince me Hernandez and Charlotte are right. Almost.

But changing history the lazy way always means more trouble in the end. If the timeline collapses, everyone on Earth will die. We won’t save Hitler’s victims. We won’t save anyone.

My lips tighten resolutely as I grip my weapon.

“Enjoying the party?”

I stiffen, drawing an empty hand from my pocket. A burly Nazi leers at me from the shadows.

“Enjoying the party?” he repeats louder, as if I were deaf.

“Much too busy, sir.” I shake the feather duster vigorously, sending a puff of dust his way. When he coughs, I smell beer on his breath. Suffering St. Brigid.

“Not too busy to dance with me, I hope,” he mocks.

I grit my teeth. With every second, my window for stopping Hernandez is growing narrower. If this drunken fascist wastes much more of my time—

“Come on, little lady,” the Nazi coaxes, stepping forward.

The blaster slides from my pocket.

“What the—”

I stare into his shocked eyes for a heartbeat, then pull the trigger.

The man drops with a thud.

I whirl on my heel and point the blaster over the balcony, scanning the crowd wildly. My pulse thunders. Am I too late?

No, thank God. Hernandez leans toward Hitler, offering his tray.

I breathe, aim, and fire.

Hernandez jerks and topples to the ground. The champagne glasses fly in a spectacular arc through the air before they shatter on the ballroom floor.

____________________________

“It’s not fair,” Hernandez grumbles.

He blinks groggily in the dim basement light. Charlotte strokes his hair. “It’s for the best,” she says soothingly. “The earthquake would have killed everyone.”

At least someone listened to my lecture.

“It’s not fair!” Hernandez repeats. “We were so close!”

“Close to destroying the timeline?” I scoff. “Yes, you’re quite adept in that department, young man.”

My parrot swoops from his perch on the time machine roof and lands on my shoulder. “Blitzkrieg!” he screeches.

I roll my eyes out of sheer habit. “Quiet, Cuthbert!”

Hernandez’s scowl melts into a grin. “You named the parrot Cuthbert?”

“Don’t change the subject.” I nail him with an iron stare. “Do you fully understand the gravity of your offense, Mr. Hernandez?”

Hernandez’s jaw tightens defensively. But Charlotte touches his shoulder, and he sighs in defeat. “I just wanted to make the world a better place,” he mutters. “All those people slaughtered at Hitler’s orders…”

I watch him narrowly. “Do you really want to make the world a better place?”

Fire blazes in his eyes. “Yes.”

“Then stop trying to change history the lazy way.”

Hernandez opens his mouth to protest, but I forge on, my voice steely. “Stop gallivanting through the timeline like a sailor on shore leave. Here today, gone tomorrow—you’re a tourist, not a reformer.” I fold my arms. “The people who live here are working hard to make this a better place, Mr. Hernandez. Maybe you should settle down and join them.”

The young man studies me. “Is that a challenge?”

I keep my tone frosty. “Consider it a piece of free advice.”

“You should start your own advice column,” Hernandez shoots back. “I’d read it.”

In spite of myself, my mouth twitches. “That’s quite enough, young man.”

“What do you think, Charlotte? Would you mind settling down?” Hernandez pauses, almost shy. “With me?”

“Here in the 1930s? I’d be delighted!” Charlotte twirls her silk cocktail dress. “The fashions are marvelous!”

Hernandez squeezes her hand, beaming in relief. “What about you, Miss O’Reilly? Heading back to the Green Room?”

I stifle my twinge of regret. “Of course.”

“Your talents are wasted there, you know,” he says quietly.

I toss my head. “Now you’re the one with the advice column?”

Mr. DuPont’s voice echoes in my mind. You were a legend, Imelda…

Hernandez chuckles. “Good luck, Miss O’Reilly.”

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. You can find her work in Havok’s Casting Call anthology, as well as Faces to the Sun, The Depths We’ll Go To, and The Heights We’ll Fly To.

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