Hourglass

  “Why is that your favorite answer for everything?”

  He didn’t respond.

  Dealing with my own anxiety, I found I couldn’t keep my legs still underneath the table. I wished urgently it wasn’t see-through. I took a breath to steady myself, knowing what I was about to ask meant either I was truly crazy or my world was about to be turned upside down.

  “You said I came to you from the future. I can only think of one way that could happen if I didn’t appear to you as a rip.” Another hysterical laugh escaped from my lips, this time for a really good reason. Or a really bad reason. “Christopher Reeve and self-hypnosis? Doctor Who and his phone booth? Hermione and the Time Turner?”

  “Doctor Who had a police box.” He kept his gaze level. “But I’m glad to hear it’s not a foreign concept.”

  “Holy crap. You really expect me to just buy this?” I leaned over to put my head between my knees, shaking so hard my chair rattled. I vaguely wondered if I saved any of my medication or if I’d flushed it all. Michael could put it to good use.

  “You asked me the question—”

  “I know!” I sat up, closing my eyes. Before I spoke again, I lowered my voice. “Can you do me a favor and lay all the information on me now? I don’t need any bonus material to throw me over the edge later.”

  Or down a flight of stairs, under a bus, and straight back to the mental ward.

  “Okay. I know it sounds impossible—” he began.

  My eyes flew open. “Time travel? Yes, it does! How? Why me?”

  Michael frowned. “It’s kind of … genetic.”

  “Like a disease?”

  I could tell he didn’t like the analogy. “If you want to go the disease route, you could compare it to addiction. Addiction is genetic. What each person is addicted to might be different, kind of like one son is an alcoholic, the next son is a drug addict, the next is addicted to gambling, and so on.” He pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “None of that sounds good.”

  “Nope.”

  “Look at it this way. You have a special ability. Seeing ripples is like a symptom.” He growled in frustration. “I mean, an indicator. The fact that you’ve only seen people from the past so far indicates you’re able to travel to the past.”

  “Mmm-hmm. So if I want to go somewhere in the past, I can? What do I have to do? Close my eyes and picture where I want to go? Click my heels together three times and say, ‘Neolithic Age’?”

  “It’s a little more—”

  “If you say ‘a little more complicated than that,’ I will scream. What about you? Can you go to the past?” Was I having this conversation? I pinched my thigh, really hard. I was having this conversation. “Or can you go to the future because you can see people from the future?”

  “I can go to the future on my own and travel back to the present. You can go to the past on your own and travel back to the present. But if we travel together, we can go anywhere on the timeline. We’re sort of … two halves of one whole.”

  “Two halves of one whole?” I blinked slowly, twice, and then leaned in close to examine his face. “Do you do drugs? Pot? Acid? What? I asked my brother if he got you fresh from rehab, but I really didn’t think it was a possibility until now.”

  “I don’t do drugs, and you aren’t crazy.” He leaned toward me now, placing his hands palm down on the table. “Considering all the other things you’ve experienced, is it really so impossible to believe?”

  I stared at his fingers, watching the heat from his hands fog the glass. Was it? Almost four years ago I started seeing people from different time periods who disappeared when I tried to touch them. So, no, time travel wasn’t impossible to believe. That didn’t mean I wanted to believe it.

  Except for the connected-to-Michael thing. That part still appealed to me.

  “The connection,” I said, looking up at him. “Is that why we practically short out when we touch each other?”

  “Our abilities complement each other. It can create a deep bond. That’s why there’s so much … chemistry between us.” He shifted in his chair, staring at the stained concrete patio floor.

  A welcome wave of relief flooded over me. I was grateful I could attach my feelings for him to something, even a scientific connection. Chemistry. I thought about the amount of energy we produced when we accidentally touched and had a brief vision of what it would be like if our lips met. Would the world explode around us?

  When he started speaking, I made myself focus on what he was saying, pushing away thoughts of fireworks and detonation.

  Michael continued, his embarrassment either overcome or well hidden. “The man I told you about, my mentor from the Hourglass, he and his wife had the same abilities we do, the same connections.”

  Tucking the word wife away to think about later, I asked, “What are the other connections, besides the physical one?”

  “Strong emotional ties, a visceral pull toward each other.”

  I didn’t have any trouble believing that. I was more drawn to him every time I saw him. More than I was willing to admit, even to myself. “What does all this have to do with the Hourglass? Why won’t you tell me anything about it?”

  “I have my reasons,” he said. “There are things you can’t know yet—”

  “You said you’d tell me everything,” I accused. “I need to know everything.”

  “I did tell you everything. About you.” He stood abruptly, staring over the edge of the patio down onto the street. “You’ve seen time-travel movies. Parts of them are true. Events can be manipulated, but usually not without consequences.”

  Michael turned back and crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet at my eye level. “I’m not just here to help you understand what you see and why. I’m here to watch out for you and to …”

  He broke off. I got the feeling he almost revealed something he didn’t want to share.

  “Don’t stop now,” I said.

  “This is where the visceral thing comes in.” He took my hands in his. “Either you trust me or you don’t.”

  I didn’t know about trusting him. I did know I didn’t want him to stop touching me. I was getting used to the intensity. He leaned closer. I lost myself in the depths of his warm brown eyes, wondering if his lips would be warm, too …

  Michael slowly inched forward before losing his balance and tipping to one side. He uttered a low curse under his breath and stepped away.

  “You … You rule breaker!” My mouth dropped open, and I propelled myself up and out of the chair, poking him in the chest. “You almost kissed me!”

  Michael backed up into the wrought-iron fence. “No, I didn’t.”

  He didn’t mean it. I took a step closer and spoke in a whisper. “Liar.”

  Running his hand over his face, he groaned in defeat. In one movement he turned so I was the one with my back pressed against the cold metal. The benefit was that my front was pressed against Michael.

  He bent down, burying his face in my neck. I reached back to grab onto the iron bars behind me to hold myself up. My jacket slipped off my shoulders. I was pretty sure I was on fire, and at that moment I would have sworn that bursting into flame was a glorious way to go.

  I’d never touched alcohol—doesn’t mix too well with crazy pills—but I knew at that moment what it must feel like to be drunk. Everything in my world shifted, and I knew I would trade every breath I’d ever taken for more of him. In a heartbeat.

  Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a red blinking light.

  Security camera.

  Chapter 15

  I don’t think it will make a difference if you destroy it.”

  I’d pulled a table umbrella from its stand and was using it, rather ineffectively, to knock the camera off the side of the building.

  “Really, I’m sure the footage is stored in a computer somewhere.” He had two fingers over his lips, making every effort to hide his burgeoning smile.

  Slamming the umbrella to the gro
und, I fisted my hands on my hips and glared at him.

  He let go with a deep belly laugh. It would’ve been contagious if I weren’t so furious. My senses were reeling. I felt denied.

  “Sweetheart, listen.” The term of endearment stopped me cold. Nothing else would have. I could not explain away the affection in his eyes because I felt it, too. “We’re in dangerous territory here.”

  “Right now the only thing that’s dangerous is me, especially when I get my hands on Thomas.”

  “Emerson—”

  I tilted my head to one side. “I think you have nickname clearance now.”

  I tried to appreciate his smile without focusing on his lips.

  “Em, it was a good thing you saw that camera when you did.” Michael sounded as if he were trying to convince himself. “We could have had a major disaster on our hands.”

  “Right now the earth could fall off its axis, and I wouldn’t give a rat’s behind.”

  Michael’s gaze skimmed over my bare shoulders, and he reached out to gently pull my jacket around them. “I’ve known since before we met how it would be between us. But knowing didn’t prepare me for you. I’m sorry.”

  “I wish I could say I was sorry.”

  “The rules about … fraternization … are in place for a reason.” He gestured to the fence and then closed his eyes. “This can’t happen again.”

  I’d never had a real relationship. Back before my world went pear shaped, I indulged in the occasional fantasy involving a movie star or pop singer like any other normal teenage girl, but the last few years had been spent in an on-again, off-again with Joe Pharmaceutical. I had no idea how normal relationships worked to begin with, and Michael and I were far from normal. Talk about going from zero to sixty in eight seconds or less. I should contact the Guinness Book of World Records, category: “making up for lost time.”

  Michael ran his hands over his face again. “We don’t need to be confused when there’s a bigger purpose.”

  “I’m not confused at all.” Just worked up. “And what bigger purpose? It’s not like we’re saving the world.”

  He said nothing.

  “Michael?”

  I considered flipping him over my shoulder again to make myself feel better. I told him as much.

  “I think it’s time you explain that particular trick.”

  Michael and I sat on the flat section of roof outside our bedroom windows. We’d reconnected after going back to our respective lofts; it was late after all, and I didn’t want my brother to ask any questions. Considering Thomas and his spying habit, I was already going to be in for it due to the evidence captured by the security camera. I hoped he would believe nothing happened.

  Not that it did. Of this I was painfully aware.

  We kept a safe amount of distance between us. No matter how far away Michael sat, I still felt an insatiable pull toward him. It grew stronger all the time, as if our centers were connected. Made it hard to concentrate.

  “How did you become a teenage ninja?” He didn’t bother to hide the teasing in his voice.

  “I took martial arts as my physical education elective at school. I was the best in the class. Once the semester was over I pursued my black belt at a private studio. I passed the test for brown right before I came home.” I sensed his doubtful look rather than seeing it. The streetlights didn’t quite shine high enough to light our perch above them, and the moon was a waxing crescent. “I know. It was a shock to me, too, but it was a healthy way to take out my frustrations.”

  “It’s not been very healthy for me,” he said, his chuckle quiet in the night air.

  “I’ve gone easy on you. Tell me, will my ass-kicking abilities come in handy when I’m ‘saving the world’?”

  “It’s not the whole world, exactly.”

  “Just the contingent forty-eight states?”

  He sighed. “I’m not talking geography.”

  “Details, please.”

  Michael pulled his legs up, resting his forearms on his knees, his long fingers intertwined. “I’m trying to keep you out of trouble, Emerson. And that involves my keeping quiet for now. It’s not easy for me, but this is the way it has to be.”

  “Not easy for you?” I scoffed. “How about you spill the information, and I’ll take care of myself?”

  He looked up at the sliver of moon hanging in the sky. So did I.

  “Michael, you need to understand I’ve been asking questions for the past four years. In my head, out loud, every way you can think of. And I’ve never gotten any answers until you came along.”

  “We can’t cover four years in one night.” He slid his hand across the roof toward me, palm down.

  I slid my hand toward his, palm up, the shingles rough on the back of my hand. Our fingers barely met, yet every inch of my skin responded. The desire to close the distance so more of me could touch more of him was overwhelming. My breath caught in my chest, and I looked at him.

  He pulled away without looking back.

  I left my hand open to the night sky. “How long before you tell me everything?”

  “Not long, I promise. Can you wait?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You have no idea how frustrated I am.” About so many things.

  “Give me until tomorrow. Tomorrow, I promise. I just want to make sure we do this the right way. Trust me?”

  “Yes,” I answered, breaking my own rule.

  Chapter 16

  You want a ride to work?” Thomas asked as I grabbed my backpack. I was wearing my trusty pink rain jacket because it was raining. Again.

  “No, it’s not that far.” My hair was already wet anyway. I’d had some difficulty motivating myself to wake up and shower and hadn’t had time to dry it. After I’d climbed in my window last night I could still sense Michael, could almost hear him breathing on the other side of the wall. It took sleep a long time to pull me under, my thoughts racing too fast for my brain to keep up.

  As I walked to Murphy’s Law, I wondered why I had never seen Michael in a car. How did he get around? Probably he snapped and appeared places at will. Or maybe he time traveled where he wanted to go.

  Or maybe he was delusional, and I was one small step away from buying it.

  I snorted out loud, not even bothering to be embarrassed as a man in a Confederate soldier uniform looked at me strangely. He probably wasn’t really there anyway. I’d have liked to kick him just to see, but I didn’t want to take the chance.

  Time travel? Saving the world? Had I fallen into a straight-to-DVD release? How could I believe Michael was telling me the truth? It was all so crazy. If I had learned about rips before I experienced one, I wouldn’t have believed it. Lots of unbelievable things happened. Every day. Things like gravity.

  But time travel? Saving the world? At seventeen?

  I pushed open the door to the coffee shop so hard I almost knocked the welcome bell from the doorframe. “Morning,” I mumbled to Lily as I walked past her, reaching greedily for the espresso machine.

  She leaned over to peer into my eyes before saying with a hint of disgust, “You look like something I’d scrape off the bottom of my shoe.”

  “Great, thanks. Not all of us can be naturally gorgeous. I bet you can’t even tell when you have sleepless nights.”

  She shoved me out of the way and took over. “Let’s keep you away from heavy machinery until you get your groove on. Why no sleep?”

  “The list is way too long.” And if I gave it to her, she’d call for the men in white coats. “Let’s just say I’m facing a challenge.”

  “Does it have anything to do with Michael?”

  I grabbed the cup of espresso she offered and threw it back in one scalding, exhilarating moment. After I could feel my tongue again, I held out my cup for a refill and said, “Sort of.”

  “Sort of.”

  “I’m not ready to talk about it.”

  “Hmph.” Lily turned to start ano
ther espresso, and as if the day weren’t already off to a rip-roaring start, an image began to take shape behind her.

  Just beyond the register sat a table full of teenagers in poodle skirts and letter sweaters. I knew they had to be ripples, because Murphy’s Law had slick, modern furniture instead of the leather booth with the Formica table where the couples were seated. They joked with a waitress in a pink nylon dress, a gingham-checked apron tied around her waist.

  Pretty sure that wasn’t the standard uniform.

  “Em? Emerson?” Lily snapped to get my attention. “Where did you go?”

  “The nineteen fifties, if those shoes are any indication.” Saddle oxfords. Really.

  “What?”

  Crap. I’d said that out loud. “Nothing. Just a movie I watched last night. Thinking about it. Sandy and Danny. Beauty School Drop Out. Greased Lightning.”

  “Okay.” Lily looked at me strangely as I sang “Shama Lama Ding Dong” under my breath. “I’m going to go pull some piecrusts out of the freezer. You’ll be all right out here by yourself?”

  I was busy staring at a dude with enough grease in his hair to cook a pan of biscuits.

  “Em?”

  “Yes. Yes. Go ahead.” I nodded serenely as she walked into the kitchen.

  The second she was gone I scrambled to look under the counter. I had to find something long enough to reach the rips so I could make them disappear. No way could I work a whole shift with the entire cast of Grease two feet away from me.

  “Jackpot.”

  I popped up, threw my body across the counter, and proceeded to stick a long-handled rolling pin into all the rips I could reach. It wasn’t easy—they started running once Biscuit Boy went down. Busy rip jousting like Don Quixote fencing windmills, I was too distracted to notice Lily backing into the swinging door from the kitchen while balancing a wide metal tray of piecrusts. A millisecond before she turned around I popped the last rip, slid back across the counter, and chucked the rolling pin over my shoulder.

  “What was that?” Lily almost dropped the doughy circles as she whipped her head toward the noise.