“Ain’t scared of you, Ma-a-r-tha.” Followed by giggles.
Ghosts. Just ghosts.
Kiernan can see that I’m upset, and he looks a little unsettled himself. “Were you able to . . . ?” he asks.
I nod. “Maybe ten in all. The church, some outside, and also at the well.”
“Good girl,” he says, putting his free arm around me and pulling me close. “I say we get the bikes over the bridge, stash ’em back in the woods, and take a shortcut home.”
“You’ll get no argument here.”
We walk quickly past the church, and I grab my bike from its resting spot against the tree. The music of the armonica, discordant and even more eerie under Martha’s fingers, drifts through the open windows as we push the bikes back to the road. I pull the handle to start the motor before the wheels even leave the grass, to block the sound. I don’t even put my helmet on, just gun the motor and take off down the trail, eager to put as many miles and years as possible between me and God’s Hollow.
∞14∞
Trey is on the bed, propped up on his elbow, staring at the stable point when I return to the townhouse, exactly thirty seconds after I left, as promised. I think there was still some part of his brain that didn’t fully believe all of this is real, because his eyes are wide, his jaw has dropped about an inch, and he looks a little pale.
I probably look a little pale, too. The six hours we spent in 1938 were anticlimactic after God’s Hollow. Kiernan tried to talk me into resting first, but all I could think about was getting the trip over with so that I could get back home. Back here. I’m too tired to give the full report Katherine and Connor will expect the moment I arrive. Trey, on the other hand, said he doesn’t want the details, and right now that’s beyond fine with me.
After a long moment, Trey closes his eyes and shakes his head. Then he reaches out and pulls off the hat and glasses. “You changed your hair.”
“Yeah, well, the gray wasn’t working for me. I like the hat better.”
“So—how long were you gone?”
I give him a tired smile. “Thirty seconds.”
He taps me on the head with the hat and then reaches down to pull me up next to him. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I asked how long were you gone, not how long were you not here.”
“That doesn’t make any sense at all, you know.”
“Kate, none of this makes any sense.”
“Fine. I’ve been gone a little over sixteen hours. I had to make a side trip, and things got crazy.”
“Crazy how?”
I am not going to cry. I’ve done enough of that for one day. So I just bite my lip and look away. The first thing my eyes land on is my ceiling, covered with my own glow-in-the-dark stars. I used to love those things, but now I’m tempted to stand up on the bed and yank every single one of them down.
Trey pulls me in closer, so that my head is on his shoulder, and then tips my chin toward him. “Hey, I was just curious, okay? This isn’t an interrogation. You look wiped out. Do you want me to go so that you can get some sleep?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m tired, and I’ll probably be rotten company, but . . . I really don’t want to be alone. Would you stay? For a little while? Maybe we could put in a movie.”
We go downstairs for drinks, popcorn, and The Princess Bride DVD and then take them back upstairs to my room. We put real butter on the popcorn, which usually means I crunch the unpopped kernels and slide my fingers along the bottom to get the last bit of salty, buttery goodness, but I’m too tired to eat more than a few pieces. The last thing I remember is Buttercup climbing into the harness and wincing as Fezzik begins to lug the three of them up the Cliffs of Insanity.
When I open my eyes, the sky framed in the window above me is a dark blue, with a few faint streaks of dusky orange and purple. My head is on Trey’s chest, and he’s reading my copy of The Fault in Our Stars.
I reach over to the nightstand and grab the soda I was drinking before I conked out. I swish it around my mouth a bit to chase away the dragon breath, then roll to my side and snuggle up against Trey.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
“I’m sorry. How long was I—”
He plants a kiss on the top of my head. “About three hours. And no apologies. I’ve been planning to read this for a while now.”
“You could have gone home.”
“I know. And I’ll definitely have to go in an hour or two, because we have school tomorrow. But right now, I’m hungry.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Aside from a handful of popcorn, the last time I ate was about ten hours ago, before we left for 1938—slightly squished cheese sandwiches and fruit from the picnic basket. But then I noticed the bag of candy was still in there, and I was so angry at myself for forgetting to give it to those kids that I lost my appetite.
“So,” Trey says, “should we call for pizza or Chinese?”
“Mmmm . . . moo goo gai pan and wonton soup. And an eggroll. From Red Dragon. They’re good, and they’re like six blocks away, so it’s really fast.”
An hour later there are empty cartons of comfort food scattered about on the coffee table. We crack the fortune cookies, and Trey learns that a new “wardrope” will bring great joy and change in his life. Mine says that constant grinding can turn an iron “nod” into a needle. Apparently the fortune cookie company needs a better proofreader.
Trey helps me clear off the table, and while I’m rinsing my hands at the sink, he comes up from behind and puts his arms around me. I turn around and give him a long, slow kiss. I could have stayed right there for at least an hour, but he pulls away much sooner than that and leads me back to the couch, where we curl up.
I assume we’re going to pick up where we left off at the sink, but he asks, “So, what happened today?”
“I thought you didn’t want the details.”
“I don’t, but part of that whole open-and-honest-communication thing is sharing how you feel. You don’t have to give me a play-by-play, but I want to know what made you look so sad. Not just now, but every few minutes since you got back. It’s like a cloud passes over your face.”
The truth is I’d really rather not talk about this to anyone right now, not even Trey. In some ways, especially not Trey, because I don’t like the moral choices I’m having to make. Will he look at me differently when he realizes that my decisions are going to result in a bunch of innocent people dying?
But if I don’t talk to him, he’ll think I’m hiding things, and that’s not good either.
“You know the Culling thing I mentioned?”
“Where your grandfather is planning to take out half the planet?”
“Yep, that’s the one. We think Saul did a test run on a little village in Georgia in 1911. Whatever he used, it killed everyone, nearly fifty people in all. The authorities found them sitting in their little church, all very dead, a few weeks after it happened.”
“I thought Saul couldn’t use the key?”
“He can’t. This was when he was younger, back before he destroyed CHRONOS.”
“And you know it was Saul?”
“There’s some pretty strong circumstantial evidence, but no, we aren’t certain yet. That was our first stop today. We set up stable points so Kiernan can monitor various locations around the village. I got to meet a really nice old lady and some kids, who are all going to die in a couple of weeks, along with everyone else in their community. And I could stop it, Trey. I could go back and tell Sister Elba to pack everyone up and leave before Saul comes. I could make her believe me.”
“So . . . why don’t you?”
“Because he’ll find another secluded little town and try again. We’re lucky we found this place—it’s probably our only chance to find out what he’s planning to use for the Culling. I could take extreme measures and shoot him, but that has its own set of complications, since we don’t know for certain that Saul is the only CHRONOS member who was in on the sabotage. There’s a really good possibility that anything we do will change the timeline that results in me being here to stop the Cyrists. Simply put, I can’t do anything that tips him off that someone knows what he’s up to. And that makes me feel guilty and angry and . . .” I press my palms against my eyes and then slide them back, tugging at my hair. “Ugh. All of the choices just suck.”