Time's Edge

  “Saul’s hope was that destroying CHRONOS would allow him to jump from one point in time to the next, without being forced to return to HQ after each jump. But he miscalculated. He can’t use the CHRONOS keys any more than we can, but he’s learned the same thing I did. The CHRONOS gene passes on to our children and our grandchildren. I was pregnant with twins when I arrived in 1969. One of the girls, Prudence, had an accident with the key when she was fourteen. She’s been with Saul ever since. The other daughter, Deborah—well, I introduced her to this guy.”

  Dad moves into the picture, with me at his side. Katherine and I argued for hours over whether this was a good idea. She said no, absolutely not, and initially Connor sided with her, but I won him over to my point of view. Timothy and Evelyn would probably believe me either way, but would they be willing to turn over their CHRONOS keys? I thought that plea would be much more effective coming from their son.

  “Mom. Dad. If I could use the CHRONOS key, I’d have come myself.” Dad choked up a tiny bit when we recorded that part, and we had to restart the video a few minutes later. He barely remembers either of them, and he would love nothing more than to have taken my place. “It kind of glows when I touch it, but I can’t operate it.”

  He puts his arm around me and gives my shoulders a squeeze. “So anyway, I’m sending Kate, in my—”

  Evelyn reaches out for the phone and touches the screen to pause it, as she’d seen me do a moment ago. “Timo and I—we’re not around whenever this is, are we?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that . . .”

  “You don’t have to. It’s written all over his face.”

  Damn it. Katherine was right. And as much as I love Katherine, I really don’t like it when she’s right.

  “And,” she continues, “if we were around, you’d be showing a recording of the two of us explaining all of this, not Katherine.”

  That’s true as well, and it makes me feel better about pulling Dad into the video. They would probably have figured it out either way. I push “Play” again, and Dad continues. “—place. Things are kind of crazy now. This Saul guy has set some things into motion that I don’t fully understand, but Kate says he’s planning to wipe out a good chunk of the population. So we’re trying to do an end run around his people and collect these keys before they can.”

  Katherine leans back in. “I think Kate can answer any other questions you might have. The reality is simple—you can’t use the keys, and if you keep them, Saul’s people will try to take them. I’m really sorry—I wish I was able to give you better news, to tell you that this was just a temporary glitch and CHRONOS would have everything patched up shortly, but you’d find out soon enough anyway.

  “You’re going to hear from a much younger version of me in a few years. It would be best if you don’t mention Kate’s visit to her . . . mention it to me, that is. It could . . . complicate things even more than they already are. Take care, okay?”

  The video stops there. We had recorded a few minutes more, but Katherine thought that Dad saying goodbye might tip them off about future events, so she had Connor cut that section.

  Evelyn grabs the phone from me and pokes the screen a few times, but nothing happens. “How do you reverse this stupid thing?”

  “Should I go to the beginning?”

  “No. Just back to—” Her look is raw and vulnerable. “What’s his name, Kate? What is my son’s name?”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t tell you—”

  “Oh come on, Ev. Give her a break. You know his name. He’s Alphonse, after your dad. We’ve discussed this half a dozen times. And if he’d been a girl—wait, he is named Alphonse, right, Kate?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.” I begin rewinding to where Dad starts talking, trying to keep my face neutral, so that nothing I do influences their decision. But it’s hard to keep from grinning at how close Harry Keller came to being named Alphonse.

  I find the spot on the video and push “Play” again as I hand it to Evelyn. She pauses it before Dad can start talking. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at the screen.

  After a moment, her expression shifts to a tight, almost angry look, and my heart sinks into my stomach. If this doesn’t go well, Katherine won’t exactly rub my face in it, but she will almost certainly find a subtle way to remind me that she was against Dad being in the video. This jump was supposed to be a sure thing. Before Saul, Prudence, and their Cyrist underlings managed to reset the timeline, these two keys were in our possession. Kiernan said they were relatively easy to get, but he doesn’t know the specifics because that other version of me, his Kate, Other-Kate, Kate-Past, whatever you want to call her, handled that jump before they met. And I have no clue what that Kate did, because in every sense that matters, she’s not me.

  “I’m not sure if Katherine knows,” Timothy says, “but this was supposed to be a five-day trip. Everything around Dealey Plaza is going to be locked down and cordoned off, so we can’t get back to the stable point until around noon tomorrow at the very earliest. I’m not saying I don’t believe you. We’ve known something was wrong since Ev’s diary disappeared. She tried to send a question to HQ, and instead of getting an answer, it just . . . kind of . . . evaporated.”

  “Katherine said that happened to her, as well.”

  “But,” he continues, “even though I do believe you, Katherine was right. I don’t think we should give up these keys until we know for certain there’s no return trip. I hope you can understand that?”

  I nod. We’d kind of expected this.

  “You’re not going to be able to get out until then, either, Kate. I mean, unless you came in from a stable point outside of Dallas, you’re stuck—”

  “I can actually leave from right here,” I say. “I have to arrive at a stable point, but I can jump to another point from any location. It’s what Saul was trying to set up for himself, but it didn’t work.”

  Evelyn is still staring at the frozen image of Dad with his arm around me, tears streaming down her face. I’m not sure if she’s even listening.

  “What does he want, Kate?” Timothy asks. “Why did Saul do this?”

  A few months back, I asked the same question of Katherine and Connor. The only answer they had for me then was that Saul wanted power, all the power he could get. And while we have more information now, that’s still the gist of it.

  I shrug. “He wants to play God. To decide who lives and who dies. To create his version of paradise, where only those who see things his way get to stick around.”

  We’re all silent for a moment, and then I ask, “Where should I meet you tomorrow? And when?”

  Evelyn turns toward me halfway through the last question, like she’s just remembered I’m in the car, and hands me back the phone. She pulls her CHRONOS key from underneath her sweater and blouse and yanks the chain over her head, almost throwing it at me.

  “Just give her your damn key, Timothy! We’ve tried to reach HQ five times already. There’s no reason to think we’ll get a signal tomorrow.” Her voice softens a bit as she looks at me. “You don’t need to come back, Kate.”

  “Thank you, Evelyn.” As I’m stashing her key in the pocket of my sweater, something occurs to me. “Um—if I should happen to show up again and start asking questions, double-check my eye color, okay? And look for this.” I pull back my hair a bit and turn my right cheek toward her, revealing the relatively new and, thankfully, fading pink scar on my neck. Aunt Prudence might be smart enough to wear green contacts, but she doesn’t know about my encounter with H. H. Holmes in Chicago. “If you don’t see the scar, it’s not me, and you can’t tell her anything. She’s with Saul.”

  Timothy pulls the CHRONOS key from his pocket as he unfastens the little clip that attaches it to his belt loop. He holds the glowing blue circle level in the palm of his hand and stares at the hourglass in the center, watching as the sands flow back and forth.

  “What color is it for you, Kate?” he asks.
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  This seems to be the CHRONOS equivalent of chatting about the weather. Everyone sees the light at the center of the medallion differently. “It’s blue,” I reply. “Like an impossibly bright sky.”

  A sad smile touches his lips. “Really? Me, too. It’s pink for Ev.”

  I smile back at him and then glance over at Evelyn. “Dad can only pick up the light occasionally, but when he does, he says it looks pink to him. So, I guess he gets that from you.”

  Her bottom lip quivers a bit. She reaches over and places her hand on the side of my grandfather’s face, a face so much like that of the son they’ll never see grow up.

  “Timo, that life is over. Just give her your key so she can get back home. And get rid of that stinking chili dog. We’re not on vacation anymore.”

  ∞2∞

  BOSTON

  July 23, 1905, 8:06 a.m.

  “Got them!” I tug the medallions out of my pocket and wave them in front of me.

  “Was there ever any doubt?”

  Kiernan is sitting cross-legged on a wooden crate, exactly where I left him, a smile still on his face. For him, only a minute has passed since I left for Dallas on this most recent attempt to get the keys from Timothy and Evelyn.

  This storeroom is listed as an official CHRONOS stable point—that is, one of the locations that historians can jump to—between the years of 1898–1932. The first time that I traveled to 1905 Boston, I came in the middle of the night, slipping out of the storeroom into the darkness of the main store. I left an envelope just inside the door with Kiernan’s name on the front and nothing inside but a slip of paper with today’s date and the time, 7 a.m. For me, that was three weeks ago, and I’ve popped in twice since then to get Kiernan’s feedback on our plans for collecting these two medallions.

  “It may have been a foregone conclusion for you,” I counter. “But things looked shaky for a while. Evelyn picked up on the fact that they were probably dead.”

  He shrugs, his dark hair brushing his shoulders. “I think that happened last time, too. You told me then that Katherine was against your dad getting involved, but you insisted. Timothy and Evelyn were still an easy grab. Who could deny a request like that from their own granddaughter?”

  “Uh . . . Saul Rand, maybe? Otherwise, I would just waltz up to him and say ‘Pretty please, Grandpapa, abandon your evil plan for world domination. For me?’ ”

  “You have a point,” Kiernan concedes with a chuckle. “I should have clarified that any human being with half a soul would not deny that request. But perhaps you should find Saul and ask. He might be a sucker for pretty green eyes.”

  I can feel the blush rising to my face, so I turn away and pretend to be interested in the containers of tobacco on the shelves behind me. I lift a lid and breathe in deeply. The pipe tobacco has a rich, earthy aroma—nothing like the secondhand cigarette smoke I’m forced to breathe in along the DC sidewalks. I used to enjoy the scent of a fire on a winter’s night, but since my recent encounter with H. H. Holmes at the World’s Fair, the slightest whiff of smoke makes my body tense up. If Kiernan hadn’t come back to rescue me that night, I’d have been one of the many skeletons found in that hotel.

  “So, who’s next?” I ask him. “I mean, last time, which medallions did she go after?”

  She is the other Kate, the one that I know Kiernan wishes were here in my place, the Kate-Past who doesn’t exist anymore, thanks to Saul rejiggering the timeline.

  “I have the information that we were working from back in my room.” His emphasis on the word we is faint, but I know he’s trying to remind me that Other-Kate is just the flip side of me, even if I can’t remember her. Kiernan reaches his hand out toward me. “It’s a short walk away. Shall we?”

  “I should get back home. Katherine’s waiting.”

  “Oh. I assumed you’d gone home before coming here.” There’s a hint of question in his voice. I know he’s wondering why I’d share good news with him before telling my grandmother, Dad, and Connor.

  I’m kind of wondering that myself. I pulled up Boston 1905 without even thinking. As I look down at my shoes, however, I realize that I can’t stay, even if I wanted to. The knee-length skirt, sweater, and brown saddle shoes were appropriately demure for 1963 Dallas, but they’ll draw far too much attention here. “I’ll come back later. I’m not exactly dressed for—”

  “Don’t be silly,” he says, walking toward a tall cabinet in the back of the storeroom. “We both know that you can arrive back at Katherine’s at the exact same time you left, so they’ll never know you were delayed. And I’ve got a solution to your fashion dilemma.”

  Kiernan opens the cabinet door and holds up a dress on a padded hanger. The dress is one piece that’s meant to look like two. The white blouse has a high Gibson-girl neckline, and the dark skirt is narrow and looks like it will hit me about midankle. He takes it off the hanger and turns the dress around, revealing a long row of pearl buttons. There is a slight ripping noise as he pulls the sides apart, and I think at first that he’s torn the fabric. Then I see the white strip of Velcro running up the back.

  “That is so not CHRONOS approved,” I say, stifling a laugh as I shake my head. Katherine nearly blew a gasket when she caught me with a pink toothbrush in 1893, so I know there’s no way that she gave this the thumbs-up.

  “We’re not CHRONOS. And dozens of pearl buttons don’t exactly make a dress easy to get in and out of, do they?”

  There’s a touch of sadness behind Kiernan’s smile. It probably should have occurred to me immediately, but it’s only now that I realize Other-Kate brought the Velcro back to 1905. This was her dress. I decide not to think about the reasons she might have had for wanting to get out of her clothing quickly.

  The dress seems large enough to fit over the slim skirt and shell I’m wearing, so I just slip off the cardigan and hang it on a hook in the cabinet. Then I step into the dress Kiernan is holding open and turn around to let him fasten the Velcro. He pulls the dress together around my body and then slowly runs his palm down my spine from neck to waist to seal the seam. His hand is warm through the fabric, and a little shiver runs through me.

  Bad girl, Kate. He’s not Trey, and you are not his Kate, I remind myself. This is only about stopping Saul and the Cyrists. I plaster on what I hope is a get-down-to-business look before turning back around to face him.

  He hands me a pair of brown, low-heeled shoes, with a sensible strap and absolutely no need for a buttonhook. I smile and slip the saddle shoes off my feet. I’m about to stash them back in the cabinet, but Kiernan pulls out a small drawstring bag and tucks the shoes and sweater inside.

  It’s still not the jeans, T-shirt, and Skechers I prefer, but it’s oh-so-much better than the 1893 getup I had to wear the last time Kiernan and I ventured out together. Of course, that time he was eight years old and I had to look down to meet his eyes, rather than up.

  After fastening the last buckle on my shoe, I stand. As I do, Kiernan pushes my hair a bit to the side. “Do I need to pull it up to avoid the wrath of the propriety police?” I ask, but my voice trails off as I realize he’s looking at the scar on my neck.

  “No,” he says. His tone is harsher now. “Leave it down.”

  “Kiernan, it’s okay. Really. It doesn’t hurt at all, and it’s barely noticeable with a bit of makeup.” He probably knows I rarely wear makeup, unless Other-Kate had entirely different fashion sense. But I have to say something, because I don’t like seeing the wounded look on his face. “You did the best you could. I would have been dead, but I’m still here, right? Perfect health? Ready to save the world as we know it?”

  His lips twitch up the tiniest bit on one side, and then he leans over and presses them against the scar, very gently, very briefly. I feel myself stiffen slightly and step back. His voice is softer as he repeats, “Leave it. I like it down. And I don’t care what the stuffy old maids of Boston think.”

  Kiernan flicks up the little metal hook that locks the thin
sheet of wood serving as a makeshift door between the tobacco store and this storage area.

  “Wait,” I say. “You said Jess is a friend, but what does he know? I mean, does he know I’m here from the future?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Then how does he think I’m getting in here?”

  “I have a key to the store.” He pulls it from his pocket and bounces it once in the palm of his hand before stashing it away again. “I worked here for a while. In fact, I slept in this storage room for a few months. If I’m meeting you here, I always come in when he’s closed or when he’s stepped out for a few minutes.”

  “What exactly does he think we’re doing in here?”

  Kiernan’s grin is back. “Like I said, he’s a friend. And a gentleman doesn’t ask questions. He likes you, Katie. Just flash him a smile and say thank you.”

  “Thank you for wh—” I begin, but he’s already pressing the door open with his shoulder, so I paste on a smile and step out behind him.

  Kiernan said Jess was his friend, so I expect someone in his teens or early twenties, or at least younger than my parents. I definitely expect someone younger than Katherine or Connor. This guy looks like he’s in his eighties. He has a grayish-white beard reaching halfway down his chest, and he’s slightly hunched over as he stocks a glass jar with pipe cleaners from a small wooden box. I’m surprised to see that pipe cleaners in 1905 are much the same as pipe cleaners today, except these are all white, not bright neon like the ones we used in kindergarten crafts.

  The old guy looks up at the sound of the closing door. He squints a bit, then a big smile lights up his weathered face.

  “Miss Kate! I am mighty glad to see you again! You gave me a bad turn, taking off like that.” He moves toward us slowly and gives me a tight hug. I stiffen a bit initially, but he smells warm and familiar, a lot like the tobacco in his storeroom. After a moment, I return his hug, shooting Kiernan a quizzical look. Who is this guy?

  “I told you she’d be back, Jess. She’s just been away . . . in New York, then down in Washington. With her grandmother.”