“Zo—” Dante started, but Zo’s laughter cut him off.
The Pirate King gathered up his belladonna, turning on his heel. “I’d say I’ll see you soon, Dante, but if I have my way, I’ll never see you again.”
The shifting crowd swallowed them up, leaving Dante and me isolated in a pocket of disbelief.
I managed to find my voice buried beneath a tumbling mountain of fear and uncertainty. “Why was Valerie like that? It’s like she was someone else entirely. Like she was on drugs or something.”
“An apt comparison,” Dante said. “She’s been spending months with Zo and his friends. I fear she’s not the Valerie you once knew.”
“When do you think he’ll try it?”
“I don’t know,” Dante said. “It depends on if he really knows how to get her to the bank. If he does, then he won’t wait long.”
One song ended and another one started before I spoke again.
“Will she be okay?”
“I hope so.” Dante quietly wrapped his arms around me as the music thundered around us like a storm. “I hope so.”
Chapter
25
After seeing Zo at the dance, neither one of us felt like staying any longer. We said our good-byes to Jason and Natalie and bolted. The cool spring air felt like a soothing balm on my fevered skin. My mind kept repeating a dangerous couple of facts: Zo sounded like he knew how to take Valerie to the bank, and Valerie was willing to go despite the danger. The one fact I held onto was that Zo still needed the key. We could still stop him as long as he didn’t get his hands on the key.
Dante suggested we stop at Helen’s Café for a late-night breakfast, but I was too wound up to eat.
We drove home in silence, and he pulled Leo’s Mustang into my driveway.
“Dante?” I asked, my anxiety tasting like copper. “What has Zo done to Valerie? What was all that stuff he said about ‘the right song’?”
Dante rubbed his thumb against the back of my hand.
“They’re breaking rule number one: They’re deliberately upsetting the balance.”
“How? Why—?”
Dante gently interrupted my questions. “Do you remember what I told you about the pressure we feel? About how when there is too much, we have to go to the bank to burn it off? I’ve suspected for some time that Zo and his friends have found a way to . . . channel . . . some of that pressure so they don’t have to go back to the bank as often.” Dante’s eyes were serious.
“How is that possible?”
“Time may be fluid, but it still follows rules. I think Zo has figured out a way to channel the pressure through something structured—like a poem or a song. I think it has something to do with the rhythm of the words, the cadence of the voice, the counting of the beats.” Dante shrugged. “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but there is a lot about this that seems impossible.”
“Can you do it?” I asked, my mind tumbling with hope.
“I’ve only tried it once. At the Poetry Slam back in February. Just to see if I could. Just to see how Zo did it.” He looked away. “In some ways, it was worse than just going to the bank. I don’t know how he stands it.”
“How could it be worse?” I asked. “I mean, wouldn’t it be a good thing if you didn’t have to go to the bank all the time?”
Dante shook his head. “The balance is set for a reason. It’s to protect us as much as it is to protect the river. What Zo’s doing . . . when he’s redirecting the pressure—the time—back into the river, it’s like he’s creating a little whirlpool of emotion. The people who are caught up in the whirlpool feel a sense of heightened emotions—usually whatever emotion Zo is feeling at the time.”
I felt like a living cliché as a light went off in my head. “So when Zero Hour played at the Dungeon, Zo was feeling excited and energized by being able to channel away the extra pressure through his songs—through Zero Hour’s songs. And so we all felt excited and energized too, right?” I remembered so clearly that night when I’d first met Zo and what he’d said to me: “I thank you for your acceptance of me tonight.” Only now did I realize that what I’d accepted was a dose of his excess emotion. “And then on Valentine’s Day, he was angry with you after your fight, so then the crowd was angry too.” I shook my head. “No wonder everyone broke up that night.”
It all seemed so clear to me now.
Dante looked at me with a strange expression on his face.
“What? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, you’re exactly right. It’s just . . . every time I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.”
“I’m not that complicated,” I said, blushing slightly.
“Yes, you are, Abby. It’s one of the things I appreciate about you.”
“So if you knew what Zo was doing with his music, why did you let them play that first night at the Dungeon?”
Dante grimaced. “We didn’t know. Not until later. Not until it was too late.”
“And now it’s too late for Valerie,” I murmured. “She’s changed and it’s all Zo’s fault. He’s been dumping his”—I frowned in distaste—“leftovers into her for months. It’s no wonder she’s completely in thrall to his wishes.” I sighed. “He’s not going to let her go, is he?”
“Maybe he will,” Dante said, but he didn’t sound entirely convinced.
~
“So tell me how it works,” I said the next night as I sat with Dante at the bar of the Dungeon.
“How what works?” he asked, his attention focused on the papers in front of him. Leo was on the bank and the Dungeon had been closed all day. It was just the two of us at the bar—me munching on peanuts from a shallow bowl, Dante working on his history report: the inventions of da Vinci. I’d spent hours at the library researching for my report on Edison; he was writing his report from memory.
“It. You know—the time machine.”
Dante’s hand paused midword, the end of his “t” making a sharp line instead of its usual curved tail.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked quietly.
“Because you said you helped build it. I’ve never met anyone who’s built a time machine before. I’m interested.”
Dante set down his pen and closed his notebook. “You shouldn’t be interested.”
“Are you kidding me?” I dropped my handful of peanuts back into the bowl and shoved him hard on the shoulder. “The most important invention in the history of the world and the guy who worked on it is sitting right next to me and you tell me I’m not supposed to be interested?”
A grin stole across his face. “I don’t know if it was the most important invention.”
“It brought you to me,” I said. “I think that’s pretty important.”
Dante’s skin turned a dusky rose; he was even more handsome when he blushed.
“Tell me what you miss most about home,” I said propping my elbows on the bar, resting my head in the palm of my hand.
Dante shuffled the papers into a loose stack, his fingers fidgeting restlessly. The low glow of the Dungeon’s lights caressed his dark curls. He selected a blank sheet of plain white paper and rolled a pen between his fingers for a moment before setting the tip to the paper and beginning to draw. “The quiet,” he said finally. “It’s so noisy here. So much rushing around. Everyone is in such a hurry. Back home . . .” He cleared his throat. “Back home, the pace was much slower. There was more time for quiet. For thinking.”
“And what did you think about in all that quiet?”
“You,” he said, grinning impishly, his attention still on the paper.
I rolled my eyes. “Liar. You didn’t even know me. Tell me the truth this time.”
“I thought about my future,” he said. He kept his pen moving, fast and precise, drawing and sketching. “Though I never thought it would be like this.”
“Better? Or worse?”
He looked up at me then, laying his pen down on the bar. “Both,” he said, sliding his ha
nd behind my neck and pulling me close for a kiss.
His lips were unusually warm but I still shivered at their touch.
“What did you think your future would hold?” I asked when he finally let me go. I settled down on my own bar stool, but I kept my fingers entwined with his.
He stroked my hair away from my forehead and I closed my eyes briefly under his gentle touch.
“Tell me about Jason,” he said quietly, picking up his pen and resuming his drawing.
“Why?” I frowned. I didn’t want to ruin the moment by talking about my ex-boyfriend. I tried to catch a glimpse of Dante’s work, but he tilted it away from me so all I could see was a series of connecting lines, right angles, and wavy swirls.
“Because we hardly talked to him at the Spring Fling and I’m curious about the man who’s known you almost your entire life.”
“Then you should ask me to tell you about my dad. He has known me for my entire life.”
Dante shifted next to me. “Eternity changes your perspective, Abby. Having been on both sides of the clock, I know how precious time is. How valuable. So what was it about Jason that made him worth so much of your time?”
Looking into those soft gray eyes I could see that Dante really wanted to know.
“Did you love him?” he asked me softly.
“Yes,” I answered immediately. I saw a shadow cross Dante’s face and hurried to explain. “Jason was—is—a great guy,” I started, feeling my way through the awkwardness of articulating things that I’d never voiced before. “In the beginning, it was just . . . I don’t know . . . easy to be friends with him. We grew up together. We liked all the same things.” A thousand memories flooded through my mind. “It was easy to be his girlfriend, too. I think everyone assumed we were dating, so maybe it was one of those cases where the perception became the reality.”
“Tell me what you loved about him.”
“I’m not really comfortable talking about this—”
He pressed a finger to my lips. “It’s all right. I can handle the truth. Tell me.”
I sighed and closed my eyes, thinking. “He always had a Plan B,” I said finally, opening my eyes.
Dante’s eyebrows drew close together.
“When I was with Jason I always knew that, no matter what happened, he would have a Plan B in case something went wrong. If the movie we wanted to see was sold out, he’d suggest going bowling. If the bowling alley was full, he’d suggest a picnic in the park. If it was too cold for that, he’d challenge me to a game of Scrabble.”
“I don’t understand,” Dante said. “You loved him because he had good social skills?”
“No, not exactly.” I sighed. “I’m not explaining this very well. Jason had a . . . a certain quiet quality about him. A confidence that came because he was prepared. For anything. He planned ahead. He thought through every variable.” I shrugged. “I liked the security. The stability. I never had to think about our relationship because I knew Jason had already done that. Like I said, it was easy being his girlfriend.”
Dante was quiet for a long time. The only sound was the faint scratching of his pen on paper. “Why did you break up with him?”
“Technically, he broke up with me. Stupid Zo and his stupid band,” I muttered ruefully.
“Zo’s interference wouldn’t have had any influence on your relationship if it wasn’t already fragile and ready to break,” Dante pointed out. “Why weren’t you happy with Jason at the end?”
“Because he always had a Plan B,” I said, shrugging again. “I know, it sounds all wrong, but it’s the truth. You have to understand: Jason knew everything about me; I knew everything about him. There were no surprises with him. Ever. Jason wasn’t a life-without-limits kind of guy. If something unexpected happened, he was right there to control it, organize it, classify it. The word spontaneous wasn’t exactly in his working vocabulary. For a while, though, it was enough. And then . . .” I waited until Dante looked up from his work.
“And then?”
“And then it wasn’t anymore.” I reached up my hand and traced his strong jaw. He closed his eyes at my touch. “And then I met someone else.”
“I can’t offer you the same stability as Jason—”
My hand slipped from his jaw to cover his mouth. “I only have so much time, you know, and I want to spend it with someone who is ready, willing, and capable of living without limits. I want spontaneity. I want surprises. I want to spend my time with you.”
Dante looked at me with those unfathomable gray eyes. I felt a smile curving his soft lips beneath my hand. He brushed his palm up my arm, curling his hand around mine. He gently pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist, on the vein that pulsed with my heartbeat. His dark hair fell in soft waves over my skin.
“You are a gift, Abby. One I will treasure forever.”
I felt a wave of emotion rise up in me because I knew that when Dante said forever, he meant it literally.
He kissed my wrist one more time before releasing my hand. Reaching for his paper, he folded the drawing into thirds and slipped it into an envelope and then slipped the envelope into his notebook.
Dante’s low voice was a whisper. “Grazie.”
“For what?”
“For being there when I needed you.”
“Oh, well, in that case”—I smiled—“Prego.”
His eyes lit up at my rough attempt at Italian.
“I’ve been practicing,” I admitted with a shy smile.
“I’ve always thought Italian spoken by the lips of a beautiful woman sounds delicious.” He leaned close to me, so close I could smell the sweetness of his skin.
I closed my eyes, my lips tingling in anticipation, when the dull thud of footsteps sounded from the apartment upstairs.
I felt the air change as Dante pulled away from me, the kiss suspended between us.
“Something’s wrong.” He frowned and took a step toward the door marked “Employees Only” just as the door swung open.
Leo stumbled out, his hair slicked back with sweat, his eyes haunted. Tremors shook his body. His skin looked paper-thin, stretched too tight over his frame.
“Papa? Papa!”Dante rushed to Leo’s side, sliding under his arm to help support him. Together they managed the few steps to the closest table. Leo was mumbling in Italian, his words pouring out so fast it sounded like one long, endless loop of panic.
“Slow down, Papa, slow down. I can’t understand you.” Dante knelt by Leo’s side. “Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what has happened.”
Leo took a deep breath and placed his hands on Dante’s cheeks. He spoke three words slowly and clearly. And in Italian.
Dante’s face paled beyond white. Even his lips turned the hard shade of marble.
I could feel his fear from where I sat at the bar. “What is it?” I managed to ask. “What did he say?”
Dante had to swallow twice before any words made their way out of his throat. “He said, ‘He’s taken her.’”
“Who?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. “Who’s taken—?”
“Zo,” Dante said quietly, his brittle voice on the edge. “Zo’s taken Valerie to the bank.” His words fell off the edge and broke in the silence that filled the Dungeon as the three of us looked at each other in stunned disbelief.
“You said he couldn’t do that. You said you’d protect her. What’s he going to do . . . ?” I didn’t want to finish the question; I didn’t want to hear the answer.
“He’s going to try to summon the door,” Leo said clearly, his voice sounding older than his age. “And when that fails, he’s going to kill her.”
Chapter
26
We have to stop him,” Dante said.
“I thought he’d stop himself. He doesn’t have the key . . .” I said, confused.
“The lock will stop him from going through the door. It won’t stop him from killing Valerie.”
The fear I’d managed to avoid all day returned tenfo
ld.
Dante was all business. “What happened, Papa? What did you see?”
“I was preparing to leave when I saw them,” Leo said. “First Zo with Valerie, then Tony and V. They’re all there. Together.”
“What about the door? Did they find the door?”
Leo shook his head. “I followed them, trying to catch up to them, but you know how deceptive distances can be there. I stayed as long as I could—longer than I probably should have—but I didn’t see the bridge or the door. Not before I had to leave. I’m sorry, Dante, I had to come back.”
Dante nodded, gripping Leo’s trembling hand with his own. “I understand, Papa. Be calm. You’re all right now. You’re safe.” He stood up, pacing in front of the table, his head down, deep in thought.
“I don’t understand,” I said, crossing to Dante’s side and matching his pace. “Why didn’t he stop them? Why did he come back?”
“If Leo had stayed there any longer, we would have lost him,” Dante said quietly to me. He glanced at Leo, who was hunched over the table, his body racked with spasms. “It was a close thing, even still.”
My mouth went dry. “He’s not”—I mouthed the word crazy—“is he?”
Dante shook his head. “No, but he can’t go back to the bank for a while. It’s too dangerous for him and I can’t risk losing him.”
“What about Valerie?”
“I’ll go.” Dante didn’t hesitate. “I’ll bring her back.”
I gripped his arm, stopping him midstride. “Dante—” I hated myself for even thinking of asking him not to go. But I couldn’t help myself. Two emotions warred in my heart, each demanding dominance: gratitude that Dante would be willing to risk himself; fear that he wouldn’t come back.
“Someone has to go and it can’t be Leo and it certainly can’t be you.” Dante smiled his small smile he reserved just for me. “Trust me, Abby.”
“But it’s not just Zo—Tony and V are with him too. It’ll be three against one. And I don’t know if Valerie will exactly be willing to come back with you . . .”
Dante cupped my cheek with his hand. “You know it has to be this way.”