I circled Dante’s name where it appeared on both lists and then drew a line connecting them directly through the words white flashes. It was like Dante had healed a rip in time itself. And how exactly had he done that? I wondered.
I was starting to realize that when it came to Dante, there were a lot of questions I just didn’t have the answers to. Curiouser and curiouser . . .
I drew a rabbit standing in the bunny slippers and holding a watch. I’m late for a very important date, I wrote in a thought bubble above his head. That reminded me: Natalie had said something about going to the Dungeon on Friday with her and Valerie and Jason. I hoped I could smooth things over with Jason before then.
I looked up in time to see him walking up the far aisle of the auditorium with Robert and exiting out the back doors. He didn’t look at me once. I sighed. It seemed like lately I could never get my timing quite right.
I closed my notebook over my fractured thoughts and tried to concentrate on the end of rehearsal, though without much success.
~
After dinner, I fished out my chocolates for a late-night treat and noticed a slip of paper stuck to the bottom of the box. Unfolding it, I saw a list of words written in a bold, slanted script running along the left-hand margin: breakfast, Italy, dream, beauty, temptation, goal, wish, love, future, laughter, hope, heaven. Next to each word my name had been written in the same bold script.
Confused, I flipped the paper over but it was blank. What was this? And then I knew.
It was Dante’s getting-to-know-you list. Apparently he had thought about me and, following the rules, he’d written down my name every time.
Every time except for the last one.
I read the last line and felt a chill run a finger along my spine. There in black and white were two words:
Deadly. Me.
Chapter
7
You remembered the tickets, right?” Valerie asked Natalie. Parking at the Dungeon was always at a premium, but it was even worse on show nights, so all four of us had squeezed into Valerie’s convertible Lexus. It was a tight fit for me at five-six; it was almost impossible for Jason’s six-foot frame.
After finding me with Dante in the parking lot, Jason had barely spoken to me. But I knew he wasn’t one to hold a grudge, so on Thursday I had apologized and said all the right things and smoothed everything over. There was still a slight strain in our relationship, and I hoped a date at the Dungeon would help put us back on even footing.
“Right here,” Natalie said, flipping through the tickets like playing cards before passing two of them to me and Jason in the backseat.
“Zero Hour?” Jason read the name on the ticket. “Never heard of them. Are they any good?”
“Never heard of them?” Valerie almost choked on her Diet Coke, and the Lexus veered alarmingly to the left. “They’re only the hottest rock band right now.”
“If they’re so hot, why are they playing the Dungeon?” Jason asked, trying to shift his legs into a more comfortable position in the limited space.
“Because this is where they got their start,” Natalie explained quickly before Valerie could open her mouth. “A couple of years ago, these three guys showed up and started playing gigs at the Dungeon. Leo managed to get some big-time music producer to come to a show, and he signed the band that same night. They’ve been touring for almost a year promoting their first album—Ten to Midnight.”
“Honestly, Abby, has your boyfriend been living in a cave?” Valerie demanded as she pulled into the parking lot of the Dungeon.
“Well—” I said, but Valerie braked hard and swerved to the right, sliding her Lexus into a narrow space between a green Jeep Cherokee and a white Honda, saving me from having to respond.
“Um, Valerie, I don’t think this is a parking space,” Natalie said, looking out her window.
“Nonsense. My car fits, doesn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but I can’t open my door.”
Valerie sighed dramatically and pushed a button on the dashboard. The top of her convertible peeled back. A light snow fell from the dark sky. “Everybody out before the snow ruins the leather.”
I shot Jason a grin, which thankfully he returned, and we scrambled out the back of the car, sliding down over the trunk.
“And don’t you dare scratch the paint job,” Valerie called over her shoulder without looking at us.
Leo’s Dungeon was a simple two-story building with a hand-painted sign over the front door. Tonight there was also a single poster for Zero Hour next to the door. As boring as the outside of the building was, though, the inside more than made up for it. Posters from bands that had played there covered one entire wall: the Zombie Heads, Complicated Shoes, Swedish Bitters, even Darwin Glass. The Dungeon was open every night but Sunday, and every Friday night was live music night, where Leo invited anyone with a band to come play at his place. Leo believed that kids needed a place to hang out, but he had three strict rules: no drugs, no drinking, no smoking. Breaking one of his rules meant lifetime banishment from the club. Even the rowdiest kids behaved themselves under Leo’s watchful eye.
A festival atmosphere settled over the crowds of people who were milling around the parking lot and wandering in and out of the Dungeon. Everyone was talking or dancing to the music that poured through the open door. I waved to Sarah and Lily, who were hanging out with a couple of the guys from the football team. Jason took my hand and we followed a trail of footprints in the snow that led to the door.
If the Dungeon was the hottest club in town, the Signature Wall was the coolest place inside. When Leo first opened his club, he had started an unusual tradition: you come in, you sign your name on the wall. Now, decades later, the wall was covered with names and messages from his customers. There was one signature that looked eerily like Jimi Hendrix, and another that Valerie swore was from Kurt Cobain, but Leo would never confirm or deny any of the rumors.
When we finally made our way inside, we headed straight for the wall to sign our names. Since Valerie always dotted the “i” in her name with a heart, and since she was at the Dungeon almost every Friday, I saw her heart all over the wall. Natalie’s signature was a narrow scrawl of pink. I signed my name beneath Jason’s. He hesitated, then quickly drew a plus sign between our names. I slipped my hand into his and gave it a quick squeeze. It was nice to know he wasn’t mad at me anymore.
Because I knew they were playing tonight, I scanned the wall for the signatures of the band. I saw the bold, blocky letters of Zero Hour almost immediately. Both the “o’s” in Zero and in Hour held two arrows pointing to where midnight would have been on a traditional clock face. The only numbers on these blank clocks, though, were the Roman numerals MDVI that crawled along the bottom curve. A thick black chain with three links connected the two clocks, and inside each link was a name: Tony. Zo. V.
The band certainly knew how to make a statement, I’d give them that.
Across from the Signature Wall was the bar where Leo usually held court, overseeing his customers like a benevolent deity. Tonight, though, I was surprised to see Dante behind the bar instead of Leo. He wore a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His black gloves were shadowed blurs as he poured drinks for the steady stream of customers crowding around.
“What’ll you have tonight?” he asked us as we slid onto the stools lining the bar.
“Strawberry soda,” I said.
“Make that two,” Jason chimed in, leaning against the bar next to me.
“Make that three,” Natalie said.
“Diet Coke,” Valerie said, breaking the rhythm.
Dante nodded. He flipped a bottle of Diet Coke from underneath the bar, resting it on the back of his right hand. With his left hand, he quickly slapped a glass down, filling it with a scoop of ice. Gripping the bottle in his left hand and then passing it to his right, he spun the glass in a tight spiral, pouring the soda into the center of the glass. Bubbles fizzed and s
pat. Dante splashed a slice of lemon into the drink and the glass came to a stop in front of Valerie’s hand.
“Show-off,” she said with a wink as we all applauded his flair.
Dante grinned, showing his teeth in a flash of white. “I can’t help it if I’m good with my hands,” he said. “Three strawberry sodas?”
Quicker than my eye could follow, Dante had placed three tall, narrow glasses on the bar and filled each with a rich red liquid, a splash of soda water, and a paper umbrella. A split berry on the rim completed each drink.
“Wow,” I said, taking a sip. “This is better than Leo’s.”
“Where is Leo?” Jason asked, reaching past me for his drink.
Dante fussed with spinning an empty glass on the bar. “Leo’s . . . on vacation for a time. I’m filling in for him.”
I had just opened my mouth to ask another question when Julia, farther down the bar, signaled for a refill. Dante nodded to us and walked away to help the other customers.
Jason ate his strawberry in one bite, then leaned down to kiss me on the top of my head. “Be right back.” Jason pointed across the room at Robert, who was waving him over to his table near the front of the stage. Robert had his arm around a girl I didn’t know.
Valerie and Natalie were having a conversation, so I took my strawberry soda and wandered past the pool tables at the back of the Dungeon to the glass cabinet standing next to a door marked “Employees Only.” In addition to owning the Dungeon, Leo also collected antiques and curios. He kept his treasures on display, and there was always something new to see.
Like tonight. A complicated-looking machine rested on the top shelf of the cabinet. The machine was roughly square in shape, but it had three notches carved into the side so it looked a little like a giant brass E. Buttons and dials covered the face of the machine and each notch had been engraved with a different design: a spiral shell; a half-sun, half-moon circle; and a staff of music with five notes placed in a rising scale.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Dante asked softly beside me.
I watched his reflection in the glass. He wasn’t looking at the machine. I blushed. “What is it?” I didn’t really care; Dante had a way of really seeing me that sometimes made me uncomfortable.
Dante hesitated. “You’d have to ask Leo.”
“It’s amazing, whatever it is.”
Dante looked out across the crowded floor. “Are you a fan of Zero Hour?”
I shrugged. “They’re okay. Valerie really likes them, though.”
An awkward silence fell between us. “Dante . . .” I started, even though I didn’t know what I was going to say next. I wanted to ask him about his getting-to-know-you list. I wanted to ask him how he’d healed me from the white flashes I’d had. I wanted to ask him to touch me again.
“It looks like they’re about to start,” he said. “I hope you enjoy the show.” He slipped away into the crowd.
Frustrated with Dante’s seeming uncanny ability to appear and disappear at will, I joined my friends at a table with Robert and the girl who turned out to be his new girlfriend, Heather. Just then the lights went down and the show began.
The sound of a ticking clock pulsated through the speakers. Spots of different colored lights flickered across the stage like a rainbow torn from a fractured prism. From out of the swirling darkness came the sound of one, two, three, four sharp staccato beats of V’s drumsticks. The drums rumbled to life with a deep, growling bass beat. The sound crested like a rising wave before crashing down with a splash of golden cymbals and a single white beam of light split the darkness on the stage like a sword.
Zo stood at the microphone, wrenching a single note like a wailing banshee from the silver guitar in his hands, his eyes closed, his head back, his face fiercely beautiful with primal intensity. As the harsh note faded away, swallowed up by the dark, tribal heartbeat of the drums, by the endless rhythm of the ticking clock, Zo opened his dark eyes and leaned close to the microphone. He whispered four simple words.
“It’s time, my children . . .”
A spotlight flashed on Tony standing to Zo’s right. Tony pulled a high note screaming from his guitar and then danced his fingers down the frets, the sound rising, falling, diving, washing over the crowd.
Zo caressed the microphone with his hand and spoke four more words.
“Zero Hour has come!”
As the band launched into the riffs and fills of their hit single “Into the River,” I jumped to my feet, barely aware that everyone else in the club had done the same. It was instinctive. It was inevitable. The music demanded it of us, pulling at us, holding us captive to the driving rhythms of drum and bass. And over it all, Zo’s voice rose like an avenging angel.
It’s time, my children
When the waves rise high
When the waters run deep
When the clock strikes midnight
You’ll feel the mark of Zero Hour
And you’ll never be the same again
I joined my voice to the chorus swelling from the crowd, feeling the past week’s stress wash away from me. The music swept me along like the river’s current the band sang about, a fast and dangerous current, but refreshing and sustaining as well. I closed my eyes and danced to the music, feeling the possibilities spiraling around me, feeling the energy of the crowd, feeling alive like never before.
As I clapped and cheered at the end of the song, I caught sight of Dante standing behind the bar. His eyes were black pools of shadowed night. His whole body quivered with coiled tension. I watched him gasp for air as though he were drowning, his chest heaving with the strain. His eyes whipped to me across the room and I felt a flash of panic shoot through me. He was drowning—somehow he was being washed downriver in the midst of this crowded dance floor and I was the only one who could throw him a line, could save him from oblivion. He needed me. Now. Right now.
I took a step in his direction, confused by the intensity of my emotions but wanting to help somehow.
And then I heard Zo’s voice start another song—“The world is older than we imagine / Time more fluid than we think”— and then I felt Jason touch my arm and then I broke eye contact with Dante for just a second and then and then . . . and then the moment was gone. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I realized how thirsty I was. That must have been why I was thinking of drowning, why my thoughts were filled with images of rushing water, of crashing waves.
I grabbed Jason’s strawberry soda and drained the rest of it in a single swallow. Revived, I turned my attention back to the show, singing and clapping along with the crowd.
But in the back of my mind, I could still see the image of a shadowy figure, standing alone on a bleak and barren shore, his hand extended to me as I was swept away on a wave of light and sound.
~
“Abby? Are you asleep?” I felt Jason’s hand on my back and I abruptly jerked upright from where I had been resting my head on the bar.
“No. No, I wasn’t asleep,” I slurred, rubbing at my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Almost two,” Jason said. “The show’s been over for nearly an hour. C’mon, it’s time to go home.”
The wild, dancing, singing crowds had thinned, dispersing like fog at dawn, and the Dungeon was nearly empty. Zero Hour had finished packing up their gear, but a few knots of people were still talking to the band, unwilling to let the amazing evening come to a close. I saw Valerie talking to V, her hand on her hip in full flirt mode.
“Where’s Natalie?” I asked, looking around the room.
“She got tired of waiting for Valerie and went home with Robert.”
“Must be nice to have a brother to hitch a ride with in a pinch,” I said.
“It can come in handy. Wait here. I’ll be right back,” Jason said. He tousled my hair before heading in the direction of the bathrooms.
Pleasantly exhausted, I yawned and stretched my back, my ears ringing a little from the show. I felt remarkably alert and refres
hed, considering the late hour. I saw Dante and Zo talking to the right of the stage. I found myself grinning and, seized by a sudden impulse, I hopped down from the bar stool and walked over to them.
“Hey, Dante,” I said, leaning on one of the large black boxes marked with Zero Hour’s numberless clock faces.
“Hello, Abby,” he said with that small smile I only seemed to see when he said my name.
I flicked a glance at Zo. He was taller than Dante. Older, too, but probably not by much. The frosted white tips in his dark black hair glimmered in the stage lights. A dark black chain had been tattooed around both of his wrists.
Zo caught me looking at his hands and he pushed up his sleeves so I could see them more clearly. “Do you like them?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to stare.” I narrowed my eyes. “They look like the chains in your band’s logo.”
He rotated his wrists outward, and I saw the familiar numberless clock logo marked on the inside of each wrist. The same arrows pointed to a nonexistent midnight hour. One wrist held the letters MDVI while the other changed to MMVI.
“I’ve felt the mark of Zero Hour,” Zo said, pulling his sleeves back down, cutting a glance at Dante. “And I’ve never been the same.”
I recognized the reference to “Into the River.” Even his speaking voice managed to evoke the same angelic tones of his music. “That’s dedication,” I observed. “But which came first—the band? or the tattoo?”
A smile tugged at the corners of Zo’s full mouth. “Il tempo e piu fluido di tu pensi.”
My eyebrows rose in happy surprise. “You’re Italian?” I looked to Dante. “So do you guys know each other?”
“We know some of the same people,” Zo said, a strange look in his eyes.
“We lived in the same neighborhood. Before. In Italy,” Dante said curtly. He clasped his hands behind his back and I saw the muscles on his arms tighten.