: Broken Glass

“Me? A spy?” Beth said to Tesla. “I’m still in elementary school.”

Latimer said, “Really, Nikola, you’re taking this too far. She’s only a child.”

Tesla merely scowled. He scooped the patent papers off the counter. He turned, opened the door, and left the offices of Hammer and Schwarz. The door slammed behind him.

The pretty stained glass in the door shook loose. It fell to the floor and shattered.

Beth bent to clean it up.

“Don’t do that,” Latimer said. “I’ll sweep up the shards. You follow Mr. Tesla. He needs someone with him when he’s angry.”

Beth nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Latimer,” she said. “You’re kind.”

Beth was careful to step around the glass. Then she hurried out the door to find Tesla.

She looked up and down the sidewalk for the unhappy inventor. She spotted him already a block away. It looked as if he was headed back to the Hotel Marguery.

Tesla walked at a fast pace. The patent papers were rolled up under one arm.

This time he hadn’t opened and closed the law office door three times. And now he didn’t stop to feed the pigeons. He didn’t hide from women wearing pearls.

Beth had to jog to catch up with him. Her shoes hammered the sidewalk. Leaves crunched as she ran. She was fuming. I am not a spy. I am not a spy, she thought. She wondered if Tesla would ever help them fix the Imagination Station now. Perhaps her trip here would end in failure.

She looked at the skyline. She could see the Hotel Marguery up ahead.

A streetcar passed through the intersection in front of them. Tesla paused at the crosswalk at Forty-Eighth Street and Park Avenue. The white pigeon flew down and landed on his shoulder.

Beth caught up with the inventor at the curb. She still felt angry that he thought she was a spy.

“Why won’t you trust me?” Beth asked him. “I’m not going to steal your ideas. I can’t even read the long words in the patents you’re carrying. And I haven’t seen Mr. Whittaker in years.”

It wasn’t an outright lie. But it felt like a half truth. She added, “I mean, I haven’t seen him for years in your time.”

Tesla looked down at her. His piercing, dark eyes seemed to see into her soul.

“My time?” he asked. He held up two fingers. “So there are two times—mine and yours?”

Beth didn’t answer. But her eyes grew round with panic. She’d said too much.

Suddenly the scientist smiled. “He did it!”

“Who did what?” Beth asked.

“John Avery Whittaker built a time machine,” he said. “I thought he was a madman. But he did it!”

Tesla was practically tap-dancing with joy. He raised his arms into the air. “Whittaker did it!” he shouted and spun around. The movement frightened the pigeon. It flew away.

Beth said quietly, “It’s not exactly a time machine. We call it the Imagination Station.”

But the scientist didn’t seem to hear her.

“That’s what that voice meant in the machine! You wanted to prevent me from using this Imagination Station to travel through time, didn’t you?” Tesla gave Beth a piercing glance.

“Not exactly,” she said, unsure of how to explain.

“Quickly!” Tesla said. “We have to get to the roof of the Hotel Marguery. I must learn how the time machine works. Then I can turn in a patent! I’ll do it before Edison and Ford even know it exists!”