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  “The bomb squad?”

  “I know that the bomb is from the future; Monroe’s right that it has to be. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn how to stay calm. How to breathe, how to look at bombs and learn from them, even if I don’t understand the wiring. I figured you could use the help.” Then he rushed through: “And I’ll still look for Ana.”

  So he hadn’t been lying, really. She believed he would look for Ana. Believed he wouldn’t try to change big events. But he hadn’t told her the full truth. And why not, when she’d taken his side?

  She let him walk now, releasing his shoulder. They got to the subway, took it up to where she and Monroe would live, twenty-seven years from now. But she couldn’t reply, couldn’t smile as if all was well. He’d lied, and why would he start like that? Couldn’t he see how many liars she’d dealt with already?

  Leanor hadn’t explained that she’d invented the astrolabe to stop Ana. Ana hadn’t told them that she was the bomber. Even Paris had never explained why he would take Charlie if they took too long. Why add to that list?

  But she couldn’t stop him either. It was a good idea. Ana knew they were after her and her bombs, so surely she’d reinvent them, change the schematics. Charlotte could do with all the help she could get, especially since Leanor wouldn’t come. Charlotte may have known tech, but that hadn’t kept her heart from pounding at the top of the Octagon.

  They scaled the steps of the subway station just a few blocks from Monroe’s apartment, and there Charlotte allowed herself to slow down. To ask the only thing she could think to ask: “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Bill lifted his hands, his shoulders, then dropped them.

  But her question demanded more from her than from Bill. Why hadn’t she shown Felix and Monroe the truth of the astrolabe until now? Why hadn’t she told Felix about the timeline she came from? So many things left unsaid, because of the feared response. Fearing Felix and Monroe wouldn’t understand unless it was perfect. Fearing that Felix would leave her for good, that she’d never see Charlie, even if he was in the same time as her.

  “You thought I’d stop you,” she filled in. “But you’re right. This is a smart plan. But just …” She looked around the street. At the old buses before they were updated into Hybrids. At the bodega nearby with its tattered sign. At the trash littering the street corner. “Just don’t be stupid.”

  “I won’t,” he said, but too fast.

  She reached an arm out and clutched his wrist. “Don’t visit tragedies that you think you can stand—you know you can’t. Don’t do anything you shouldn’t know how to do. And don’t …” She swallowed. Monroe had talked about his parents, about their parents too. “Don’t go see my dad. Don’t visit Monroe and I. Don’t change anything about our lives, even if you think it’d be in a good way. Our parents, what happened to us, Monroe and I are better off not knowing, okay?”

  He circled his wrist around and grabbed hers. A strange handshake, each holding onto the others’ wrist. “I won’t. Our history is what makes us us. I’d never change mine. I won’t change yours.”

  Charlotte stared into his pale green eyes, first the left, then the right. Once again, she believed him. Better still, this time he didn’t seem to be leaving anything out. “I trust you,” she said.

  “Then I’ll take you home,” he said, holding out the astrolabe. He spun the stars until he found the moment they’d left. When he released his grip, time swam forward. Twenty-seven years, a few of which Charlotte was sure Bill would live through. But he’d be back before then. Back before his time caught up with theirs.

  “Listen,” she said, breaking apart from him. “Don’t forget us,” she said. “We’re here, waiting for you. Don’t forget me, don’t forget the bombs, and don’t forget …” She glanced up to the darkened window of Monroe’s room.

  “I couldn’t possibly,” Bill said. He stepped back, nodded, and with a fumble of his fingers, disappeared in a flash. So long as everything went well, he’d be back in a second, with a sighting of Ana. At the very least, he’d be back. Right about now? Now?

  But soon Charlotte had to turn, scale the steps. He’d be back, she knew it, but it had to be like when she, Bill, and Monroe took their first trip. Bill would return to this time, just somewhere else. He had to commute up.

  In the meantime, Charlotte would wait, her stomach in her throat.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHANGES

  JUNE 24, 2023

  Charlotte fit the key into Monroe’s—and hers now—apartment and climbed the stairs. It was weird not to release her purse from her shoulder. Weirder still that Monroe didn’t bounce out of his room to greet her.

  Maybe he was sleeping. Probably he was stewing. Lying in the bed, talking quietly to himself as he had when they were kids. Tomorrow she’d have to suffer through another argument.

  She took a beer from the fridge and gulped it down, finishing it off before she realized it was even halfway empty. Bill wouldn’t be reckless; he couldn’t be. There was too much at stake. But she’d never know unless he confessed it. Securely in the timeline she was born to, she’d never notice if the World Trade Center was resurrected. If World War II never happened.

  He wouldn’t do that.

  He’d come back soon. He’d be there, behind the door. His big hands would turn the knob, swing it wide, and she’d see that grin buried in his dark beard. His eyes would glitter as he eased into the chair opposite her.

  Charlotte pulled out another beer and tried to pace her drinking. If she finished this beer, she’d just pull out another. And another. No, she took tiny swallows, tasting the hoppy beer on her tongue before swallowing it down. Still, the bottle emptied. Only two swallows left. Only one.

  There were feet on the stairs outside. Heavy, deliberate steps, like her Dad coming home after a long day. The doorknob turned, the door swung wide, revealing a bald man grinning behind it. “Hey Char.”

  “Hey!” Charlotte leaped from the table. Only a mustache remained of his beard, and he now wore wire glasses, but before Charlotte could take note of any other changes, Bill’s arms were around her. Squeezing tight.

  She searched her memory as he hugged her. Nothing seemed changed, though it really wouldn’t. Instead, she sought out the big moments. Learning about the Lusitania. Experiencing 9/11 and the Blast. Meeting Dad at that playground. All still there. All intact.

  Relief swelled inside, and she closed her eyes. She squeezed Bill back. “God, I know it’s only been a few minutes, but it feels like months. You didn’t change anything.”

  “Barely anything,” he said, and she heard something different in his voice. Not his usual confidence that would crash through anyone’s beliefs. Beneath his confidence was a respect, a sincerity that she hadn’t heard before. He stepped back, surveying the apartment, the couch, her. “And this place, you look the same.”

  Charlotte took her own turn at surveying him. More had changed than just a simple shave, a set of glasses. “How long has it been?” His wide stomach was gone. Muscles bulged from his arms and chest. He held himself straighter. Even his gleaming green eyes showed that he’d grown not just older on his trip, but more mature.

  “I dunno,” he said, scratching his bare chin where he once tugged at a beard. “Four years their time. I got to see Y2K. But I jumped around a lot. Could’ve been a lot more or a little less.” He scratched his skull, his biceps bulging with the movement. “I brought money to pay you back.” From a bowling-ball bag strapped over his chest, he handed her a thick roll of cash, much larger than the five hundred she’d provided.

  “God, you look great,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of him. He was so different, but his light eyes sparkled the way they always did. And his cheeks were still a little plump, a sign of who he was before. But the more she looked, the more it worried her.

  Four years.

  It could only have been that long if he’d failed. Day after day, searching through history, never finding Ana. Or had
he, over all that time, forgotten his plan was more than getting a job on the bomb squad?

  “And Ana?” She couldn’t help herself. That was what had sold her on his plan. That was what Monroe would respond to.

  Bill exhaled, shaking his head, but his shoulders didn’t drop. He wasn’t as disappointed as Charlotte felt. “Nothing. I searched everywhere. Every time I could think. And when I ran out of historical events, I searched randomly. Nothing. She has to be there, but I couldn’t find her.” Again he shook his head.

  What was next, then? Accepting Monroe’s hazardous plan of visiting the future? Coming up with something new? Bill had had years to look and found nothing, how could they find another path?

  “And the other thing?” Charlotte asked. “The bomb squad?”

  One side of Bill’s lips tugged upward. “That, at least, was a success. I know a little tech, but I have all these tactics now. Containing and setting off one that’s impossible to defuse. And timed ones with little left on the clock?” His forehead wrinkled upward. “Well, that’s called ‘slash-and-grab.’ Pull wires, hope for the best.”

  Basically what she’d done with Ana’s first bomb.

  “And now Paris won’t stand a chance against us,” Bill said. He flexed his muscles. “Next time he shows his face, we’ll take him down, you and me.”

  Charlotte nodded. Of course, they had no idea what tricks Paris had up his sleeve. He was from the future; there were probably ways of hurting them that they couldn’t conceive. But now Bill had been traveling for years, too.

  “I can’t get over it,” she said. “You look so different.”

  Bill smiled, a little sadness buried within, as he set down his bowling-ball bag. He pulled her leather purse from it and set the astrolabe inside. “Here you go, back as you had it, none the worse for wear.” He handed it over, his hand remaining in the air as she accepted it. “Listen, Charlotte. Thank you for trusting me. For letting me take a risk, to search for Ana on my own, to join the bomb squad. It means a lot.”

  “It was a good plan,” Charlotte said, but she couldn’t match his enthusiastic tone. “I just wish it had worked. I need some sleep,” she told him, setting her bag beside the couch. She could tell, in his eyes, that he’d expected her to rush off on the next adventure, but she was tapped of ideas. Maybe Monroe had it right.

  She turned to the hallway, a yawn on her lips. But she paused. Turned and finished her yawn. “Give Monroe some time, okay?” she said. “You’ve had years to get past tonight, but for us, we’ve barely had a moment to breathe since all this started.”

  Bill’s mustache cocked to one side. He gazed at her, then at last nodded. He sat on the couch, plumping up a pillow before lying down. She hadn’t meant to ruin his good mood, to take back all he’d gained. But he needed to be reminded that time hadn’t moved an inch since he’d left.

  “I should warn you”—she said, wanting to do her part to end this better—“Monroe has a thing for mustaches.”

  Now Bill’s smile returned, wider than ever. “Good,” he said. “I really can’t wait to see him.”

  Both of them might have failed, but maybe something good could come out of this.

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  But when Charlotte awoke the next morning, Monroe was gone. She stepped from her room—so odd to once again have a room in Monroe’s apartment—and found Bill still laying on the couch. Irritation bled out from him like fumes. “He didn’t even see me.”

  Bill explained how Monroe had exited his room like a hurricane, holding a finger up toward the couch. “Don’t say a word,” Monroe had said. “I’m going to research, like I’m good at.” And then he was through the door. Completely missing the man that Bill had become.

  “He’ll be back,” Charlotte assured Bill. “And who knows? Maybe he’ll see something that we couldn’t.” If only he’d stayed a little longer, Charlotte and Bill would have told him how they failed. She would have admitted that maybe he had a point. Maybe the future—no matter how dangerous—could help them.

  It’s not like they had any other leads.

  The morning passed, then lunchtime, and still Monroe didn’t appear. Charlotte’s heart hammered louder with every ticking second. Paris had given her a chance to speak with Leanor, time for Bill to explore the past, but when would his patience run out? It felt wrong, waiting in the apartment, cleaning every speck of dirt she found, hoping that the other shoe wouldn’t drop today.

  She called Felix, chatted with him and Charlie while watching the clock. Assuring him they’d be ready to go soon. She couldn’t express how glad she was that Charlie was still safe.

  A little after three, the door clicked, and Monroe stepped in. His eyes told it all, gleaming like a lighthouse beacon in a fog.

  He’d found something.

  Before Charlotte could ask, Bill was up from the couch, across the room, and squeezing Monroe in his arms. “’Roe! God, it’s good to see you.”

  Monroe frowned, but returned the hug. Maybe this day had been good for more than just research. Maybe a day away from Bill had done the same work for Monroe that four years had for Bill.

  Then Monroe’s jaw clenched. Charlotte wondered whether the gleam in his eyes wasn’t about finding something. Wondered whether it was a warning. A lighthouse beacon had been more accurate than she’d realized. Monroe dropped his arms. “I guess you were …” he began, stepping back. He froze. Stared at Bill’s face, his stomach, his pecs. “Hello, Daddy.” Monroe whistled.

  “Toldja,” Charlotte said.

  Again Monroe shook himself. That warning gleam in his eye returned. “So, how’d your trips go?”

  Bill wrinkled his forehead, lifted his hands. “Neither of us found a thing.”

  Charlotte nodded, needing to get this out of the way. “I got her phone, but …” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “How about you? Anything?”

  The corners of Monroe’s mouth curled upward. A devilish smile. “You got her phone, but what, didn’t talk to her?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “She jumped away right as I got inside.”

  “Got inside?” Monroe repeated. “What, she wouldn’t let you in? You had to break in?”

  Charlotte’s cheeks reddened. She hadn’t broken in; she’d had a key. But the police had come. She attempted a shrug and stepped to the refrigerator for some cheese.

  “It’s interesting,” Monroe said, “because the night you originally called her, someone did just that.” Charlotte froze, watching Monroe pull a stack of printouts from his satchel. He handed one of the pages to Bill. “It seems that there was a disturbance. Someone yelling a lot. But when security got there, all they found was an unlocked door and an empty apartment. They checked the security feeds from the lobby, but couldn’t seem to find how the intruder got away. Odd, right?”

  The gleam was a warning. Charlotte slammed the refrigerator; the bottles inside rattled together. “Look, ’Roe, I—”

  “So much for being discreet.”

  “She wouldn’t let me in!” Charlotte said, glancing to Bill for help. She’d failed, wasn’t that enough for Monroe? Why did he have to rub it in? “She was our only lead. Was I supposed to let her go? Let her vanish without ever talking to me? So, yeah, I let myself in. I jumped back in time to exchange a few unhelpful words. You think I don’t know I did something dangerous?”

  More softly now, Monroe said, “It’s fine, Char. I’m teasing. It’s just so you. Bursting in without thought. Couldn’t you have gone in before you called? Told her what to say? Had an actual conversation?”

  But Charlotte wouldn’t let Monroe’s tone change her frustration. Paris could be on the way, and Monroe was enjoying the fact that she’d failed. “She fled, ’Roe. Scared of Paris. Of Ana, too, I think. Can you blame her? I’d run too.”

  “Huh,” Monroe said in a quiet voice. His triumph seemed to fade. But then he turned to Bill—the man who was so excited to see him. “What about you? Nothing?�
� God, what did he have in store?

  Bill shook his head.

  “Yeah,” Monroe replied. “As much as I searched, I couldn’t find anything that looked like a suspicious woman hanging around at the Blast sites. Not even a conspiracy theory. But”—he set the remaining stack of printouts on the kitchen table—“there were plenty of theories about a conspicuous man.” The first image showed a portrait of Bill standing in the background of some party. Monroe leaned in toward Bill. “How’d you get an invite to Truman Capote’s party at the Plaza? Did you just sneak in?”

  “I …” Bill began, but as he flipped through the pages, the words dried up in his mouth. “Holy shit,” was all he could say. He said it over and over. “I … Holy shit.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  Charlotte tugged some pages over and flipped through, too. Every single image showed Bill. Outside some random building. Almost hidden by a morning fog. Loitering behind tourists on Liberty Island.

  “Jeez, I … Holy shit.” Bill kept flipping through, his face growing whiter with every image. “I didn’t think,” he finally managed to say.

  Charlotte couldn’t take Monroe’s smug fucking smile. “You printed all these out? How much did this cost, ’Roe? And for what? To prove some point? We already know we failed.”

  “No.” Monroe spread his hands in defense. But he didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have a better reason.

  “You’re stuck on last night, stuck on the fact that yes, the future is dangerous. Yes, I took Bill’s side. You know what? I would again. Because his idea was smart, was well thought out. Yours had so many risks, and you didn’t even acknowledge them! And now look, you’ve wasted an entire day, researching everything we already knew.” Who knew how many days they had to waste?

  “I thought it’d be funny,” Monroe tried, but he didn’t sound convinced.