The Hourglass Door (31 page)

Dante.
“Absolutely.” I gulped down my juice and turned off the TV.

“Not so fast,” Mom said, gently placing her hand on my shoulder and pushing me back into the pillows. “You still need to rest. I’ll send him in.”

I tucked my hands under the blankets to keep them from shaking. It felt like forever since I’d seen Dante and I had so many questions to ask him.

My memories of the last few days were still cracked and incomplete. I remembered the park, but after that . . . I sighed deeply. After that was blankness, a white landscape, and the feeling of a wave lifting inside my chest.

I heard someone step into the family room.

But it wasn’t Dante who had come to see me.

It was Leo.

He looked older somehow, the weariness carving deep lines around his eyes and mouth. His wrinkled shirt was open at the throat, and I saw the glint of a golden cross hanging against his skin.

“I hope I’m not intruding.” He rocked his weight from his heels to his toes.

“No, it’s fine,” I said, surprised. Of all the people I thought would come visit me, Leo might have been at the bottom of the list. “Where’s Dante?” I hadn’t meant for the words to sound so blunt; I offered up a smile to help soften the tone.

Leo paused, an air of stillness settling around him. The sunlight reflected off his blue eyes, shading them silver, and for the first time I could see the similarity between Dante and Leo.

“Dante’s fine,” Leo said.

If I hadn’t been listening for the hesitation, I would have missed it.

Leo nodded to the chair across from the couch. “May I?” He didn’t wait for my reply but sat down, a serious look on his face. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” I pulled the blankets up to my neck.

“About Dante. About what happened in the park two nights ago. About what happened afterward.”

“Nothing happened,” I managed before falling silent under the weight of Leo’s gaze.

“Exactly,” he said.

I blinked in surprise.

“The story for everyone else is that you and Dante left the play opening night and drove to the park. Shortly after midnight, you brought Dante back to the Dungeon and then returned home. You fell sick, but you’re feeling much better now.”

“But that
is
what happened,” I said. “Isaac was sick at the play. Mom thinks I caught the same twenty-four-hour bug he had.”

Leo shook his head. “No, what happened to you was more.” He leaned forward in the chair, resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands together.

I glanced down and saw the pale, thin chains around his wrists. Chills ran from the back of my neck down my arms to my fingertips. A white shimmer surrounded my vision.
He knows,
I thought.
He knows Dante took me to the bank. He knows everything.
Dante’s words crashed through my memory, making my ears ring—
time machine, treason, the river, the bank.

I bit my lip, trapping the words behind my teeth. I didn’t know what to say and I was afraid if I opened my mouth the words would spill out, unchecked and irretrievable.

“The story for you,
mia donna di luce,
is more complicated.” Leo’s smile stripped years from his face but failed to chase the shadow from his eyes.

I wondered about the Italian name he called me, what it meant. I reminded myself to ask Dante. If I ever saw him again.

“The story begins the same way—young lovers taking a midnight trip to a park—but the ending is very different. Would you like to hear it?”

Numbly, I nodded, my mind churning with fragmented memories. I didn’t want to go back to that place of empty air and shattered colors. The wave trapped in my chest rose to the back of my throat, threatening to overwhelm me.

“You saw the bank. And the river,” Leo said. “I don’t know how; it shouldn’t have been possible, although . . .” He glanced at me, and something flickered in his shadowed eyes. He shook his head, finally murmuring, “although perhaps that is a story for another day.” He took a deep breath and started again, “You saw the bank. And the river. And just as you brought some of your time with you to the bank, when you returned, you brought some of the bank’s timelessness with you.”

Dryness coated the inside of my mouth. I had a visceral memory of seeing my watch frozen in time, of the hands lurching into motion. A dark shadow looming overhead. A white wave cresting into color. I rubbed my hand over my arm, half expecting to feel the sharp edges of broken time still clinging to me.

“How did . . . ? What . . . ?” My questions jumbled together in my mouth. I didn’t know what to ask first.

“When Dante didn’t come home that night, I went looking for him.”

“At the park?”

He shook his head. “On the bank.”

“Oh.” I tried to imagine the two men meeting in that timeless void, but even in my imagination they were pressed flat by the two-dimensional emptiness of the bank.

“Dante was . . . out of balance.” The corners of Leo’s eyes tightened. “He told me what had happened.”

I looked down at my hands, strangely embarrassed, as though I’d been caught doing something wrong.

“He told me where you were and that you needed help. He wanted to come with me, to help you, but I told him he needed to stay where he was.”

“Is he still there?”

Leo paused, then nodded. “And will be until the danger has passed.”

I shivered. Why was he in danger? For me? Or because of me?

“It was almost dawn when I found you in the park, but in the spot where you were curled up on Dante’s cloak, it was still midnight.”

“What? How was that possible?”

“It is as I said—you brought some of the timelessness of the bank back with you. It was like you were trapped under glass. Frozen in time. I could see clearly the line where the rising golden light hit the shell of lingering night.”

“Then it was you who called my name,” I murmured.

Leo paused again. I could see him swallowing once, then twice, before replying, “Yes.”

“If I was frozen in time, then what happened? How did I get home?”

“I set you free. I was able to break the shell around you and absorb the extra time.” He unclasped his hands, flexing his fingers before locking them together again.

“I’m sorry if helping me caused you pain,” I said quietly, reaching out to cover his knotted fists with my open hand.

He looked up at me, the dark shadow back behind his eyes. “Helping you has never . . .” He swallowed and carefully moved his hands away from mine. “I mean, no, I wasn’t in any pain.”

If I hadn’t been listening for the lie, I would have missed it.

“I burned off the extra time on the bank. Then I drove you home.” Leo’s tone was back to business.

“Where I’ve been asleep for a day and a half,” I said. “Recovering from . . . what, exactly? Not the flu.”

“No, though that is the story that everyone believes. Your body needed time to equalize, to return to a stable, normal equilibrium.”

“And has it?”

“You’re still alive.” He shrugged. “If you hadn’t found your balance again . . .”

The implications of Leo’s unspoken words weighed me down. I looked down at my body, hidden under a mound of blankets. I felt like it belonged to someone else.

“So what do I do now? Will I have to go back to the bank, to keep my balance, like Dante does? Like you do?” I swallowed, trying to keep the tremors from my voice.

“Ah, no,
mia donna di luce,
” Leo murmured.

I hadn’t realized I was crying until he reached out to hand me a tissue from the box on the coffee table. His fingers felt rough and worn against mine.

“No, you are not bound by the bank as Dante is. As I am.” He handed me another tissue. “You
are
a special young lady, Abby, but rest easy. You are still surrounded by the river just as you always have been.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, wiping at my eyes. “Dante’s lucky to have you in his life.”

“I think he’s luckier to have you,” Leo said.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s a good man. He’ll find his own way through this life.”

I bit my bottom lip. “Are you mad at him for telling me the truth?”

Leo hesitated, then smiled sadly. “I told you once that it was not my place to tell another man’s secrets. It’s also not my place to be angry when those secrets are told. Even if they are my same secrets.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I promised.

“I know.” Then he laughed softly under his breath. “Dante told me you were dangerous, but I didn’t realize how much.”

I smiled at the memory. “He told me it was because I was brave enough to hear the truth.”

“And that makes you easy to trust. But be careful—too much trust invites secrets, some of which you may not wish to know.”

“I hope there aren’t any more secrets I need to know about,” I said. “The ones Dante told me about seem to be plenty.”

A tight expression crossed Leo’s face, then quickly smoothed away as he ran a hand through his white hair. “I have some rules for you,” Leo said.

I shook my head, frowning good-naturedly. “More rules? This is worse than school.”

“Maybe, but there the worst that could happen is a bad grade. Failing to follow
these
rules could have dire consequences for more people than just you.”

Properly chastened, I sat back, attentive and interested.

“Perhaps you know this already, but it is worth repeating—the time Dante spends here must be balanced against the time he spends on the bank. Keeping the balance is of paramount importance. That is rule number one.”

“That sounds like a rule for Dante, not me.”

“That brings us to rule number two.” Leo hesitated, and I suddenly knew I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “Physical contact—or even a strong emotional connection—can tip the balance farther, faster.”

“What!” I sat up. “I can’t touch him? Not even to hold his hand? Or hug him? Or . . . ?” I felt my face blush, remembering Dante’s darkly sweet kiss. “That’s not fair!”

Leo shrugged. “Nothing about this situation is fair. The truth remains, though—relationships complicate things.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Leo continued, overriding my voice.

“And yes, you
can
touch.” Leo suited actions to words and squeezed my hand. “You can even kiss.” His knowing smile meant he’d anticipated my thoughts. “But know that the more you do—the more time you spend together—the more time you must spend apart.”

“Does Dante know about this?” I folded my arms in a huff.

“Of course,” Leo said quietly. “Why do you think he’s always so careful around people—including you?”

I thought back over the past month. I had lost count of all the times Dante had reached for me, only to pull away at the last moment. I could, however, probably count on one hand the times he
had
touched me, most notably when he had carried me to the car that first Saturday for breakfast. Then at lunch when he had helped heal me from that strange rip in time. And again at the Valentine’s Dance when he had first tried to tell me the truth of his past.

I thought of all the times he’d avoided contact with other people.

“Wait,” I said, “Dante spends all day at school and most nights at the Dungeon. He’s always surrounded by people. Why is it so different when he’s with me?”

“Because they are still wholly in the river. They haven’t ever set foot on the bank—they don’t even know it exists. You are different, Abby. You’ve seen the far shore and have returned.” Leo’s voice was soft. “You have been touched by time, and that makes you special.”

“But you said I’m not like you. You said I wouldn’t have to go back to the bank.”

“And you won’t. And you’re not like us. I don’t think you’re like anyone else. As far as I know, no one has been able to travel to the bank without having first traveled through time’s door. Make no mistake, Abby—you have been changed. It remains to be seen how that change will affect things to come.”

I thought about that quietly for a moment. I didn’t feel like I’d been changed, but there was no denying strange things were happening around me. I knew one thing for sure, though.

“I don’t want to hurt him. If me being with him puts him in danger . . .” I trailed off, knowing it was useless to continue. Having had a taste of togetherness with Dante, I knew I didn’t want things to go back to the way they had been—the almost-touches, the fleeting looks, the cryptic comments. Dante had trusted me with his heart and soul. I didn’t want to give them back now. I couldn’t. They had already found a home in me.

“Dante can take care of himself,” Leo said.

“So, rule number one,” I summarized, “is to keep the balance. Rule number two: no touching.” I frowned before I quickly amended it to “
Limited
touching. So what’s rule number three?”

“Rule number three is that you must not ask Dante what he sees downstream.”

“What does that mean?”