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Chapter Six

Two Sticks and an Apple say the Bells of Whitechapel

T
w
enty minutes later
, her grandmother's expression “
Beware of what you wish for
”
hammered in Katie's brain.

“
Katie
!
” She heard Toby's voice from the doorway of the atrium where she was standing alone.

She glanced over her shoulder at Toby, then back at the London Stone. For a good while now, Katie had been staring at the London Stone, a large boulder, balanced on top of what appeared to be an old, crumbling wishing well. The rocks at the base of the well were blackish-brown and set in dark concrete, in contrast to the London Stone, which was a bright whitish-grey. Leading up to the Stone from the entrance was a broad, squishy line of footprints tracked across a long mat, like an Oscar-night red carpet.

Toby strode toward her. “Beware of pots and dishes . . .” he said in a dead-serious voice, reaching out his hand to stop her from touching the Stone.

Katie jerked back her hand. It wasn't possible to touch the Stone, nestled on top of the well, because it was encased in a prickly, wire-mesh cage. What had startled Katie were the words “pots and dishes.”

Please don
'
t let
“
pots and dishes
”
mean wishes
, Katie thought, peering at Toby, who seemed to have an uncanny ability to read her mind.

“Huh?” Collin sputtered, stumbling through the doorway, following close on Toby's heels. “Pots and dishes? Er . . . ya mean bitches?”

“Just an expression, mate. ‘Beware of what you wish for, because it might—'”

“ ‘Come true,' ” Katie finished his sentence.

Toby's eyes fastened on Katie's and didn't waver.

Collin tugged on his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. “You don't . . . really . . . believe the legend, right? I mean . . . you weren't going to try—”

Katie flinched. “Of course not.”

Collin was pinching his lip out so far that Katie wanted to swat his hand from his mouth, like Aunt Pru always did, but resisted. It was a nervous habit. Collin couldn't help it.

“Of
course,
I don't believe in the legend,” Katie answered, inching around the London Stone, which appeared from this angle to be rising up out of the well. No muddy footprints straggled around the back of the well, and as she followed it around, she ran her hand over the small, waist-high rocks jutting out just below its rim, rough and flinty against her palm like the boundary walls surrounding Grandma Cleaves's garden.

As she came to the back, Katie heard a weird sort of thrashing sound and glanced over her shoulder. Behind her was a solid, cinder-block wall.

“It's a rum thing about this bleedin' Stone,” said Toby, following her around the well. His voice was jovial and light, but there were deep furrows in his forehead. “Legend has it that those who believe,
truly believe
, can rewrite history. Change the past.”

Katie nodded. “Most historians think the Stone was part of a pre-Roman stone circle.”

“Like Stonehenge,” Collin muttered, tugging at his lip so that the word Stonehenge came out sounding like
sternage.
“Thousands of people flock to Stonehenge at the summer solstice. I've seen it on the telly. They do all those weird dances and chanting.”

Toby frowned. “The London Stone has nothing to do with Neolithic stone circles. It's the stone of Brutus, part of a Druid altar.
That
'
s
what historians believe.”

“So it was used for . . . sacrificial stuff?” Collin's red brows rose. “Cool!”

“Or creepy,” Katie said. “But you're wrong.” Katie glanced at Toby. She had done a lot of research on the London Stone. The only thing that historians
did
agree on was the fact that the Stone had resided in London as far back as written records existed, along with the fable — or curse—that if the Stone were ever to leave London, the city would instantly cease to exist.

“Sign over there says it
could
be the stone King Arthur drew his sword from.” Collin let go of his lip and puffed out his freckled cheeks.

Toby's eyes fastened on Katie with an odd watchfulness.

Katie took a step closer to the Stone, and the room suddenly filled with darting light. Shadows chased one another around the Stone—
not unusual
, Katie thought. This was Madame Tussauds, after all, known for its weird special effects. But what was that strange smell? Like peanut butter and smoky cheese, so strong it was as if someone had opened a jar of Skippy peanut butter and placed it directly under her nose.

“What's that smell?”

“What smell?”

“Like stinky cheese and peanut butter. What's in your pocket, Collin?” Much to Collin's chagrin, Aunt Pru often tucked cheese sandwiches into his pockets, “lest the darling boy starve.”

Collin yanked out a smushed box of Milk Duds. “These? S'all I got. I swear.” He tossed the box to Katie and she caught it in midair. Expelling her breath, she reached inside and tugged out two chocolate Milk Duds. She popped one into her mouth, savoring the chewy caramel, then Frisbeed the box back to Collin.

“Katie,” Toby said, so close to her ear it made her jump. When she glanced up, she saw that he was standing at least three feet away. Then she heard a sound as if someone had just kicked a tin can and it was rattling its way across the tiled floor, near the strip of red carpet. But when she looked down, there was nothing.

She peered into the corners of the room, then over her shoulder.

No tin cans.

More special effects
, Katie wondered?

“Katie,” Toby repeated, the sound of her name pounding so loudly in her ears, she clamped her hands over them.

“Stop shouting!”

“Not shouting, Katie.” Toby looked at her oddly, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Did you ever read ‘The Raven's Claw'?”

Katie darted behind the London Stone, effectively muffling the booming sound of his voice.

“It's a short story.” Toby's words pursued her, bouncing loudly off the cinder-block walls. “It's one of those gothic horror stories written around the time of Edgar Allan Poe, 'bout a bloke who gets three wishes if he rubs this shriveled-up raven's claw. But what happens after he gets his first wish is so freakin' awful, he spends his last two wishes trying to undo the first.”

Perplexed, Katie popped her head back around the London Stone. “Meaning . . . ?”

“If you interfere with fate, Katie, you do so at your own peril.” Toby's voice was back to normal, but it had been so piercingly loud just the moment before that it left a ringing void against her eardrums.

“And . . . this . . . is relevant . . . because . . . ?” she managed to squeak out, though her head was throbbing now, her ears ringing.

“When m'dad died, I used to pray for some kind of über miracle that would bring 'im back. But then I'd reread ‘The Raven's Claw' and realized that even if I could change the past, I shouldn't. I'd only be messing with the balance of the cosmos. What's meant to be is meant to be.”

“You don't really believe that, do you?” Katie whacked the prickly wire surrounding the London Stone. It thrummed like a giant gerbil cage. “I wouldn't care if I messed up the fate of the whole world, the entire cosmos. I'd give anything to have my parents back.
Anything!
I'd sell my soul to the devil—” But in truth, Katie knew she wasn't going to wish for her parents to be alive again. She merely wanted to—

“Beware of what you wish for, Katie, it might come—”

“Oh shut up.
Just shut up
!
” Katie flew round to the back of the stone again, and without thinking, began wriggling her fingers through a small hole, the size of a Milk Dud, in the wire mesh.
How dare he tell me what to do!
What a stupid jerk
.

Katie hadn't come here to wish for the impossible. If she could have one wish,
just one
, it wouldn't be something metaphysically impossible. She'd never intended to hope for anything totally unobtainable. All Katie wanted to ask for was one simple little thing.
To have my sister in my life again.

She tugged angrily at the tear in the wire mesh, widening it.
I don
'
t just want to see my sister for a week or two every summer.
I want her in my life!

Katie squeezed her eyes shut trying to picture her sister, but only managed to conjure up a shapeless image without a face. Last year Grandma Cleaves had argued with Courtney about the “lewd” lyrics in her songs, the “unwholesome” metal studs in her body, and the “ridiculous” tattoos snaking up and down her arms. Now they weren't speaking.
I just want Courtney back in my life. I want Grandma Cleaves and Courtney and me to be a family. I lost my parents. I want my sister back! Is that too much to ask?

Wriggling and poking at the hole, Katie thought about the waxwork girl downstairs who resembled Courtney, the black velvet ribbon fastened round her neck, the delicate cameo hanging in the hollow of her throat.

Katie glanced down at the widening hole, large enough now to plunge several fingers into. She wriggled them around until her knuckles poked through the hole, and a moment later she plunged her entire hand in.

The tangled wire gave a little at first, then clamped shut around her wrist, like a prickly metal bracelet.
Now I
'
ve done it,
Katie thought, trying to wrench her hand free. But it stuck fast. Making a tight fist, she drove her arm in further, then tried to yank it back out again. But each time she swung back, the surrounding mesh circled her arm more tightly, pulling her in.

Frustrated, she hurled her full weight against the cage. Instead of loosening her arm, she managed only to plaster her cheek against the upper portion of the chicken wire, with her hip and thigh pressed tight to the rough side stones of the well.

If she had a little Vaseline, she could slide her arm out.

Behind her she heard Collin wheezing. The air had a different odor now, like the damp smell of wet stones. With her cheek pressed against the tangle of mesh wires, she tried to call out to her cousin but stopped when she noticed that the rocks surrounding the lip of the well were crusted in green slime, sticky against her hip and thigh.

Okay, this is crazy
, Katie thought, opening and shutting her fingers on the inside of the wire cage. She tugged her neck back like a turtle, trying to peer around. Where were Collin and Toby?

The London Stone had a barely visible crack just beyond the wire casing. Katie wriggled her fingers until her index finger was touching the small, smooth fissure. When she poked her finger into it, she was reminded of that finger-plunger game she used to play with Courtney when they were kids. At the thought of her sister, laughter bubbled up from her throat with an hysterical edge. Her mind flashed to Beatrix Twyford, who had died such a horrible death.
If only I could go back in time, I
'
d solve the Jack the Ripper mystery and save Lady Beatrix Twyford!

A deafening explosion sent shockwaves through her body. A fierce white heat seared through her, as if she were on fire. She tried with all her might to wrench her hand back. Shadows darted around the Stone, then around her head. She rattled the cage with her free hand. She was in agony. Someone must have set off a bomb . . . and she was trapped!

Her grandmother's words came to her, reverberating in her mind with a melodic cadence.
“
Beware of what you wish for
. . .”

Chapter Seven

Maids in White Aprons say the Bells of St. Katherine's

M
i
nutes later
, with the palm of her right hand still pressed firmly against the London Stone, and her index finger embedded in the pitted hole, the gut-wrenching feeling of something exploding inside Katie was gone, along with the painful fire-hot sensation.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced around. Something wasn't right. The light was peculiar. And what was that brick wall doing in front of her? She blinked. The London Stone was protruding from a wall.
A brick wall
. Some sort of curved, iron grate surrounded it instead of wire mesh, and it was sticking out of
a brick wall!

Hand still firmly on the stone, Katie craned her neck and looked up. A church spire soared high into the sky. A church? Where was she?

She shook her head. This multimedia stuff was so real! Must be another hologram. But the air smelled like outdoors. And the fast-moving clouds scudding overhead looked
real
. And what was that brick-dust smell?

The gravestones in the courtyard were a nice touch, Katie thought. Just the sort of background scenery Madame Tussauds would go in for. She twisted and tugged her finger until she was able to wriggle it out of the pitted indentation, then slid her arm out of the metal grating and reached her hand up to her throat. Something was choking her. A satiny ribbon of some sort was tied under her chin.
What the . . . ?

She touched her head. A pinwheel of a hat sat balanced on her head. Katie took a giant step backward, and the heel of her boot caught in the velvety material swirling round her ankles.

Really, this is too weird
, Katie thought. Then the toe of her boot—
her boot
—caught in the hem of her dress . . .
her dress
? What dress? She hadn't been wearing a dress. The only long dress Katie owned was her mother's old prom dress. And she
definitely
hadn't been wearing the prom dress.

“Okay,” she said aloud. “What's going on?” She took another step, got tangled in the flounces of the skirt, and fell backward “ass over teakettle,” as the English liked to say. From the ground she looked up to see Collin looming over her. Relief surged through her at the sight of his flame-red hair and freckled cheeks, replaced instantly by a seething anger.

“
What
'
s going on, Collin?!
Is this some kind of a stupid joke?”

“T'ain't no rum 'n' coke, Miss Katherine.” It was Toby peering down at her, sunlight splashing across his handsome features. But what was wrong with his nose? Had he broken it? It was crooked, and there was a slight bump in the middle, as if he'd been in a fight. Toby reached down and offered Katie his hand. He was wearing old-fashioned clothes.

“Ha ha. Very funny. How'd you do it?” Katie demanded. “How'd you pull it off?”

“Pull what off, miss?” Toby gently gripped her wrists and tugged her to her feet. But when his dark eyes met hers, they weren't sparkling with amusement. No glimmer of a smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. Instead, his face was full of worried concern.

“Okay, guys. Cut it out. Enough already. This isn't funny anymore. It's mean. A stupid, mean, dumb joke. And you gave yourself away, Toby, when you said ‘rum and coke.' There was no such thing as Coca-Cola in the olden days. So cut it out. I assume you want me to believe we are actually back in Victorian England? Ha ha, double-ha.”

“What's co-ca-co-la?” Toby asked, a curious inflection in his voice. He threw Collin a quizzical look, then said to Katie, “Rum and coke, miss. Rum as in the stuff you drink, and coke as in a coal fire.” He turned to Collin. “Your cousin must have gotten a walloping crack on the noggin when she fell arse over teakettle. It's addled her wits.”

“Where are we?” Katie demanded.

Collin, his red hair parted with razor precision and slicked flat across his forehead, stared at her, mouth open. “The steps of St. Swithin's church, where else? I think Toby's right, Katherine. When you fell, you hit your head and—”

“What year is this?” Katie glared at him.

A splotch of color rose up Collin's neck above his stiff winged collar. “Why, it's the year of our lord eighteen-hundred and eighty-eight. God's eyeballs, Katherine. What's gotten into you?”

“And we're in London?” Katie asked. “Queen Victoria's London?”

When Collin nodded, Katie froze. For a terrifying moment she thought she might actually
be
in the nineteenth century. But the very next instant she knew it was impossible. This was all a hoax, another hologram or three-dimensional projection, all part of the multimedia Chamber of Horrors exhibit at Madame Tussauds. Katie laughed as she remembered the sign:

Come see the psychopathic mass murderer Jack the Ripper and the disemboweled bodies of his victims. The most terrifying sights and sounds in human history are ready to haunt your steps and reach out cold, dead hands toward your flesh as you move through the Chamber . . .

The sign had also said that real actors would “come alive” during the presentation.

Okay. So Collin and Toby were part of the Jack the Ripper exhibit and hadn't told her. They were being paid as actors during their school break. But enough was enough.

Katie turned back to the stone anchored waist high in the outside wall of the church. There must have been some sort of spring-loaded button in the Stone that transported her to a different exhibit room, like one of those rides into the future at Disneyland.

Just then she caught sight of a daisy in a grassy patch below, and bending over, yanked it from the ground. It was obviously fake, but a bit of earth clung to the root stem, and the petals frittered away when she plucked at them.
So they planted some real flowers. Big deal. Anyone can plant—

At the sound of someone calling her name, Katie glanced up and stared in amazement at the sight of two people trotting down the wide steps of the stone church. It was a young woman and a young man—both in their twenties, Katie guessed. The man wore one of those white dog collars, so he must be acting the part of a minister.

But it was the young woman who caught Katie's attention. With features similar to Courtney's, she looked strikingly like the wax figure positioned at the end of the row of Ripper victims.
Lady Beatrix
Twyford
. And the dress she was wearing was an exact duplicate of the one in the portrait hanging over Katie's mantelpiece! Pale blue with embroidered rosebuds, a pink sash at the waist.
And there was the same black velvet ribbon circling her neck, pinned dead center with an oval cameo!
The only difference here was that this young woman striding toward Katie was
alive!

Her hair wasn't the faded, pale-straw color as in the portrait, but a vibrant coppery yellow, with glints of auburn. And her face was just as striking, but without the arrogance. The same beauty mark, like a painted dot, glimmered above her upper lip.

The young woman with the coppery hair was almost level with Katie, a shimmering vision of rippling skirts and ribbons, and as she glided closer, Katie could see clearly that there was no anger or accusation in her dark eyes—so dark a blue they were almost black.

“Lady Beatrix—” Toby glanced over his shoulder. “Your cousin took a right nasty tumble.”

“Bea!” Collin sputtered. “Katherine's talking nonsense.”

Katie swiveled around to face the London Stone, her back to the others. Her pulse was racing. She wedged her hand back through the metal bars and jammed her finger into the pitted hole. Instantly, her head felt like it was exploding. She felt as if she were falling . . . down . . . down . . . down into a black, swirling hole that choked the air out of her lungs, suffocating her
as if she were being buried alive!

Gasping and gulping great, heaping lungfuls of air, Katie opened her eyes to bright, fluorescent lights. In front of her was the London Stone, encased in wire mesh and balanced atop the crumbling stone well. The rocks at the base of the well were the same blackish-brown color, set in concrete. And the same broad, squishy line of footprints was tracked across the mat leading up to the London Stone.

Katie glanced across the room. Just outside the door was the sign pointing the way to the Beatlemania gallery, and another directing visitors to the Princess Diana room.

She closed her eyes and for a dizzying moment relief pulsed through her veins as palpable as the feeling of falling had been moments before. She was back! She looked over her shoulder and saw Toby standing stiffly, awkwardly, inertly.

Inertly?

“Toby?” she called out tentatively, leaving her finger embedded in the stone. Some instinct warned her that if she removed her finger she might never return to that other place . . .
that other world!

Toby gave a slight movement, as if he heard her but was powerless to speak. His expression didn't change—he looked puzzled, bewildered, almost frightened.

“Collin . . . ?” Katie whispered. Collin was standing just behind Toby.

In the silence, both boys appeared frozen, molded in wax like the figures in the Chamber of Horrors, eyes curiously blank.

The realization hit home. The significance of what had just happened struck Katie like a physical blow. She felt her balance begin to give and her feet stagger out from under her. She let out a gasp and held on to the Stone, gripping it with her fingertips, trying to keep her index finger firmly planted in the hole.

Her mind flashed on an image of Lady Beatrix, and a wave of vertigo shook her. She thought about Jack the Ripper's mutilated victims and about her parents. “I couldn't save my mother and father . . .” she said softly.
But if this is real, and I can go back to the nineteenth century, maybe . . . just maybe . . .
I can save Lady Beatrix Twyford!

If she waited another minute, Katie knew she would lose her nerve. Before she could change her mind, she thrust her index finger deeper into the stone, jabbing her fingernail painfully against something hard at the back of the indented fissure. Then she twisted and turned her finger, rubbing her knuckles almost raw against the outer portion of the stone, until finally she felt the fire-hot searing sensation tingle through her finger and shoot up her arm, pulsing and throbbing as if with its own heartbeat.

She was falling again, unable to breathe, down a dark, swirling shaft. Down, down, down as nausea rose up her throat, tasting of rust and lemon juice.

As suddenly as it began, the falling sensation ceased, and she felt the pinwheel hat squashed on top of her head, its satiny bow pinching the skin under her chin.

She yanked her finger out of the hole, held her breath, and made herself count slowly to ten.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi . . .
When she got to
ten Mississippi,
she lost her nerve. She opened her eyes and blinked around. She was once again outside, and the London Stone was protruding from a wall.
A brick wall!
She'd done it. She'd traveled back in time! And now she was going to save Lady Beatrix Twyford from Jack the Ripper. How difficult could it be, after all? With her superior twenty-first–century knowledge of science and crime scene investigation, learned from
CSI
reruns, how hard could this be?

Katie craned her neck and looked up. The spire of St. Swithin's soared high into the sky. It was a glorious sight. She was in another century.
Another world!
Queen Victoria
'
s London!
And I
'
m going to catch Jack the Ripper!