“The room will vanish if you remove your watch, and you can’t use time without wearing it. Even if those things weren’t true, you can’t affect the real world from here.”
Her heart sank into her stomach, tore through the bottom, fell to the floor, and continued in free-fall straight to the depths of space.
“But we can if we go through the Door,” he added hastily. His voice was so low now that he needed to lean in and whisper. “If I help you with this, now, promise me you will never try to change things outside of a wish again?”
“I promise.” Jo didn’t know if she was lying or not, and didn’t really care. She’d say anything to garner his help.
“And promise me you’ll be careful; you’ll change as little as possible.”
“I promise.” The words flew from her lips before he even had a chance to finish speaking.
“All right. We should go, then.”
“Wait, I can’t just leave my code. I wouldn’t have time to start from scratch there. . .” Jo looked to the computers. How could she transfer her work? If what Wayne said was true, she couldn’t upload it to a cloud server and expect to access it on the other side. If only there was some physical way of carrying digital information. . . “I have an idea.”
Jo was sprinting back through the mansion before Wayne even had time to respond. Her feet flew over the marble and carpeted floors alike, carrying her back to her room. Nico had said they couldn’t take things from the recreation rooms, but that they could from their bedrooms.
She flung open her door, flying to her desk and rummaging around in her drawers.
“Please, please, please. . .” she uttered on repeat like a prayer—a prayer that was answered. If the mansion was recreating her room from real life, then there was bound to be a rogue USB stick somewhere. Antiquated technology, really, but something Jo always insisted on having at least one or two of. Physical backups were much more difficult to track than the cloud, even if you couldn’t always find a computer with the proper port.
Back in the rec room, Jo appeared to a dazed Wayne who barely had time to get “What?” out of his lips before she was back to work.
“Our clothes go with us to the real world.”
“Thankfully, or unfortunately, depending on who you’re with,” Wayne mumbled.
Jo braved a grin, feeling in a better mood than she had in days. Such a good mood that his appreciative stare toward her regarding the sentiment didn’t go unappreciated. “Which means we can bring stuff from here, there.”
“And?” Of course he wouldn’t follow.
“I’m backing up all my scripts.” Jo tapped the blinking USB, mid-transfer. “I’ll pop over to the real world, polish them up, and run them.”
“Run them from where?” Wayne asked warily. Good, Jo thought. He should be wary. He’d offered to help the Shewolf on a mission, after all.
“From inside the Black Bank, of course. Where else?” The computer answered her question before Wayne could with a satisfying beep, indicating the end of her transfer, and the start of her chance at securing meaning in her new world.
Chapter 15
Paris
THEY STOOD BEFORE the Door, Jo’s heart threatening to beat from her chest. She kept glancing over her shoulder—a motion mirrored by Wayne—looking for any indication of anyone following. Luckily, they were solidly alone.
“Where are we going, dollface?”
Jo swatted his hand away from the keypad. “I got this,” she said with a satisfied grin. Closing her eyes, she envisioned where she needed to go.
The early 2000s saw rise to a hacker group that would forever remain in infamy: Incognito. Following the end of the third world war, they escalated themselves from Internet defender and vigilante group to sophisticated peace-keepers of the digital world. In a time when governments were rising and falling, countries were collapsing, and economic systems were in peril, they established themselves as the “true free market” where anything could be bought and sold using the most elaborate crypto-currency ever conceived (even if obviously named)—credits.
And where they housed this currency in massive server racks that Jo had only uncovered the location of from months of prep-work in what was now a past life, was (also obviously) the city the group had founded themselves in.
“Paris,” Jo murmured. Her fingers flew over the keypad, pulled by an invisible force as they had been the first time, and she threw open the door.
There was that same hiss of de-pressurization, the click of the door opening, and then—light.
Jo raised a hand up to her eyes, guarding them from the sun as they stepped out of the side-door of a shop and into a narrow street. If the quaint, picture-perfect cobblestones weren’t enough, the lilting sounds of French being spoken around her should have been all the proof she needed.
But they weren’t.
In parallel with her now racing heart, Jo suddenly found herself sprinting down the narrow Paris street, darting between people who unknowingly parted for her, seemingly by random chance. None of them saw her, or even glanced in her direction. She ran, unhindered, to a main thoroughfare that offered a clear view of the most iconic landmark Paris had to offer: the Eiffel Tower.
“We’re really here,” she breathed in relief.
“We are.” Jo wasn’t sure how Wayne had caught up with her, but there he was, glued to her side. “Where else would we be?” Whenever he spoke, the rest of the world fell into a hush, as if in thrall. Jo was sure it had something to do with the fact that neither of them existed by technical standards.
“I could do it, though, no problem.” Working the Door was far more empowering than Jo ever expected it to be.
“You can do a great many things. . .” Wayne paused, looking down at her wrist. “Like using that watch.”
“You’ll show me how?” She grabbed his wrists without thinking, squeezing them to the point that she was sure she was hurting him. “Finally?”
“Finally?” Wayne snorted at the word. “Doll, you haven’t been in the Society for that long.” Before Jo could protest that it was long enough without any kind of formal instruction, he continued, albeit hesitantly, as if admitting to some heinous crime. “Yes, I’ll show you. But we still need to conserve time and be careful.”
“Just how many rules will you put on this excursion?” She frowned, her grip going slack.
“Just enough to make sure we don’t do any real damage, I hope.” His expression alone was enough to both still and silence her. “We need to conserve time as much as possible—only use what’s necessary. I doubt, at this point, that you’ll be called for the wish. . . but you never really know.”
“Fine,” she conceded. Jo generally prided herself on not being wasteful in her hacking, no more effort than what was necessary. Now didn’t need to be any different.
“And you change as few things as possible.”
Jo thought a moment. “For the Severity of Exchange? The A to B?” Wayne gave a soft noise of affirmation. “Is that why we aren’t supposed to change the real world? Not because we can’t. . . but because we don’t want to alter things for the wish?”
Wayne nodded.
“If only Yuusuke had decided to be a dumbass when we weren’t on wish.” Jo laughed bitterly.
“If only. . .” Wayne repeated. “Even then, it’s not for us to meddle in the real world. You never know when a wish could come in, or how our changes might impact the Severity of Exchange in advance through cause and effect. Plus, it’s no longer our place. So it’s better not to. . .” He trailed off, staring at the Eiffel Tower for a moment. “But here we are. So do you agree to be careful?”
“I agree, fine. I’ll change as little as possible.” Jo nodded. It didn’t seem unfair. “Thank you again, for helping me.”
Wayne sighed, glancing over her shoulder. “You got it, doll.”
“What?” Jo turned.
“Let’s stop in here.” He pointed to a little cafe on the corner. “It’ll
be a good place to get your feet wet and practice using time.”
“We don’t exactly have time for a leisurely lunch,” Jo reminded him, mostly just to throw his own words back at him.
“You should be comfortable using time, how it works, the sensations, and whatnot. We have enough to afford something quick.”
Jo just shrugged. She wasn’t going to say no. Yuusuke shouldn’t be in that server barn for a few more days yet (at the earliest), and Wayne raised a good point. She didn’t want to choke on using her magic at a pivotal moment.
The establishment had a terraced balcony that overlooked the street and hillside rolling down to the Eiffel Tower. For such a prime location, Jo was surprised to find it mostly vacant, especially on the second floor where the view was utter perfection (most of Europe had been lucky in the most recent World War, a change from the first two). Wayne motioned to a table.
“How does here look?”
“Fine, but. . .” Jo grabbed the chair to pull it out so she could actually sit. It didn’t budge. She could touch it, but she couldn’t do anything with it. Like it had been super-glued to the floor. It was just like the keypad at her garage had been.
“That’s where these come in.” Wayne held out his watch. “Turn yours on.” Jo did as instructed. “Right, see, here—” he pointed at four small numbers beneath the time “—when the wish came in, all of us were given ten hours apiece. Will that be enough for what you want to do here?”
“Yes, ten hours should be no problem.” Jo looked at the familiar stopwatch. “As long as I can start and stop the countdown like you did in Texas.”
“You should be able to. Everyone else can. Try it now.”
“How?” Jo asked expectantly.
“Sorry, doll, but we all have a different way.” He brought his fingers to his chin, thinking a moment. “Can’t say I know much about all the high-tech phonus balonus.”
Jo double-tapped on the number ten. She may not be able to unlock her watch, but she could pull up the stopwatch function. Still, the numbers didn’t start. She’d usually just tap the number for it to start, but. . . “It’d be fantastic if the Society could develop some kind of welcome training video that lets new recruits know all about magic and time and how to use it,” Jo muttered, not expecting an answer.
Whatever Wayne may have said was drowned out because as soon as her finger came into contact with the fabric, the world exploded into existence around her.
The sounds of car-horns filled the street, blaring in full-force from what she now knew had been muffled. She heard people laughing and shouting and carrying on with a detail that her ears hadn’t captured previously. The smell of breads baking mixed with brighter notes of cloying sweetness and uncommon spices, all layered under the distinct smell of industry boasted by every city in the world. Jo looked back to the tower, as if seeing it for the first time—as if seeing all of it for the first time.
So, this is the difference between really being alive and. . . whatever I am now.
The chair behind her scraped as Wayne pulled it out. He motioned for Jo to sit. “After you.” She eased herself into the chair, her eyes still on the city around her. She heard sounds that she didn’t think her previously mortal ears could’ve ever picked up. She saw with unnatural clarity, every speck of grime catching the daylight.
Lightly, very lightly, as if it might cut her, she ran her fingers over the tablecloth. Jo would’ve sworn she could feel every fiber in that instant as the grooves of her fingertips ran over them. She picked up the knife, turning it, just because she could. The metal was almost icy, and her nose picked up its scent even from far away. The fork was next. And then—
Her hyper-observations were startled away with a voice that was far louder than it should’ve been.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you come in. Have you been waiting long?” A woman was poised at their table, as though she’d been standing there for a while. Jo stared up at her, mouth agape.
“No, we just sat.” Wayne smooth-talked the rough edges of their sudden appearance into existence.
“I’ll give you a minute with the menus, then.”
A long list of various pastries, drinks, and crepes appeared in Jo’s hands. It was printed on some high-quality parchment paper and rubber-banded to a wooden board with the restaurant's logo burned at the top. Her eyes fell on the prices and Jo had an internal argument on which question to ask first.
“Two things.” Ultimately, she couldn’t decide what she needed to know faster, or more, so she asked both questions at once. “First, how did you do that—how did I do that? Second, how are we going to afford this?”
Wayne chuckled. “What did we do?”
“Don’t play coy, you know exactly what I mean. I can’t speak French.” She couldn’t speak for Wayne; after all, the man was a couple hundred years old. She hoped she could learn an extra language, or two, in that sort of time. But she’d understood the entire interaction with the waitress, conducted in a language Jo was sure she didn’t know.
“Part of the job.” Wayne shrugged, as if he’d never given the matter much thought. Knowing him, he hadn’t. “It’d be hard to do our work if we couldn’t speak the native tongue.”
“So, I can speak any language like a native?” Jo said in awe.
“If you need to. And if you believe you can.”
She was suddenly reminded of what Snow had said regarding the Door—that she’d lost sight of it because she’d believed it wasn’t there. What else could she control if she merely believed? What was the point of anything at all if it could simply be changed with someone’s mere thought?
“As far as payment. . . I think we have a simple solution to that.” Wayne tapped his watch.
“You mean to skip out on the bill.”
“It’s easier, don’t you think?” Wayne laughed at her expression and Jo’s hands flew up to her face to try to make out what look she’d been giving him. “I didn’t expect a dame like you to be intimidated by getting her hands a bit dirty.”
Jo snorted. “You have no idea what dirt is on my hands.”
“But I very much want to.” Wayne opened his mouth, as if to say something else. But he didn’t. Instead, he eased it closed and let it quirk into a small grin. He gave her a small wink, then looked back down at his menu.
It wasn’t the first time he’d said something with overt innuendo. This time felt different. It was almost like he wasn’t trying to flirt; he did so without thinking.
Jo gave him a small smile and turned to the menu, and another thought crossed her mind. “Wayne.” He looked up from his careful consideration the moment she said his name. “Why does everyone eat, if they no longer have to?”
“Ah. . .” He leaned in his chair, head tilted to the sky, and then turned back to face her. “I can’t speak for the others, but I eat in part out of habit, and in part to remind me of my humanity.” Her lips parted at the sentiment. As if sensing the weight he’d imparted on the mood, Wayne quickly added. “Plus, food is a delight.”
“That’s true.” Jo was eager to change the topic, regretted asking. She made sure that when the waitress returned she had her order ready. Any awkwardness left with their menus, and Jo returned their focus to the task at hand.
“So, we should have time enough. . . I’ll need a day, maybe two, in advance.”
“Advance of what?” Wayne leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table.
How would she explain it to someone who described technology as “phonus balonus”? Jo took a deep breath, high level only. “In World War Three and its aftermath, a group known as Incognito became the most prominent—”
“—cyberterrorists, if you ask any government. Ask Incognito and you’ll get a vastly different answer, I imagine.”
Jo straightened in surprise. “You know of them?”
“Know of them? Doll, I watched them rise from the sidelines.”
“That’s right, you’re really old.” Even though he looked very m
uch twenty.
“Not too old,” Wayne’s wounded pride (no doubt) said.
“In any case. . .” She wasn’t about to debate with him on how old he was or wasn’t. “Yuusuke and I were trying to crack into the Black Bank. It’s where all credits are stored and, if it was recognized as a legitimate entity, would count for almost a sixth of global commerce.”
“So, you were bank thieves?”
Jo shook her head.
“What, then?”
“Data thieves,” she corrected. “The Yakuza wanted the data on every account opened with Incognito. . . every transaction that went through the bank. Who was paying who, who really had their hands in what—you name it.”
“They wanted to know their competition.”
“That. Or they were working with the Japanese government.”
“The Japanese government?” Wayne arched his eyebrows. “Perhaps I misheard you, dollface, but why would the Japanese mob work with their feds?”
Jo shrugged. It was a good question, one she’d never really quite understood herself. “There’s a long history of it, Yuu said once. Sometimes they’re at odds, sometimes they work together. . . if the terms are right. My guess is that the government wanted to see where money was going in case of an American reunification, and—”
“And the mob would skim a little off the top for doing the dirty work so it wasn’t on the government’s payroll.” Wayne finished softly, looking out over the railing to the city beyond. Before Jo could ask, food arrived and he shifted gears right after the waitress left. “You still haven’t told me why we need to be in Paris.”
“Oh, right.” Jo traced the tangents back to the main point of the conversation. “The servers that house the Black Bank have long been rumored to be in the catacombs of Paris, hidden in a fortified area amid the labyrinth. You asked me not to change much? Well, it’s a good thing that was already my plan.”
“How so?”
“I’m not going to take down the bank. I’m just going to weaken it in the right places so it’ll buckle when Yuu hits it.”