Miss O’Reilly’s Nemesis

By Katie Hanna

“Homeward bound,” I announce, opening the door of my time machine. The chromium steering lever on the control panel gleams invitingly.

“Blitzkrieg!” Cuthbert the parrot flaps onto my shoulder.

“You can stop shrieking that ridiculous code word now,” I grumble. “The mission is over.”

And what a mission it was. I’m not one to brag, but after staving off a temporal earthquake and reforming the most incorrigible rogue in Green Room history, I do think I’ve earned a good night’s sleep.

“Freeze!”

The strange voice rings through the basement. I sigh irritably. I expected some interference, but I thought it would be a Nazi guard barking orders in German.

“By the authority of the Blue Room,” the speaker continues in an aristocratic British drawl, “I’m arresting you for reckless timeline endangerment and wanton—”

“For goodness’ sakes!” I whirl to face him so fast Cuthbert squawks in protest. “I should have known it would be you, Mr. Devereaux!”

The figure framed in the doorway lowers his blaster. “Miss… Miss O’Reilly?”

“The one and only!” I snap.

For all my bluster, I can’t stop staring at him. The face I remember as lean and strong and insufferably arrogant is thin and frail now. Twenty years of wrinkles weave spider webs across his skin.

“The one and only, indeed.” Mr. Devereaux descends the stairs, impeccable as ever in a pearl-gray Victorian suit. Some things never change. “A temporal disturbance this severe has your fingerprints all over it, Miss O’Reilly.”

“You’ll be relieved to know it wasn’t my doing.” My tone sizzles with sarcasm. “You’ll be even more relieved to know I handled the situation without help from your Blue Room vigilantes.”

“Vigilantes?” Mr. Devereaux raises a silver eyebrow. “That’s a new one.”

“Do you prefer ‘fanatical zealots with a paranoid streak,’ Mr. Devereaux?”

The Blue Room is a splinter faction of the Green Room, a gang of self-appointed time wardens who hunt down anyone they suspect of meddling with the timeline. At least, they used to. Recently they’ve been strangely quiet, which is why I’m surprised to see Mr. Devereaux here.

“Why is there a parrot on your shoulder?” he murmurs, ignoring my taunt. “You’ve always hated birds.”

“Blitzkrieg!” Cuthbert trills.

“Much as I’d love to stay and chat, Mr. Devereaux, I don’t fancy loitering in a building controlled by Adolf Hitler’s personal bodyguard—”

The basement door bursts open. Men in black uniforms thunder down the stairs, brandishing weapons and shouting in German.

Mr. Devereaux shoves me into the time machine. I crash to the floor. Cuthbert flutters wildly above my head. Mr. Devereaux grabs the steering lever.

“What are you doing?” I scramble to my feet. “This is my time machine!”

“Yes, and those were real guns!” Mr. Devereaux pushes the lever to plunge us into the time vortex. The vehicle rocks as temporal winds strike.

I elbow him aside. “No one pilots this ship except me!”

The old man braces against the floor to steady himself. “You always were too proud to ask for help, young lady!”

“I don’t need help,” I growl, my knuckles white on the lever. “And don’t call me young lady!”

The time machine has no windows, but I hear the howling gales clawing its outer walls. I picture the little blue ship plummeting through an endless tunnel of darkness. Time is a whirlpool of opposing forces powerful enough to shred anyone who dives in. The only safe paths are the little wormholes mapped out by Green Room analysts. When I said flying blind through the vortex was practically suicide, I wasn’t joking.

Of course, thanks to Hernandez’s shenanigans, the atmosphere is even more volatile than usual.

“We have to land!” Mr. Devereaux’s voice rises above the racket. “This storm could kill us!”

“Look at the radar!” I shout. The screen flickers wildly, overwhelmed by the barrage of data. “We have no idea where—or when—we are!”

“There! See that?” His gaunt forefinger jabs a white speck in the left-hand corner. “That’s a wormhole! I’m sure of it!”

“You’ve gone soft in the head,” I grunt. Even on the slim chance that tiny dot is a wormhole, I have no idea where it leads.

His eyes burn into mine. “What choice do we have?”

A blast of wind slams the vessel. The floor shudders. Red warning lights bounce drunkenly off the chromium walls.

“Fine!” I throw the lever into a hard left turn. “But if we land in feudal Japan and get decapitated by samurai, I’m blaming you!”

My ears ring in the stillness.

I lean over the controls, gasping for breath. If my instruments are correct, we’ve arrived in Australia during the prison colony era, which should be… delightful.

I glance at Mr. Devereaux. His wrinkled hands tremble.

I frown. A nagging question finally surfaces. “Why did the Blue Room send you here?”

He stiffens, his tone oddly formal. “It is my sworn duty to investigate temporal anomalies.”

“But why you? Why would the Blue Room send an old man with no backup to investigate a temporal disturbance deadly enough to… ”

The pieces click into place.

“The Blue Room is gone,” I say slowly. “You’re the only one left.”

Mr. Devereaux turns away. He holds his silver head high, but where I once saw arrogance is the quiet desperation of a man clinging to the only life he knows.

My voice is gentle. “Too proud to ask for help, Mr. Devereaux?”

His shoulders form rigid lines. “I do not require any assistance, Miss O’Reilly.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

Cuthbert hurtles down from the ceiling, showering me with feathers. “Blitzkrieg!”

“Cuthbert!” I flap a hand in front of my face, choking on his musk. “Behave yourself!”

Mr. Devereaux jerks around, startled. “Cuthbert?”

My cheeks flush.

“Did you…” He hesitates. “Did you name your parrot after me?”

I don’t answer.

“Imelda?” he says softly.

After a long moment, a rueful smile crinkles my eyes.

“He’s as maddening as you are, Cuthbert Devereaux.”

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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