Much to my embarrassment, Trey had leaked the news about my birthday, and breakfast concluded with buñuelos—wonderful little doughnuts covered in honey. Mine had a single candle in the middle. When we finished, I stood to help Estella clear the table, but she shooed me away with the same wave of her hand she’d used on Dmitri. “Go, go. You have places to be. I already went to early mass this morning and I have nothing else to do all day.”
I glanced at the kitchen clock. “We probably do need to get moving, Trey, if we’re going to find a parking space. Charlayne’s dad had to park six blocks away last time.”
Trey looked a bit surprised, but we said our good-byes and headed toward his car.
The temple was only a few miles away, and as we approached I understood why Trey hadn’t been worried about parking. A three-level garage and several smaller Cyrist annex buildings now occupied two blocks to the north that had previously held an apartment complex, a few small shops, and several dozen townhomes. The temple itself, which had taken up a city block when I visited in early spring, now covered at least twice that. The surrounding area, which had been a bit run-down the last time I saw it, was dotted with upscale bistros, a Starbucks, and several other cafés.
“None of this is new, is it?” I gestured toward the garage and other buildings.
Trey shook his head. “The restaurants down the hill come and go every few years, but the rest of the area looks pretty much as it has for as long as I can remember. I thought you just wanted to get here early for some reason.”
He pulled into the garage, which was still more than half empty, and we headed toward the temple. It was a beautiful morning, but there was a heavy quality to the air that suggested it would be hot and humid by midafternoon. Several families and couples were walking ahead of us in the direction of the temple. Most were in their Sunday best and I glanced down apprehensively at my jeans.
The temple itself gleamed in the bright sunlight, a behemoth of white stone and glass. The main building was much larger than I remembered, and gave the impression of being larger still due to its soaring steeple and its position at the crest of a hill. Perched atop the steeple was a huge Cyrist symbol—similar to a Christian cross, but with a rounded loop at the top and flared at the bottom, like an Egyptian ankh. It was also rounded on both sides so that—if viewed from the back—the horizontal bar looked a bit like an infinity symbol. In front of this, at the very center, was an ornate lotus flower.
We climbed the steps to the main entrance and followed several others into a spacious foyer that bore little resemblance to the building I’d entered with Charlayne a few months back. Just inside the door, we were welcomed by a security guard who asked us to remove our shoes and step through a metal detector. I was halfway through when it occurred to me that the machine might pick up the medallion, but the guard handed Trey back his wallet and keys and nodded us toward the main foyer.
The carpeted hall that I remembered from my previous visit had been replaced by a large vaulted atrium with polished stone floors and an arched entranceway leading to the main chapel. The morning sun beamed down on an immense white marble fountain in the center. On the left side of the atrium was a café, where several dozen people were chatting over coffee and muffins, and to the right, a Cyrist bookstore.
Trey and I wandered toward the bookstore entrance, where inspirational paperbacks by prominent Cyrist authors lined the shelves, along with a variety of Cyrist CDs and DVDs, T-shirts, and assorted souvenirs. Conwell’s latest book, Faith and The Way: Five Steps to Financial Freedom, was featured in the main display. His bronzed face, with its long, aquiline nose, was a rather stark contrast to the carefully manicured silver hair and prominent white teeth. The combination had the odd effect of making him look both older and younger than the age of forty-seven that I remembered from his online biography.
A CD cover near the book display caught my eye and I tugged on Trey’s sleeve. “That’s it—that’s what was on his T-shirt!” I whispered.
“Whose T-shirt?” he asked.
“On the Metro. Simon—the guy who took my backpack. It was really faded, but I’m sure that was the band logo.” I picked up the CD and examined the cover more closely. In the center was an image of an eye, with the lotus from the Cyrist symbol superimposed over the pupil. “I don’t know the band, though—Aspire? Have you heard of them?”
Trey raised his eyebrows. “Uh, yeah. You mean you haven’t? They’re not really my kind of music, but you couldn’t turn on the radio without hearing one of their songs last year.”
I gave him a weak grin. “Not in my last year. So another one for our list, I guess.” We kept a running tally of the differences in the pop culture of the new timeline. Connor’s computer program had tracked down the new political leaders that emerged after the shift (about a dozen) and had noted the general shifts in economic power and other things that could be viewed in terms of the numbers, but he and Katherine weren’t really the type to keep up with the latest trends in music and entertainment. There were at least a dozen blockbuster movies from the past decade or so that I should have remembered but had never heard of, and several new-to-me celebrities and authors who all happened to be Cyrists. Going farther back, Trey had introduced me to a handful of “classics” that I was pretty sure you wouldn’t have found on the reading list for any Western civ course before the last time shift.
“I think Aspire won a Grammy last year or maybe the one before,” he added. “I wouldn’t have said they were religious music, but then I can’t say I’ve listened very closely to the lyrics.”
A guy about our age walked over from behind the counter and asked if he could help us.
“No thanks,” Trey said. “Just browsing for a few minutes before the services begin.”
The guy, whose name tag identified him as Sean, glanced at the CD in my hand. “Are you fans?” he asked.
Trey shook his head, but I nodded and gave him my best smile. “I really like the new album. I heard some tracks online.” I placed the CD back in the display. “I may come get this after the service.”
Sean reached out and straightened the CD on the rack, although it really didn’t look crooked to me. “Did you see them when they were here?”
I must have looked confused, because he glanced down at my hand, probably scanning for the lotus tattoo. “Oh, no,” I said. “I’m not a member—yet. I’ve only been here once before and this is Trey’s first time.”
His smile brightened. “Welcome! We’re always happy to have visitors.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and hit a button, then put it away again. “Yeah, Aspire was here about three months ago. It was members-only, otherwise we’d have had a mob scene. And even so, the auditorium was packed; you could hardly find a spot to stand.” He stuck out his hand in Trey’s direction. “What was your name again? I’m Sean.”
Trey shook his hand. “I’m Trey, and this is K—” He paused for a split second and pretended to clear his throat, before continuing. “This is Kelly.”
I wasn’t sure why he’d used his own name and opted to give me an alias, but it looked like I would be Kelly for the rest of the morning. “Hi, Sean,” I said. “It was nice to meet you. Maybe we’ll see you later.”
I pulled slightly at Trey’s elbow to move us toward the main chapel, but Sean took hold of my other arm. “I’ll turn you over to the Acolytes who are on visitors duty this month. They’re on their way over now. They’ll be happy to answer any questions you have and point you toward some of our social activities. You’re actually in luck if you can stick around a bit, because there’s an Acolytes lunch in the Youth Center just after the service this morning.”
I sighed, hoping that my annoyance wasn’t visible. The last thing I wanted was to be led around by a delegation of devout young Cyrists. Trey and I turned toward them as they approached and, with a small lump in my throat, I realized that one of the three girls in the group was Charlayne.
14
Her hair was longer, and my Charlayne would have considered the white skirt and pale yellow sweater set much too tame, even for church, but it was definitely her. She was laughing about something with the girl next to her as they approached and wasn’t paying much attention, until her eyes landed on Trey. She gave him the quick but thorough up-and-down appraisal that I’d seen her give every guy she considered cute, and then she glanced over at me as if sizing up the competition. Yep, that part was 100 percent Charlayne.
And it gave me an idea. I whispered to Trey out of the side of my mouth, “The one in the yellow is Charlayne. Play along with me, okay? We’re cousins. She’s more likely to talk to us if she thinks you’re available.”
“You’re pimping me out?”
I stifled a laugh. “Just for an hour or so. I know Charlayne—in any timeline. She just gave you her hot-guy appraisal and she’ll talk to you if you’re even a little bit nice to her.”
He didn’t have time to object before the flock of Acolytes descended upon us. Sean introduced Trey, who then introduced me as his cousin, Kelly. The slightly annoyed emphasis on the word cousin was noticeable to me, but apparently not to anyone else. Charlayne’s smile brightened instantly.
After a few minutes of general chatter, we were whisked into the main chapel and seated in one of the first few rows. The circular room was arranged more like an auditorium than a standard church—there were even three elevated sections at the back that reminded me of box seats at a stadium or large theater, except for the fact that most box seats aren’t encased in what I suspected was bulletproof glass. All three sections were lit, and two of the sections were occupied, mostly by older men and a few women in expensive-looking suits.
Just then, a door opened inside the third section and four muscular men, who looked like a security detail of some sort, moved in and inspected the room carefully, even looking under the seats. Apparently satisfied that the area was safe, they went out, and just a few seconds later Paula Patterson entered. It was still hard to think of her as the president, instead of vice president. She was followed by her husband, a somewhat older and rounder man, and her four sons, who were all in their teens or early twenties. Her daughter-in-law was the last to enter, accompanied by two toddlers, neither of whom looked too happy about being there.
I pulled my gaze back to the front of the auditorium, which featured a semicircular stage with a giant plasma screen. A large Cyrist symbol lit the center of the display, surrounded by pictures of Cyrist mission activities that changed every few seconds.
Tall stained-glass windows alternated with white stone panels along the exterior walls. A few of the windows showed scenes from the Christian tradition, similar to those I had seen in other churches—Noah’s Ark, the Madonna and Child, and so forth. Buddha was in one frame as well, but over half were clearly based on Cyrist history. A good number of these depicted a tall man with short dark hair and a white robe, who was blessing children, curing the sick, and handing out gold coins to the masses. It was several minutes before the obvious fact dawned on me—this was my grandfather in his Brother Cyrus guise.