Skyline Page 11

  “But …”

  None of that mattered. “Shh,” Charlotte said, tugging Bill and Monroe behind a lone cart of luggage. They’d been right to visit historical times first. Across the way, a platinum-haired woman had appeared out of nowhere. “Ana’s here.”

  The two men hazarded a glance, and Charlotte started pushing the cart across the pier, toward the Lusitania, toward Ana. The woman kept looking around, but Charlotte made sure to tuck her head behind the suitcases.

  Her shoulders wide in confidence, Ana pressed open a door on the closed-up side of the pier, light shining in brightly. “Now,” Charlotte said, and shoved the luggage cart away, racing over.

  Charlotte jumped through the crowd, easily crossing the distance. But as she pushed past a woman in a dark purple dress, the woman shouted, “Excuse me, sir!” Charlotte couldn’t be annoyed at being addressed as a man. The shout was loud enough to freeze Ana in place.

  She sneered and activated her device. Stars spattered across the interior of the pier, little trails of smoke rising from a few of the marks as Ana stood still. But she wasn’t waiting; she was watching the stars burn onto the wooden pier. She shoved outside, and let the door fall closed behind her. Before it slammed shut, her silhouette disappeared.

  Still, Charlotte kept running. If Ana had fled outside, if she’d realized her mistake, then that would leave Charlotte no dots to follow through time. If that was true, they’d screwed up more than just this place in history. It’d mean that Paris wouldn’t wait very long before showing up at her apartment.

  Outside the door, Ana wasn’t in the daylight. There weren’t any marks burned onto the pier. Charlotte had lost her.

  “Gone,” Charlotte said, when she heard Monroe and Bill arrive panting behind her.

  “It’s okay,” Monroe said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We can—”

  She spun and gripped his hand. “She’s gone, Monroe! Don’t you fucking get that? What are we gonna do?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” he said, clenching her hand right back. “We’re smart, we’ll figure something out, Charlotte. I’m not going to let that man get Charlie. He’s going to be okay, you hear me? That man, Paris, he has to understand. Has to give us time. Because he’s just as scared of Ana, get that? Otherwise he wouldn’t need us. Right? He wouldn’t need us.”

  “He wouldn’t need us,” she repeated. But why did Paris need them? It wasn’t like when Ana sent them after herself. Paris wouldn’t endure a headache if he took on Ana. And he seemed, somehow, to know how to find them. Couldn’t he find Ana the same way?

  “We’ll figure it out,” Charlotte continued, still parroting Monroe’s words. He was right. They could do this. They had to.

  “Yeah,” Monroe said, “We’ll figure it out.” But Monroe didn’t seem frantic, like her. He wasn’t trying to convince himself that they’d figure it out. If anything, he seemed relaxed, eyes still watching this foreign time. Almost as if he were relieved that they failed.

  That couldn’t be true. He cared about Charlie. Loved Charlie, just as much as the boy loved him. He’d go over and tell stories and …

  It was history. God, she’d thought he was just appreciating it, but this was worse. He wasn’t just spouting history lessons because that was Monroe. He was doing it because it could’ve been the last time anyone cared about Pier Fifty-four. But now that they failed, people would still listen to his stories.

  “Uh, before we go,” Bill said, and Charlotte swiveled to him. What was he clinging to? “What about them?” He gestured toward the door leading back inside. Toward the boat that was headed toward its doom.

  Monroe’s relief vanished; his brow wrinkled downward in an instant. “Jesus Christ, Bill. That’s your worry? Charlie’s in trouble now and—”

  “Don’t,” Charlotte said. She couldn’t be on Monroe’s side after what she just saw. “Don’t act like you’re not thrilled we’ve failed. The Blast remains, people are going to keep loving your history lessons. And Charlie, well …” She shrugged, venom pouring from her eyes.

  They’d failed, and she couldn’t help herself.

  “Char, you know that’s not—”

  “What about them?!” Bill threw a hand out. “A thousand lives, Monroe! Charlotte. A thousand lives about to be lost.”

  “We can’t, Bill. We can’t change this. It’s too much.”

  “Yeah,” Charlotte snapped. “We can’t go changing history.” Charlotte illuminated her astrolabe in an angry motion, the stars glittering around her. “C’mon.”

  “Char,” Monroe said, but placed his hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean Charlie wasn’t—”

  “Let’s go,” Charlotte said. And when Bill placed his hand on her shoulder too, she didn’t let him apologize or defend himself. She released the astrolabe to get a moment’s silence.

  Time progressed, but it was hard to keep interest. Even as the wooden pier vanished and was replaced by a thick metal structure. Even as the metal building evaporated, leaving nothing but a concrete slab behind. When time restarted and they were back on the tour boat, Charlotte didn’t appreciate that the boat hadn’t moved.

  They’d fucked up. They’d lost Ana.

  “It’s just—” Monroe began.

  “Save it,” Bill replied. He stormed off the boat, onto the pier, and away into Manhattan. Charlotte couldn’t focus on that. His absence wasn’t what mattered right now. It was Ana’s.

  “We lost her, Monroe,” Charlotte scolded. “That’s all that matters.”

  Now, despite her best intentions, Charlie wasn’t safe.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHARLOTTE AND FELIX

  JUNE 23, 2023

  Charlotte’s MetroCard still got her into the subway. Her credit cards still let her buy a light snack on her way home. Her building looked as austere as ever, stone reaching up ten floors into the dark sky. Even the doorman recognized her, tilting his hat up as she entered. “Evening Ms. Osqui,” he said. “Lemme ring Felix, and then I’ll send you up.”

  Charlotte froze, realization dawning. Of course she didn’t live here anymore. “Oh, Harold, it’s …” But it wasn’t okay. “It’s no bother,” Charlotte said, stepping back toward the revolving door. She attempted a smile. “I guess I was just on autopilot from before.” How long had it been since their divorce?

  “You sure? I don’t mind.” Grinning beneath his white mustache, he lifted a beige phone to his ear and held a finger in front of a button.

  Charlotte waved the idea away. “It’s fine. I’ll see him tomorrow for lunch.”

  Harold nodded, dropping the phone back on its holster. “You have a good evening.” He waved as she crossed over what had once been her threshold. All the way home, she’d imagined her bed, waiting to embrace and fold her into sleep.

  Where could she sleep now?

  “Hey,” she heard. Monroe, standing a few feet away eating an ice-cream cone. “I was in the store after I dropped you off and realized.” He lifted his eyebrows. “You want to come sleep at my place?”

  She crushed him in a hug, felt him awkwardly place an ice-cream-cone-filled hand against her back. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “You probably live there anyway,” Monroe said. “Maybe you moved back in, eh?”

  “Maybe,” Charlotte said, but she couldn’t match his enthusiasm. Even if that were true, even if Monroe’s apartment had shifted to contain all of her old electronics—a television undone and its parts scattered across the wall, light switches for everything, and floor lights that would turn on at any nighttime stroll—it wouldn’t be her home. Charlie wouldn’t be there. Felix wouldn’t throw an arm over her side when she sneaked in late. All the books Leanor had given her for research couldn’t possibly have been purchased.

  All the way home, she’d wanted to believe it was only Felix who had been changed, but it was everything. She felt like an out-of-place relic. A museum piece about to be trashed. A discontinued, child-unsafe toy.

  The next f
ew blocks passed in a fog that Charlotte couldn’t see through. She was too stuck inside her own brain, in that old world before all of this had begun. Leanor sitting at the table, comforting her. Everything was going to be okay. She was going to reconnect with her family after too many late nights at work. Now here Charlotte was, following Monroe into his apartment building, up the stairs, and through his door and everything was wrong.

  Yes, the inside was clearly hers. “See?” Monroe said, turning with a smile. “Just like before, we get to live together.” But she couldn’t see the silver lining in her old electronics. She didn’t want to go back in time this far. Just a few hours ago, before all of it began, and tell herself to be careful. To cling hard to everything she loved.

  As if responding to her mood, a storm rolled in that night. The thunder rumbled outside, rain spattering against the poorly insulated window. She was exhausted, had crammed hours into minutes, dealt with severe blows both physically and mentally. But she couldn’t sleep.

  She had no plan.

  How could she stop Ana? The woman would certainly avoid historically important dates now that she’d been found twice.

  How could Charlotte protect Charlie from Paris? The man appeared according to his whim, fully in control of not only time, but the location of every person.

  And Felix. How could she reconnect with him now?

  Bill’s words from outside the Octagon came to her. How could they do the impossible? Stop Ana, protect Charlie, win back Felix? “We try,” she murmured to herself.

  It wasn’t much, but clinging to those two words, Charlotte could at last fall into a dreamless sleep.

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  As if all of this were simply a mechanical issue, Charlotte awoke as she did on her best mornings: she had a plan, a way to keep Charlie safe from both shifting time and the threat of the blue-haired man. Despite the dark morning, she felt inspired. All she had to do was what she should’ve done initially.

  Tell Felix everything.

  Then she wouldn’t be torn. She wouldn’t foolishly bump into someone and alert Ana, she wouldn’t freeze over a bomb, terrified of the consequences. If she told Felix, he could be Charlie’s chaperone in time, keeping him safe. That way Charlotte could focus on the bombs instead of her fears over a changed present day.

  She exited her room, a spring in her step, to find Monroe seated at a tall table in the corner, slowly dragging a comb through his long hair. Deep circles rested under his eyes, his shirt was wrinkled, and a bow tie dangled from his neck.

  “’Roe? Did you sleep?”

  His gaze drifted up toward her. “Bill didn’t come home.”

  Right. More was at risk than just her family. But Charlotte doubted Bill could stay away from Monroe longer than a single night. “He will. He probably just had to figure things out.”

  “Sure.”

  Charlotte snagged his mug and refilled it with coffee before settling across from him with one of her own. Outside the kitchen window, trucks sped along the streets, splashing water onto pedestrians who were too close to the curb. The sidewalk was almost blotted out by the sea of black umbrellas, everyone rushing to work. “Has he never disappeared like this?” Charlotte asked.

  They’d been together a year, but she had no idea. Paris could be on his way, but she needed Monroe as much as she needed Felix.

  He snorted, shaking his head. “A few times.” He peered at her. “Do you think he’s right?”

  Charlotte couldn’t meet Monroe’s eyes. “I think …” She sighed. “I think someday Bill’s going to learn that not everything is so black and white. Saving lives is dangerous.” She’d lost Felix that way. “One day he’ll see that.”

  When Charlotte looked back over, Monroe was nodding to himself. Again and again, like he wanted to believe her words, but couldn’t. “Listen.” She snaked a hand over to his. “I’m going to see Felix and Charlie today. Going to take them on the trip I should’ve before we went to World Trade.” She breathed in. Out. “I want Charlie to meet Dad.”

  Monroe shivered. “Dad? Char, that’s—”

  “I know. But if we go during his last week, he won’t get too confused. He’ll be out of it, but Charlie will get to see his white grandpa.” Despite everything, a smile flickered on Charlotte’s lips.

  Monroe gulped. “And you’re not worried about Paris? You could be leading him right to Charlie.”

  Charlotte exhaled. “I don’t have a choice, ’Roe. Felix wanted to meet for lunch, and the only way to protect Charlie is to have him with us. I need Felix onboard; I need Charlie to understand.”

  “Gotcha,” Monroe said, his gaze back outside. “Have fun.”

  Swallowing a gulp of coffee, Charlotte watched him. He couldn’t honestly be pissed that she was going to see her family. Bill was still in the city. Bill still remembered everything they’d done together. But instead of saying any of that, she tried, “Do you want to come?”

  A shudder ran along Monroe’s arm, spilling a drop of coffee on the table. “No way. I hate remembering Dad like that.”

  She nodded, even though he wasn’t looking. There was no way to jolt him out of his mood. “Bill will be back,” she told him. No way could that man give up real science fiction.

  Monroe didn’t reply, still watching the falling rain.

  “I’ll send Dad your love,” Charlotte replied, grabbing her purse, her umbrella, and heading out the door.

  Outside, there was no man with blue hair tapping his foot, grinning from beneath an umbrella. For whatever reason, Paris was letting her figure this out. But she shouldn’t take longer than necessary. In an alley where the superintendent stored trash, Charlotte spun herself forward a few hours.

  In the sudden downfall, Charlotte struggled to open her umbrella. The storm was only just beginning. But underneath her umbrella, the astrolabe would stay dry enough. They’d only be in this rain a few minutes.

  Waiting underneath the green awning—several blocks south—were her men. Charlie was stamping the puddles beyond the awning. Felix was splitting his attention between the boy and the northern end of the block, his arms crossed. His exact stance when he was ready to pick a fight. But when Charlotte lifted a hand, his rosy brown cheeks pulled upward in a smile.

  “Thank you for being on time,” he said, holding his arms out. She couldn’t help but accept his hug, but she didn’t close her eyes and pretend that all was well. His brief squeeze was enough of a reminder that nothing had been mended yet.

  “O-of course,” she stammered. Was he mad about yesterday night or not? “I hope you didn’t make reservations. I, uh”—she felt Charlie’s arms around her leg, and she rubbed his soft curls—“I wanted to take you two somewhere.” She knelt and touched Charlie’s chin; he grinned, blushing at the attention. Like she was a stranger. “Does that sound good?”

  Charlie nodded, but when Charlotte looked up, she saw Felix’s dark look. “Not any Blast site, I hope.” He glanced down and said in a hushed tone, “Charlie doesn’t really like them. You know that.”

  His tone said the same thing as his arms, crossed once more. Felix was ready to fight. But she didn’t know Charlie didn’t like Blast sites. She’d never fought with Felix about that. Hell, she’d only argued with this Felix once.

  “I know.” She shook her head. “Not to a Blast site, I promise.” She had to get him to see she wasn’t going to fight.

  Felix bit his lip, considering her unknown destination. Charlotte looked down and saw Charlie’s backpack clutched between his hands. He’d planned something else for today. More than an argument of words.

  “Trust me, Felix. This is what I’ve been wanting to show you for years.”

  That jolted him from his distant look. His gaze locked onto hers. “The astrolabe.”

  She nodded; Felix’s grip on Charlie’s backpack loosened.

  He offered the backpack to the boy, asking, “How does that sound, bud? Ready to see what Mom’s been working on?
”

  The boy slung the backpack over his shoulders and slid his hand into Charlotte’s. “He’s gonna love it, Mommy!”

  Charlotte gasped. Charlie knew. He knew, but she’d never told him. She’d never been able to see that look of awe in his deep brown eyes. Perhaps this was why Paris hadn’t arrived to steal him. So she could see how lost Charlie already was.

  No, he was here. Charlotte blinked away the tears. This was the whole point of today. Reclaiming Charlie and Felix. Folding them back into her life. After today, she’d never miss another moment.

  “Where to?” Felix asked as she led him back to Seventy-seventh Street. They walked along the street until she found a little alcove, just out of sight from passers-by. Barely protected from the rain. “Not your lab?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “It’s ready,” she said. Why had she ever delayed this moment? She handed Felix her umbrella and lifted the glass astrolabe from her bag. The reflected sky made the glass seem cloudy and dark.

  “Wow, Charlotte,” Felix said, leaning down to peer in. But his voice wasn’t quite as awestruck as Monroe’s and Bill’s had been. This, after all, was the device that had distanced them. And instead of just for a year, as in her timeline, with this Felix it had taken three years. The astrolabe was probably responsible for their divorce.

  “Just wait,” she said. He’d see that it was worth it. See what had kept her away. With a twist of fingers, she turned the device on and the lines of light shot out. The rain caught the light, glittering around them in an omnipresent sphere.

  “Charlotte,” Felix whispered, his jaw slack, his eyes darting here, there, as their surroundings shimmered.

  Warmth rushed through Charlotte. This was all she wanted. Maybe it would be okay that she’d waited. She twisted the lights, the display below shifting backward to the week before Dad died. Six years ago, Charlie hadn’t been born, she and Felix were only just married. Six years ago, her father was about to die, murmuring about never seeing a grandchild.