The Hourglass Door (35 page)

We stood together in silence for a while.

“Maybe . . . maybe it might not be so bad . . .” I said quietly.

“What?”

“Well, it’s just that . . . would it really be so bad if Zo left? If he went back through the door? At least then we wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.”

I felt a stillness fall over Dante’s body.

“I would have done it for you,” I said. “If you had asked me to.”

“Done what?”

“I would have gone with you to the bank. Summoned the door. You know, so you could be free.” I tried to turn in Dante’s embrace, but he held me fast. “If Zo hadn’t stolen the hinge, that is.”

“If Zo hadn’t stolen the hinge, I would have broken it myself,” he said tightly. “I should have broken it long ago. No one should be able to go through the door a second time. Not even me.”

“Why not? I don’t understand why it would be such a bad thing. You said if Zo went through the door, then he’d be free of the chains that bound him to the bank. He could stay in the river. Wouldn’t it be the same for you? Wouldn’t you be able to stay in the river? With me?”

“Being able to stay with you would be my greatest wish,” Dante said, desire warm in his voice.

“Then why wouldn’t you want to go through the door again?”

“Because if Zo—or anyone—crossed that threshold for a second time, then the door would never be closed to them again. They would have access to any point in the river—to any time in history—and they would be able to actively participate in that time. Affect events. Change things. Know things.”

“So?”

“So, what if Zo entered the river at just the exact moment to prevent your parents from ever meeting?”

Goose bumps rose up on my skin.

“Exactly,” he said grimly. “It would be like dropping a rock into the river. The farther back you go, the more pivotal the event you change—the more events you change, period—the more rocks you leave in the river. And too many rocks in the river could redirect the river’s flow . . .”

“Or stop it altogether,” I finished. My mind shied away from the words even as I spoke them.

Dante nodded behind me. “That’s what I meant when I said he’d be a god. So imagine if Zo returned to a point in time, say, before da Vinci built his time machine, and destroyed the door . . . or even its maker? Can you imagine the kind of destruction that would result from a rock of that size?”

“But if he destroyed the door, then he never would have gone through it originally—to go forward in time—so he never would have gone through it a second time—to go back in time—right?” My head hurt from trying to think through the paradox. “Why would da Vinci build a machine with that kind of flaw in it?”

“He didn’t,” Dante said quietly. “I did.”

“What?
You
built the time machine?” I stumbled around the words, confused, feeling unspeakably grateful when Dante shook his head.

“No. I built the
flaw.
” Dante sighed, whispering his story to me like a confession. “Da Vinci often inserted an impossibility into his plans as a kind of protection for his ideas. If anyone tried to copy the idea, they’d copy the problem and it wouldn’t work.”

I heard the catch in the back of his throat.

“I had been up for days working on the plans, copying his scattered notes into one cohesive blueprint. I was so tired that night, I didn’t notice that I’d changed the hinge system so the door could be switched from a one-way door to a two-way door depending on which side you inserted the hinge mechanism. I accidentally corrected da Vinci’s intentional flaw—turning an impossibility into a reality.

“Once I discovered what I’d done, I tried to fix it, but I couldn’t exactly erase my mistake. I knew I’d have to redraw the entire set of plans—somehow do four days’ worth of work in one night—or . . .”

“Or?”

“Or I’d have to insert a problem of my own. I figured that would be just as good. After all, I didn’t really think the machine would ever be built. So many of da Vinci’s ideas were just ideas. He didn’t have the resources or the intention of building them all. I thought I was being helpful.”

“What did you do? How did you fix it?”

“What’s the best way of keeping someone from opening a door they shouldn’t?”

“You lock it,” I said. “And you throw away the key.”

“Exactly,” Dante said grimly. “Zo doesn’t know the door is locked. Yes, he has the hinge, but without the key, it’s useless.”

Sudden relief filled me up from my toes and leaked out my eyes in a swell of happy tears. I leaned my head back against Dante’s shoulder, drawing in a deep, cleansing breath. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? I wouldn’t have worried so much.” I even managed a small laugh. “Can you imagine the look on Zo’s face when he gets to the door and realizes he needs a key?” I toyed with the locket around my neck. “It’s in a safe place, right? Someplace where Zo can’t get to it?”

Dante kissed me on the cheek. “My first priority is keeping you safe. The key doesn’t matter as long as you stay safe.” He turned me in his arms, holding me close for one more moment. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

~

I was grateful for every minute I could steal away to be with Dante. When I was with him, all my problems seemed smaller and more manageable. I wasn’t fooling myself, though; I knew my main problem was still Zo. And thoughts of Zo were never far away, mainly because Zo himself was often close by, circling around us like a shark sensing blood.

He, Tony, and V roamed the streets, trailing Zero Hour groupies behind them like stardust. Always in the vanguard was Valerie, holding hands with V or laughing at something Tony said or singing the chorus of a song with Zo. I’d see her from across the street and it would feel like I was looking at her from across the world. There were plenty of reasons for me to despise Zo, but I added one more to the list:
stole my best friend.

Zero Hour still played a few songs on occasion, but not at the Dungeon. After everything that had happened, Leo wasn’t willing to let them back inside. One night we saw them at the park playing a simple set—V keeping time on a small hand drum, Tony strumming an acoustic guitar, Zo’s voice rising so high and pure it felt like it was holding up the stars. Part of me wanted to stay and listen even as the rest of me knew how dangerous that would be, how easy it would be to fall under their spell and follow them wherever they went.

Dante tugged at my hand and we slipped away from the park, driving through the darkness with the windows rolled down and listening to the wind sing us home.

We figured as long as I avoided Zo, surrounded myself with people who could protect me, and stayed away from the riverbank, I’d be safe enough.

Chapter

23

A handful of cars dotted the parking lot at Phillips Park; I pulled into an empty spot closest to the swings. I sat for a moment in my car, listening to the ticking and hissing as the engine settled into inactivity. A couple of kids ran past, laughing and screaming. In the distance, a family spread out beneath the pavilion, grilling hamburgers and passing the potato salad. A typical spring evening at the neighborhood park.

For a moment I wished my life was as typical as the ones I saw before me instead of being filled with time-traveling criminals and mind-bending explanations of reality. But would I really give up Dante to go back to my life the way it had been before? I sighed. Of course not. I climbed out of my car and crossed the grassy hills toward the swings.

Lately, I’d been coming to the park more and more often whenever Dante had to spend time on the bank. After what had happened a few weeks ago when I’d somehow dreamed my way to the bank, Dante had forbidden me from being alone while he was gone. He hoped that if I was around other people, it might anchor me to the here and now and I wouldn’t accidentally go wandering in places where I didn’t belong.

It had worked so far—no more unscheduled trips to the bank for me—but I thought it was more because I was terrified of running into Zo there alone than anything else. Just thinking about Zo’s glittering grin made me shiver.

I slouched into one of the empty swings and pushed myself up until I was standing on my tiptoes. Leaning back, I let go and felt the rush of air across my body, spreading my hair behind me like a fan. I watched the sky tilt upside down, the blood rushing to my head. Stretching my legs out as far as they would go, I pointed my toes and let my momentum slowly rock me back and forth. My thoughts drifted in rhythm, loose and aimless.

The sky . . . the grass . . .
the river . . .
the sky . . . the grass . . .
the bank . . .
the sky . . . the shoes—

Shoes?

A pair of sling-back faux-alligator shoes filled my upside-down vision.

I only knew one person who could pull off shoes like that.

“Hi, Abby,” Valerie said brightly.

I twisted my body upright, struggling to sort out the swing’s chains and keep my suddenly wobbly seat. The blood rushed out of my head, leaving me a little dizzy.

“I haven’t seen you around much lately.” Valerie sat on the swing next to me, crossing her ankles and smoothing her hands over her jeans.

I pulled my hair away from my eyes and into a tight twist, using the time to study Valerie. She looked different. And not in a good way.
 

Yes, her hair was still perfectly styled, but she’d cut it short—a trimmed bob just above her ears—and the ends looked a little brittle, the color a little dull. The style didn’t suit her, either; it made her face look too round, too soft, too elastic. At the same time, though, her eyes looked narrow and pinched.

Yes, she was still dressed to the nines in designer clothes, but her dark green shirt hung a little loose on her frame, and her blue jeans looked a little faded, the cuffs fraying along the edges. Her skin tone wasn’t as bright as it used to be, and the bold colors she loved so much now made her look pale and washed out.

She looked old. Old and hard and used up.

“You’re a hard woman to find when you want to be,” she said with a playful smile, but I could see the shadow behind her lips.

“I don’t know,” I said carefully. “The people who are looking for me seem to be able to find me.”

Valerie laughed as though I’d made a joke. “I know, darling, you are
so
popular these days.”

I couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not. I didn’t laugh.

“Oh, honestly, Abby, lighten up.” She kicked up her heels, setting her swing to swaying gently. She closed her eyes and leaned back.

The soft light smoothed the lines away from her face, brought a pink shade to her cheeks, made her look more like the Valerie I used to know. I watched her for a moment, carefree, and remembered all the times we had played on these same swings over the years. I felt a pang inside my chest. I hadn’t wanted to lose my friend. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

“Sorry if I’ve been hard to find,” I said. “I’ve been a little busy.”

“I totally understand. Can you believe our senior year is almost over?”

I shook my head.

“I heard you got accepted to that college
somewhere back East.
” Her voice was light, teasing; she sounded like her old self. “You must be so excited. What was the name of it again? Emerson?”

“Emery College.” I remembered the first conversation we’d had about Emery. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“So much for our big plans, then,” she said. “No boxer terriers for us after all.”

“Guess not.”

We swung for a moment before I mustered up the courage to say what was on my mind.

“So, I guess you’re still going on tour with Zero Hour after graduation?”

Valerie dropped her feet to the ground, dragging her heels. “What are you talking about?”

I slowed my swing to a stop and turned to face her. “Last time we talked you said you were ditching college to go with V—”

Valerie shook her head. “I’m over V. Honestly, Abby, where have you been?”

“You haven’t spoken to me since the play closed.” I didn’t try very hard to keep the bitter tone out of my voice.

She waved her hands as though my words were meaningless. “The play really stressed me out. I barely spoke to anyone. I just needed to take a break and regroup.”

“Uh-huh,” I said flatly. “So what happened between you and V?”

She rolled her eyes. “The same old story. The spark went out and we went our separate ways. I caught him cheating on me. He wanted to date another girl. Take your pick—they all end the same way. With me alone and heartbroken.”

She pulled back on the swing, gaining air beneath her feet. She didn’t look particularly broken.

“Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about my love life.”

“Why
did
you come?” I interrupted before she could say anything else. She swung to a stop and looked at me with amazement.

“I came to apologize, darling.”