“You are a good man,” I said. Tears filled my eyes and I reached for Dante’s hand. “We would be honored to give him that message.”
Domenico puffed his chest out with the praise and bowed low. “Thank you, my lady.”
He handed the envelope to Dante and then turned to leave.
“Wait,” I called out. “You won’t . . . I mean, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone you saw me here.”
Domenico smiled knowingly. “Angelo put me in charge of finding Orlando and the girl who had escaped with him from the courthouse. Now that I have found you”—he bowed once more—“I believe I can safely say that no one else will come looking for you.” He nodded to Dante, then climbed into his carriage and drove away.
We both looked down in silence at the envelope in Dante’s hands.
I touched the corner edge. “This is what will save Orlando, isn’t it? This will allow him to go somewhere new, become someone new. Until he ultimately becomes Leo in all those years to come.”
He nodded. “It’s strange to think that the papers in this envelope will change his life yet again. Part of me wants to keep them a secret—as if, by pretending nothing has happened, we can all stay here, together as a family, instead of being swept apart by the river.” He sighed. “But the other part of me knows that by receiving these papers, Orlando will have the choice of what—and who—he will become. I can’t deny him that choice.”
“But you know he’ll be okay,” I said, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Eventually.”
After a time, Dante drew me close and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m so sorry, Abby.”
“What for?”
“For not fully understanding what you are going through. I might be afraid of losing my brother—my family—but it’s already happened to yours. I should be doing more to help you bring them home.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Dante. It’s strange to say it, but we haven’t exactly had time to focus on the problem.”
“I should have made time.”
I bit my lip, thinking back to the ghostly images I had seen of my family back on the bank. I felt the hard pull of longing. “Could we try now?” I asked.
Dante didn’t say anything; he simply folded the envelope into his pocket and, with a grin, flickered me to the bank.
I knew the river had been struggling and unstable, but I was surprised to see how much worse it had gotten even during the short time since I’d last been to the bank.
“Oh, no,” I gasped. “This is terrible.”
It was actually worse than that. The river had continued to unspool, fraying and thinning until it looked less like the winding Mississippi and more like the flooded Nile delta. It had been transformed into a swamp, complete with pockets of flickering lights and tide pools filled with sluggish images.
Dante surveyed the river in both directions, his mouth a grim line. “I’m sorry, Abby. Trying to save your family now might be the worst thing we could do.”
My heart sank, but I knew he was right. As much as I wanted my family back, I didn’t want to do the wrong thing at the wrong time and have them suffer even more for my mistake.
“Is there anything we can do?” I asked.
He was silent for a moment, pacing along the edge of the bank. “It seems to be weakest here and here,” he said, pointing out two of the very thinnest spots where patches of silver threads lumped together in a sluggish knot. “But the river seems to be cleaner upstream, which is odd.”
I walked along next to Dante for a measureless moment of time until we came to the point where the river slowed to a trickle, as though the flow had been blocked by a boulder midstream. “So what happened here?” I asked.
“The door happened.” Dante crouched down to get a closer look at the river. “Before here, the river is fine—see, it’s clean and protected all the way back—but after here, the river has suffered from our interference.”
I knelt next to Dante. “So when I go to see you in the dungeon, this is the point in the timeline that I’ll be saving.” It felt a little strange to be so close to such an important moment and yet still so far away. “And once I do, do you think the river will be stable enough that we can save my family?”
Dante nodded. “This is the hinge. The point where everything changes.”
We watched the ebb and flow of the river for a moment. “What happens if you don’t go through the door?” I asked curiously. “I know that you seeing me at the door is important and is what will close the loop and protect the river, but after that happens, will you still have to go through the door?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Why?”
“Think of it as a lock and a key. Seeing you at the door is the key to saving me. My going through the door is what will lock the river into place. Together, we will be able to finally restore the river to its full strength and protect it from any further interference. It will take both of us.” Dante shrugged. “If you don’t go to the dungeon, or if I don’t go through the door, then none of this will matter. The river will be destroyed beyond anything Zo could hope to do to it.”
The thought sent a chill through me. As much as I didn’t want Dante to have to suffer the pain of going through the time machine, I knew he was willing to do it if it meant that, in the end, the river could be saved. I had made the same choice when I had decided to come through a time machine of my own. I had chosen to accept the good and the bad. I just hoped the good would be so much better that it could outweigh the bad.
“So, here, on the other side of the river, there is a version of you, already in prison, already waiting for me—you just don’t know it yet.”
He nodded again, but slower, sadder.
I took his hand. “I wish there were something I could do to help. A way to tell the other you that you’ll be okay, to give you some hope.”
“You are my hope,” he said. “You always have been; you always will be.”
A flash of light appeared a little ways down along the bank. I looked up, wondering if it was the ghost of my family again, but the horizon line was empty. Instead, I saw a thread of the river peel off from the main flow. A quiet rumble rocked through the bank. The flat sky turned gray overhead.
Dante frowned and rose to his feet in one smooth movement. “Stay here.”
I folded my legs beneath me, propping myself up with one arm. I watched as Dante walked away, his long stride purposeful and powerful.
A flicker in the river caught my eye and I glanced down. I wasn’t expecting to see anything—the river was so muddled here where the boulder of the door blocked the flow of time—but, to my surprise, the image of a face surfaced, clear and sharp.
Dante’s face.
I bit down on my lip, swiveling back to my knees so I could lean closer to the river.
The river offered up more of the image—just flashes, glimpses—but it was enough. I saw close quarters, black bricks, and thick bars blocking any escape. I didn’t know if my thinking of him had summoned him, but I knew I was seeing the Dante who was in prison. The one I was destined to save.
Physically, he looked almost exactly like the Dante I knew. But the fear in his eyes made him seem younger and more vulnerable. He wore a dirty shirt, ragged at the cuffs and hem. He pressed his back up against the wall, tucking his bare feet as close to his body as he could. A steady drip of water leaked from the ceiling, the puddle next to him glistening like oil in the dim light. It looked like he was in the third cell from the end of the hall.
I could see him shivering from the cold.
I knew he had strength, but it was still raw and unformed. He hadn’t been tried or tested yet, but I knew that it was coming. And that it would be harder than he’d ever imagined.
I glanced down the bank, but the other Dante was on his knees, studying a different section of the river.
Returning my gaze to the Dante in prison, I thought about how we were a team, the key to each other’s surviva
l. I knew I had to do something to help him. How could I not?
But the bigger question was, could I help at all? He was in the river; I was on the bank. I tapped my lips with my finger, thinking.
I remembered how I had once sent a message ringing through the void of the bank, challenging Zo after he had left my doll’s head in a gold box for me—his sick idea of a gift. Surely, if I could send a message into the bank from the river, I could send a message into the river from the bank.
But what could I say? What message of hope could help strengthen Dante? What would give him the courage he needed to face the unknown? What would save him?
And then I knew.
I slowed my breathing, naturally falling into that meditative state where my thoughts sharpened and the counting came easy. The ever-present chimes of time warbled in my ears, whispering encouragement and direction. I fixed the image of Dante in my mind, concentrating on the exact moment I wanted to reach. I felt the familiar pressure of the bank building, heard the river chuffing like a lion’s roar, but I continued to breathe, to count, to focus.
And when I felt the edges thin to the point of invisibility, I sent my message into the river with as much force as I could manage.
Feel the fear till the count of ten, then count once more to be brave again. I took a deep breath. The counting will save you, Dante. Remember to count.
The image of Dante swirled away into the river, and maybe it was my imagination, but I thought that the spot where he had been seemed a little clearer, a little smoother, than before. It was the best I could hope for.
Chapter 22
What are you doing?” Zo said.
My thoughts broke like glass and I whipped around, startled. I scrambled back, struggling to find my feet, but Zo’s hand flashed out and gripped my wrist, holding me in place.
The drop of darkness in my mind quivered at his touch and all my words vanished in my throat.
His hand twitched on my arm; his skin was burning hot with the heat of fever, of sickness.
“Are you trying to change things?” he continued conversationally as he crouched next to me on his haunches. “All by yourself?” He looked down at the river where Dante’s face had been a moment ago, but his eyes were slightly unfocused. “I was in the cell next to Dante, did you know that? All that muttering and counting and pacing. It about drove me crazy.”
I looked over my shoulder, searching for Dante. Where was he?
Dante was following the broken thread of the river as it wove its way downstream. He was too far away to hear us, too far away to see what was happening.
“Or were you trying to help him?” Zo nodded downriver at Dante’s retreating form. “Because I don’t think that’s very fair.”
My voice returned, rusty and hoarse. “Since when have you ever played fair?”
“Now, Abby, that hurts. Dante broke my guitar; I broke his locket. That is the definition of fair.” He opened his mouth to laugh, but all that emerged was a dry gasp that ended in a cough. “And even though we are both wounded—both dying—you have helped only him. So now who is playing favorites?” Zo leaned in as though we were sharing a secret, a smile on his dry and cracked lips. “Is it because he’s a better kisser?”
Growling, I yanked my wrist out of Zo’s grasp and pushed myself to my feet, glaring down at him. “I helped Dante because I love him. But I don’t expect you to understand that.” I turned my back on him and took a step downstream toward Dante.
Zo’s voice called out from behind me. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“Like what?” I tossed over my shoulder without looking back.
I realized later that was my first mistake. Had I turned around, I would have seen Zo coming for me and I might have been able to avoid him.
My second mistake was in not calling out for Dante as soon as I had found my voice again. If I had, he might have heard me. And then he might have saved me before it was too late—before Zo’s body hit mine, before he wrapped his arms tight around me and flickered me into the unknown.
• • •
The spires of the Cathedral of the Angels pierced the sky above me. I landed on my back, my head aching and my vision off-kilter as I struggled to catch my breath after such an abrupt transition. I hated traveling with Zo; he lacked Dante’s grace and finesse.
Zo’s face hovered over me, his body pinning me down. He grinned and ran his hand down my cheek and along the curve of my neck. “Well, now, isn’t this interesting?”
I didn’t want to be here, and I wasn’t going to stay. I steeled myself to jump to the bank, but nothing happened.
Zo slid his hand down my side and locked my wrist in his fist. “You’re not going anywhere, my sweet. Not yet. Not until I say so.”
At the sound of his endearment for me, the black spot in my mind woke and acquiesced to his command. I had hoped the dark block was gone for good, but now I felt it return, cutting me off from the bank as easily as closing a door. I gritted my teeth at the pain that accompanied Zo’s touch in my mind. A trickle of sweat traveled down the back of my neck.
“Get off me,” I snapped, shoving hard at his chest with my free hand.
He rolled to his feet with a dark chuckle and yanked me up by my wrist, still holding me tight against his body.
But being that close to him, I could tell how sick he really was. I could hear his breath rattling in his throat. Sweat coated his skin. He kept bending and flexing the fingers of his left hand as though wanting to make sure he could still feel them. I suspected that holding me here was taking all of his remaining strength.
I looked around at my new surroundings, hoping to see something that would help me escape, but we were alone. I couldn’t see anyone else close by. Zo had brought me to an empty plot of land outside the cathedral walls. A bitter wind blew through the wrought-iron fence that encircled the small area. A few statues had been scattered over the uneven ground: a pretty girl, a man kneeling in prayer, a hooded figure, a crying angel. The shiver that ran through me had nothing to do with the cold. We were in a cemetery. Why had Zo brought me to a cemetery?
“Let me go,” I demanded. I tried to concentrate, to send a message to Dante on the bank, but Zo’s block made it hard for me to focus or find my balance. My thoughts kept scattering like leaves on the wind.
Zo shrugged one shoulder. He didn’t seem bothered by the cold. Or my demands. “I might. After you have helped me.”
“I won’t help you,” I snarled. “Ever.”
“You don’t even know what I want,” Zo said casually.
“I can guess.”
Zo arched an eyebrow in invitation.
“You’re sick. Dying. Just like Dante was.” I swallowed at the memory of Dante collapsing to the ground, of him lying so still and cold in my lap. “But he’s better now. And you want me to do the same for you.”
Zo grinned, his teeth dull against his grayish lips. “Very good. I must say, I was surprised when I saw what you had done. I’d been watching you for some time, and when the ripples in the river showed that you had not only healed Dante’s vision but patched the hole in his heart, well, I knew then that if it was good enough for Dante, it was certainly good enough for me.”
“If you think I’m going to help you like I helped Dante, you’re a fool.”
Zo’s face darkened in anger.
I watched warily as he took a breath and slowly regained his control.
“You said you would do anything for me.” His voice took on the same silky tones he had used in the cathedral to convince me I loved him, his words underscored with the same song I had heard before. Even though the song wasn’t as strong or as seamless as it had been before, the darkness in my mind responded, urging me to surrender, to obey.
I shook my head, dislodging the compulsion that was building. Zo might be strong enough to keep me from escaping, but he wasn’t strong enough to make me do anything else he wanted. Not anymore.
“You made me say that, so it doesn
’t count.” I tried to yank my arm away, but Zo simply held on tighter. I could feel the bones in my wrist grinding against each other.
A muscle jumped near his eye. He thinned his lips in displeasure. The darkness in my mind faded to gray as he abandoned his attempt at forced obedience.
“A promise is a promise, no matter who makes it.” Zo looked down at the headstone closest to him. A small angel statue stood behind it, her wings extended to offer shelter to the name carved into stone: Angelica Giardini. He shoved me forward, closer to the grave. “She made me a promise too. Then she broke her word. And now she is here.” He hauled me back around to face him. His black eyes burned. “Do you want that to be your story?”