Twisted Fates Read online

  Roman stumbled out of the tent. His sister’s head fell back against his arm. Her eyes stared.

  “Let’s go,” Dorothy said again. But her throat felt thick.

  She couldn’t admit it yet—she didn’t even want to think it—but, in some deep place, she felt that she was starting to understand.

  They returned fifteen minutes before his sister’s death. This time, Roman remembered to bring a bottle of insulin from their last theft, so they were able to skip the hospital and fly straight to Tent City. They parked the Black Crow as close to the university grounds as they could manage, cutting the engine with nine minutes to spare.

  At seven minutes, they were weaving through the black tents, rain beating on their shoulders.

  At three minutes, they could see the clearing in the distance. Dorothy watched the younger Roman stumble out of his tent, carrying his sister in his arms.

  At two minutes, he dropped to his knees. The Roman beside her started running faster, pulling ahead—

  And then he tripped. The root seemed to come from nowhere, tangling around his ankle and bringing him down, hard, in the mud. He gasped and struggled to push himself back to his hands and knees, but it was no use. The mud was thick, and it was everywhere.

  “No,” he said finally, standing.

  Dorothy followed his gaze and saw his younger self kneeling in the clearing, his sister dying again.

  Dorothy thought she understood.

  “Do you remember holding her in your arms?” she asked.

  Roman closed his eyes. “I can’t.”

  She tried to keep her voice gentle. “You felt her die. Remember?”

  Shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

  “If it were possible to change this, you wouldn’t be able to remember her dying because we already would’ve gone back and prevented it from happening.” She gripped his arm. “Time is a circle, remember?”

  She thought he was going to push her away. But he lifted his own hand and dropped it over hers.

  For a long while, they stood in the rain.

  38

  Ash

  NOVEMBER 8, 2077, NEW SEATTLE

  Zora was staring at him, her mouth agape.

  After a moment she said flatly, “That’s impossible.”

  “I know,” said Ash. They’d pulled their motorboat up to the dock just outside of Dante’s, but Zora had refused to go inside and let Ash order a much-needed drink until she’d bandaged up his open wound using a torn-off bit of her shirt and he’d told her everything.

  She didn’t believe him.

  “You’ve read my father’s research,” she said. “You can’t enter an anil without any exotic matter. Only two people have ever even tried, and one of them died while the other—”

  “—was flayed by the intense winds inside of the time tunnel,” Ash finished for her. “I know. I’m not arguing with you. All I’m saying is that I just went through an anil without any exotic matter.”

  “And even if you had any exotic matter, you would have needed to incorporate it into a protective vessel, like a time machine,” Zora continued, seeming not to have heard him. “Long before my father came up with the plans for the Second Star, he thought that exotic matter might have stabilizing effects inside of an anil, but he found that when the material wasn’t properly incorporated into the design of his ship, it failed.”

  Ash dropped his face into his hands, groaning loudly. “Zora,” he said. “You’re lecturing.”

  Zora blinked at him. “Sorry. It’s just that . . . well, this doesn’t make any sense. Why are you different from my father, and all the other scientists who’ve tried and failed? It shouldn’t—”

  “Be possible?” Ash untied the bandage around his ribs and then retied it tighter. There was already blood leaking through the fabric, a deep, dark red. “Yeah, you might have mentioned that.”

  Zora looked chastened. “Sorry,” she said again.

  “And you’re wrong, anyway. Dorothy went through the anil without a time machine, and she survived.”

  “True. But she was holding the container of exotic matter,” Zora said thoughtfully. “And her hair turned white. All of us got white streaks in our hair after we fell through the anil without a vessel.” Absently, she fingered the white braid beneath her ear. “But your hair isn’t white.”

  Ash lifted his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

  “Nope, dirt blond, as usual.”

  “Hey,” said Ash, but he couldn’t even muster up false indignation and the word fell flat. He ran a hand back through his hair.

  “Okay, say you did travel back in time. Somehow. How did you end up in the exact time that Dorothy and Roman went back to?”

  Ash, frustrated, said, “I don’t know.”

  “We’re missing something,” Zora murmured. “I suppose it’s possible that Roman and Dorothy left behind a sort of . . . trail.”

  Ash raised his eyebrows, and Zora, groaning, elaborated. “Okay, think of it like a boat cutting through the water, leaving a wake behind in the waves, right? It’s possible that you were dragged along in their wake and that’s how you ended up in the same time that they did.” Her eyes traveled from his hair to a spot on his abdomen, just below his ribs. She frowned at his bandage. “And, maybe . . .”

  Ash lifted a hand, suddenly, stopping her. He’d just caught a scent in the air—engine grease and smoke—and the skin on the back of his neck pricked. He turned, but the morning was sunless and blurred at the edges, and he couldn’t see where fog became clouds and water became sky. The world seemed still.

  “We shouldn’t be talking about this out here,” he said, feeling suddenly exposed. He took a step toward Dante’s. And then . . .

  There. A creak of wood. A soft footfall. Ash reached for the gun he’d tucked into his waistband. Zora’s eyes were suddenly alert.

  “Who’s there?” Ash called, struggling to breathe against the tightness in his chest. He closed his fingers around the gun’s hilt but didn’t pull it out. Unnerved, he searched through the soupy, gray light, looking for movement, listening for breathing.

  Silence.

  Zora nodded at something in the water out past the docks. “What’s that?”

  Ash followed her gaze and saw a pinprick of light glimmering through the distant trees. He could hear a motor, low and rumbling, churning up black water in its wake. A moment later, a motorboat separated from the shadows and fog.

  Ash caught Zora’s eye as the boat drew up alongside the dock and pulled to a stop. Something was wrong.

  He took a step closer to the edge of the dock, pulling out his gun—

  A hand shot out of the fog, and then Ash’s arm was being wrenched behind his back, the gun slipping from his fingers.

  “Easy now,” said a cool voice. The hand was small, but strong, and Ash’s first thought was that Dorothy had betrayed him, that she was going to kill him now, prememory be damned.

  But, when he turned, he saw pale skin and dark hair. Not Dorothy, but a girl he’d never seen before. Normally he’d be able to overpower her, but she’d caught him by surprise and had his arm twisted in a complicated hold behind his back. Pain shot through his shoulder whenever he moved.

  She pointed his own gun at his temple, smiling wickedly. “We haven’t been introduced,” she said. “My name is Eliza. And that over there is Donovan.”

  Ash glanced across the dock and saw that a boy had Zora in a similar hold, arms twisted behind her back, a beefy bicep curled around her neck.

  “Can’t say it’s nice to meet you,” Zora breathed through clenched teeth.

  The boat’s engine cut, but the sound of a rumbling motor still ghosted through the air, not quite willing to die. Ash’s gaze slid back to the edge of the dock as Mac stepped out of the fog. His crutches made hollow, clomping noises on the dock. As he approached, a few more Cirkus Freaks separated from the fog, their faces grim. Ash counted four, and then six, surrounding him, Zora, Eliza, and Donovan in a tight circle. He felt h
is first twist of fear. So this was going to be an ambush.

  “Impressive,” Mac said, his eyes swinging from Eliza to Donovan. “I should have started recruiting Cirkus Freaks years ago.”

  “Happy to help, sir,” Eliza said, holding Ash a little tighter. Ash grimaced.

  “Good to see you again, Mac,” he said, hoping his light tone would cover his nerves. “Although your friends have been a little rude.”

  “I figured it was about time to address that little stunt you pulled at my club.” Mac glanced lazily over at Zora. “She’s prettier than your last girl.”

  Zora’s lips pulled up over clamped teeth, curling into a vicious smile. “Come a little closer and say that.”

  “Bad tempered, though.” Mac stroked his jaw and shook his head. “You didn’t think I could let you get away without punishment for what that bitch did to my leg, did you? I’ve killed men for less than that.”

  Ash felt a chill work its way down his spine. He clenched his shoulders to keep himself from shuddering.

  “You’re not going to kill me,” Ash said. “I know how I die, and this isn’t it.”

  “You sure about that?” Mac asked. He nodded to Eliza.

  Ash saw the blow coming and tried to brace himself, but the butt of his gun caught him hard on the side of his face. He heard something crack, and then his eyesight turned bloody.

  “Boom,” Eliza whispered into his ear, laughing. She smashed the gun into his face again. And again.

  The dock tilted toward him.

  And then there was only darkness.

  LOG ENTRY—OCTOBER 7, 1899

  22:24 HOURS

  JUST OUTSIDE COLORADO SPRINGS

  This is a little embarrassing, but let me explain.

  I was feeling pretty low after everything that happened. Not only the terrible future that will almost certainly come to pass, but my own experiments and failures as well.

  And so I had a drink. And then I had a couple of drinks. And then I thought about how nice it would be to talk to another scientist, someone who knows exactly how it feels to fail so horribly at something you believed without a doubt to be true.

  And so I got into the Second Star and flew into the past to see Nikola. We’ve been hanging out in his experimental station, and we’ve had a few more drinks and just . . . talked.

  Nikola still thinks I’m a martian, but he understands my frustration, nonetheless.

  I wasn’t going to write about this little trip at all, but Nikola said something that’s stuck with me. I wrote it down as best as I could remember it here.

  He said, “Maybe there is something like destiny, or God, working on each of us, determining our paths forward, on and on through the future. Though you might be able to change your own path, you cannot change someone else’s.”

  That seemed really profound to me. Or maybe it’s the bourbon.

  Before I left, Nikola asked if I would come visit him one last time, before his death. I asked him why, but he only smiled and wouldn’t tell me.

  “There’s something I’d like to give you” was all he said.

  Part Three

  How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?

  —Dr. Seuss

  39

  Dorothy

  NOVEMBER 9, 2077, NEW SEATTLE

  Wind beat into the sides of the Black Crow. Rain lashed at the windshield. And, somewhere far in the distance, stars winked in and out of existence.

  Dorothy peered at the sides of the anil, searching first for the exact crest of purple that meant 2077, and then for the subtler changes and shifts in color that meant they were nearing the eighth of November. It was her first time flying the Black Crow through the anil on her own, and this was the part she’d been dreading. She was terrible at looking for signs in the swirling black and gray of the time tunnel’s walls. It all looked the same to her.

  “Does this seem right to you?” She glanced at Roman, but he only stared out the passenger-side window, forehead creased in concentration, eyes glazed.

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” he said distantly.

  “All right.” Dorothy exhaled and, cringing slightly, she pulled the Black Crow through the misty, swirling sides of the anil.

  The rain became thick and black, turning to waves, and then the Black Crow was shooting up and up, through dark water, to surface in the familiar dusky twilight of New Seattle, circa 2077.

  Dorothy loosened her grip on the time machine’s yoke and leaned back in her seat, releasing an anxious sigh. She thought she’d done well. The trip hadn’t been quite as smooth as when Roman flew, but she’d held the time machine steady against the battering wind, so she considered it a success. At least she hadn’t crashed.

  She checked the clock on the time machine’s dashboard. Then, blinking, she checked it again.

  “Roman,” she said, leaning forward suddenly. “Is this right? It says that we landed a full day later than when we left.”

  Roman turned to her. He seemed not to have noticed that they’d arrived back home at all. The last trip back had taken a toll on him. He looked aged.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “Look.” Dorothy pointed to the time machine’s clock. “We landed twenty-four hours too late.” She looked over her shoulder, at the anil still swirling behind her. “Should—should I go back and try again?”

  Roman went back to staring out the window. “If you like.”

  Dorothy tried to think of something to say, but everything that came to mind sounded stupid. He’d spent the day watching his sister die over and over again. She couldn’t think of anything more painful than that, and it angered her that she couldn’t find the words to comfort him. She, too, had lost her entire family, but she didn’t think it was quite the same.

  She glanced back at the anil one last time. How much difference would one day really make?

  She set the time machine to hover and flew over the dark waves, toward home.

  The Fairmont rose in the distance like a golden mountain, lit up and glowing against the otherwise darkening sky. Seeing it, Dorothy felt the anxiety inside of her still. Home.

  Then, she marked the dark figures standing guard at its main entrance and frowned. That was strange. She didn’t recognize half the Freaks on duty.

  She swiveled around in her seat as she flew past, trying to catch a final glimpse before rounding the corner.

  “Wasn’t Donovan’s team supposed to be on guard?” she said, half to herself.

  It seemed to take Roman a long time to hear the question. He blinked, as though coming out of a trance. “What?”

  “Donovan,” Dorothy said again, more firmly this time. She deftly flew the Black Crow through the dark windows of the parking garage, waiting until she’d landed before explaining. “His team was on guard when we left this morning, wasn’t it? I thought you’d told him to hold until we returned?”

  Roman nodded slowly. They always left the Fairmont in the hands of one of their more trusted teams when they traveled back in time, just in case something should happen to delay their return.

  “I didn’t see him out front just now,” Dorothy said.

  “He must’ve switched,” Roman murmured, but Dorothy could see his brows draw together. That didn’t sound like Donovan’s team. “I suppose it was a rather long shift; we’ve been gone for more than a day.”

  Dorothy cringed, once again feeling guilty for missing their intended time.

  They exited the time machine and found the door to the Fairmont’s basement ajar, a thin yellow light dribbling into the stairwell. Dorothy could hear the grunting sounds of work being done. It seemed like there was an entire team of people gathered on the other side.

  This was . . . also strange. It was nearly evening, the hotel was usually quiet at this time of day. Most of the Cirkus Freaks took to the boats as soon as the sun set to patrol the wa
ters around the Fairmont, while those who were lucky enough to be off duty headed to the Dead Rabbit for a drink.

  “Did you assign a job you didn’t tell me about?” Dorothy asked. Roman shook his head. His eyes had lost their glaze and now he looked just as anxious as she felt. Frowning, Dorothy eased the door open.

  No one saw them, at first. The boys assembled were new recruits, and Dorothy didn’t recognize most of them. They were dressed in work clothes rather than standard Cirkus black, and they were moving the solar panels from the corner where they’d been stacked yesterday morning and onto a cart to go . . .

  Where? Dorothy wondered, eyes narrowing beneath her hood. She hadn’t ordered anything to be done with the panels just yet. She glanced at Roman, and he shook his head. He hadn’t ordered this, either.

  An older boy looked up then, wiping the sweat from his forehead. She saw his eyes go wide as he spotted her and Roman at the door.

  “Quinn,” he said, and a lump rose and fell beneath the skin at his throat. “And Roman. You’re back.”

  Dorothy lifted her chin. “Where are these being shipped?”

  “H-he didn’t tell us,” the boy rushed to answer, clearly worried he was in some sort of trouble. “We’re only supposed to prepare them for delivery.”

  “Delivery.” Dorothy pressed her lips together, allowing her eyes to travel over the stacks, looking for any sign of where they might be going.

  There was a propped-open door at the far corner of the basement, and, though the hall beyond the door was dark, Dorothy knew that it led to an old service elevator. The workers were likely taking the panels up the elevator shaft and through the parking garage. If they had a boat waiting there, they could take the merchandise anywhere in the city.

  “Who asked you to prepare them for delivery?” Roman asked.

  “Mac Murphy,” the boy told them. And then quickly, “But he said the order came from you.”

  “Did he?” said Roman, cool.

  Mac, Dorothy thought, and anger beat at her chest like a second heart. What right did Mac have to give orders to her gang, inside her hotel?