Part 23 (1/2)

”Not until someone tells me exactly what is going on. Right now” She folds her arms across her chest and glares at both of us.

”Or he'll stay this way forever!”

”Actually,” my grandmother interjects in a dry voice, ”it does wear off after a week or two. As I have been so fortunate to discover.”

”You can't still be mad about that,” Aunt Beatrice insists.

”She doesn't have much time,” my grandmother adds.

”Well, I do,” Aunt Beatrice says. She swings the pocket watch from her fingers like a pendulum. I glare at my aunt.

”I used to like you,” I mutter.

”What was that?”

”Nothing!” Then I clench my back teeth while advancing on my aunt.

”If you don't release him, Aunt Beatrice, I swear you'll spend the next week of your life as a statue in your own stupid garden!”My aunt draws herself up, which would be impressive if she weren't considerably shorter than I am.

”Well!” she huffs before stomping over and knocking Gabriel on the head. With a long s.h.i.+ver Gabriel comes to life, looking around wildly before he sees me. I run across the gra.s.s, tripping in my heels, and thud straight into him.

”Umph!” he says into my hair.

”Warn me before you're going to do that again, okay?” But his arms fold me into him and I breathe in his warm skin.

”I'm glad you're okay,” I whisper.

”Me, too. Um ... what just happened?”

”I'll explain later,” I whisper back.

”And why did you touch that stupid thing again? Didn't you learn anything from the last century?”

”Well, you weren't exactly doing anything, Tam. We were standing there like idiots and that guy was about to-”

”Oh, shus.h.!.+” I say, putting my fingers over his mouth. He falls silent, but I get the impression that he's smiling at me.

”We can fight about this later. Now we've got to get out of here” Reluctantly, I disentangle myself and move back. Over my head Gabriel stares at Aunt Beatrice, who is delivering what looks like one hiss of a monologue into my grandmother's ear. I spare a glance for poor Uncle Roberto, still caught motionless with one hand over his heart, as if to stop the pocket watch from traveling out of his grasp.

”Wait for one second,” I say to Gabriel, then walk back to the two women.

”Thank you,” I say softly to my grandmother, who smiles. Aunt Beatrice is gaping at me, but I ignore heras I turn away. Then one last thought tugs at me, so I turn back.

”So why did you name me Tamsin?” I ask.

”You always promised to tell me later. Even though, technically, it's earlier.” My grandmother's smile flickers, deepens.

”It's how you introduced yourself to me tonight. I just a.s.sumed that's what you wanted to be named.”

TWENTY-THREE.

PALE LIGHT sifts through the curtains, filters across the flat gold carpet. My rose dress is tangled in the arms of Gabriel's suit jacket, and for one second I imagine our clothing rising up and waltzing together like we did last night. Last night, which happened seventy-something yearsago. We stumbled back to the present just before midnight, found a guest room where the sheets appeared to be relatively fresh, and fell onto the bed. After I had filled him in on what had happened while he was frozen, we both stared at the ceiling for a while. Finally, Gabriel pulled the white blankets up over our knees, releasing a cloud of dust in the process. After I had finished sneezing and hacking, I turned, curled into his arms, and we slept. Well, he did. I stayed awake most of the night, staring into a blackness that was occasionally punctured by light from the pa.s.sing cars.

”Tamsin,” Gabriel says to me as we're sitting at Aunt Rennie's table, eating the pizza that he picked up. Or at least he's eating it. I'm too busy shredding my pizza crust into shards and then pulverizing the shards into crumbs.

”You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

”You mean intentionally?” With my fingertips I begin sweeping the crumbs into a pile in the center of my plate. But he doesn't even smile, just reaches across the table, his hand forcing my chin up until I meet his eyes.

”I don't know,” I whisper. All last night I had watched him sleep, my fingers laced together so I wouldn't be tempted to touch his face and possibly wake him.

”I'll try not to,” I say, attempting to lighten my tone. My cell phone rings, the word h.e.l.lCRATER flas.h.i.+ng onto the screen in stark black letters. I swallow against the sudden stab of pain in my throat. This morning, when I'd asked Gabriel to locate my parents, he had closed his eyes for barely a second and then said, ”They're home” Relief had swept through me. But right now I don't have the energy to lie to my mother about why I'm back in the city. When at last the phone goes silent, Gabriel says, ”Whatever you're thinking, you-”The house phone shatters the rest of what he was going to say. I jump, my elbow jarring my plate across the table. I glance at the yellow phone shrilling imperiously on thekitchen wall. It seems my mother won't be denied. On stiff legs I walk into the kitchen.

”h.e.l.lo?”

”Tamsin” Clear as ice water, his voice pours into my head.

”Mr. Knight,” I say. There's a low chuckle.

”I a.s.sume you have something for me?”

”Maybe,” I hedge as Gabriel pushes back his chair with what I feel is an unnecessarily loud sc.r.a.pe. A measured pause, and then Alistair says, ”Don't play games, Tamsin. You won't like the results.” I swallow.

”How's my sister?” He ignores this.

”When?”

”Tonight,” I say slowly, my eyes fixated on the ridiculously cheerful kitchen wallpaper. Red cherries and round pink strawberries dance in loose columns.

”Eleven forty-five.”

”Where?”

”Let's meet at Grand Central Station. By the information kiosk” I reach one hand out to touch a cherry. It blurs and runs through my fingers. A small, sharp silence pokes at the connection between us and then I hear Alistair draw in a breath.

”Very well,” he says, satisfaction br.i.m.m.i.n.g in his voice.

”Put my sister on,” I say softly.

”Would it really do you any good?” he asks almost gently, and then the dial tone is buzzing in my ear. I slam down the receiver and then I slam it down a few more times. I start bas.h.i.+ng it against the cherries and strawberries, vaguely aware that Gabriel is trying to wrench it from my fingers. Finally, he squeezes my wrist until my hand opens and I drop the receiver for good, letting it crash against the tile floor.

”I'm okay,” I say into Gabriel's shoulder, my words m.u.f.fled in his s.h.i.+rt. His hand cradles the back of my head.

”Yeah,” he says, sounding entirely unconvinced. At a quarter to midnight, Grand Central is a very different place than in the daytime. Only a few people rush through the great marble hall, heading toward train platforms or following the signs marked subway. All the ticket booths are closed except for one, behind which a sleepy-looking woman eyes us briefly before going back to her magazine. My eyes wander upward and I let them rest for an instant on the beauty of the gold-worked constellations hanging in the blue domed ceiling.

Then I look back down at the four-sided bronze clock that presides over the Main Concourse, its stately faces like unblinking eyes that keep watch in each direction. As expected, the information kiosk is closed for the night. But still a girl waits there, wearing a torn and tattered black dress, her hair falling across her shoulders like a whisper. As I near her, I can't help but wince.