Part 18 (1/2)
”Whatever happens ... if we don't come back ... I want you to burn the book.”
”What?”
”If we don't come-”
”You're coming back!”
”Burn it if we don't. I'd rather it burn than fall into the wrong hands.”
”Has Rowena read it?”
”Not since ... not since that time that I stopped her. So I don't know how much she knows. There are some things she doesn't know. There's that at least,” my mother adds, almost speaking to herself.
”But she will have told him about you. He knows ... what you can do” Then she presses her lips to my forehead and blurs out of existence. Running to the window, I am just in time to see her materialize in the driveway next to our brown station wagon that rarely leaves the barn. My father is already at the wheel and he lifts a hand through the driver's side window, waving in the general direction of the house as if he knows we're all watching from various viewpoints. I press my hand against the window, my fingertips coming to rest on the fine crack in the gla.s.s that's been there for years. I swallow the urge to call out after them, knowing they won't listen anyway. My father eases the car into a three-point turn, the tires dipping into potholes here and there, and then the station wagon chugs away, its taillights winking red in the dark.
”Now what?” Gabriel says, sprawled on my bed, watching me smoke another cigarette down to the filter. I flick the b.u.t.t through a hole in the screen, imagining too late my father's horrified face if he could see it land on his precious flower beds below. Then I wonder if I'll ever see him again, horrified or not. This is the kind of thinking that has led me to chain-smoke for the past half hour.
”I don't know,” I say, beginning to pace. Pacing and chain smoking together is making me dizzy so I'm trying to do each in turn.
”How long have they been gone?”
”Since you last asked me? Two hours and now six minutes” He takes a swig from the gla.s.s of water he's holding and the cords in his throat flicker briefly.
”So let me get this straight” Gabriel has been saying that a lot tonight since I told him everything that I learned in the library with my parents.
”Supposedly, we messed everything up by Traveling back to 1899 to get the clock.”
”Maybe not everything, but enough. I guess enough of the power leaked out to allow Alistair to use whatever he needed to on Rowena.” A small trickle of flame twirls from my fingers. The edge of my bed sheet begins to burn.
”s.h.i.+t,” Gabriel says and dumps the remainder of his water onto the flame. With a hiss the water extinguishes the fire, but the smell of scorched fabric fills the air.
”Pyro, can you stop doing that? Please?”
”Sorry. But it's not like I've had nine years to learn how to control this.” Gabriel doesn't comment on that. Instead, he sets the empty gla.s.s back onto my dresser, then asks, ”So why can't we just Travel back to the time right before that and not go for the clock?” I shake my head but keep pacing.
”Because from the very little that they explained to me about Traveling, every time we do it, we unravel some sort of thread in the whole ... freaking pattern.
Whatever that means. And plus we can't go back to a time when we could encounter ourselves again. It seems it's not possible to return to a time where we already exist-the theory being that matter is neither created nor destroyed but only changed. So we can't add to us by having a double us. Apparently, that would be very, very bad.”
”I don't know,” Gabriel says contemplatively.
”Two of you? Gould be kind of kinky.”
”Please!” I stop my pacing, glare at him.
”Is that all you can think about at a time like this?” Gabriel rolls up on one elbow and smiles at me.
”I'm a guy. It's what I think about all the time. But uh ... some thoughts I should just keep to myself, right?”
”Yes!”I resume pacing and Gabriel resumes being silent, thinking whatever he's thinking until he says, ”But what about Aunt Beatrice? I mean, clearly you Traveled then. We did, since she apparently knows me, too. Why did we do that?”
”I've been thinking about that,” I say slowly.
”Because she was a Keeper. She must have been, Gabriel.” Abruptly, I sit down on the bed.
”And we tried to take the clock from her?”
”I don't think it's a clock anymore,” I muse.
”It changes every time the Keeper changes. That's what my parents told me.
And no one gets to know the ident.i.ty of the Keeper. That's what makes it safe.
So we must have tried to take it from her.” Gabriel flexes his hand ruefully.
”We tried that again? Why were we so stupid?”
”We must have thought it was a good idea at the time. I don't know what made us think that.”
”Or what will make us think that,” Gabriel says softly after a moment.
”Who knows. Maybe we won't now. According to my mother, the future is written in water.”
”I doubt it,” Gabriel interjects.
”Not about the future being written in water. Everyone knows that.”
”I didn't-”
”Tamsin ... you're not that ignorant. I mean, you must have attended some rituals around here. Enough to know the corresponding elements.” I wave my hand as if to swat away his words.
”Fine, but-”
”Anyway, I meant that I doubt that we're not going to still do it. Because she already remembers it.”
”Ahh! This is making my head spin,” I say, slumping against the headboard. I trace the carving on the bedpost k.n.o.b that I did when I was ten. Rowena sucks.
Gouged out in thin, defiant letters. Suddenly, I think I might start crying.
”Come on,” Gabriel says, standing up and holding out his hand.
”Let's go for a walk. You can smoke another cigarette in the fresh air at least.” I let him pull me to my feet. And then my cell phone hums on my night table like an overgrown bee. I s.n.a.t.c.h it up and sigh.
”It's only Agatha.” I press the talk b.u.t.ton, then hold the phone away from my head. Noise spills out, loud raucous voices and a heavy ba.s.s guitar. Gabriel flexes his hand again, begins moving his fingers in what I can only a.s.sume are air chords. Guys are so strange sometimes.
”h.e.l.lo? Agatha? I can barely hear you,” I shout back at the tiny buzz in my ear.