CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I give Nell’s shoulder a few shakes, but she’s out so cold that she doesn’t even mutter in her sleep or swat me away. I ought to have asked Dr. Wells to leave me a way to contact him, but now there’s no time. This was the morning edition of the paper, which means the fire took place the night of the 17th, a date exactly ninety years before this. The DeLorean Box of this era can only Jump in annual intervals—June 17th to June 17th—so I have to leave now to prevent the fire tonight.

The DeLorean Box hums to life when I touch the switch. Its glow is familiar, even in this strange place, and while it’s warming up, I ransack Dr. Wells’ Jump Prep room for a suit, any suit, just so I’m not trying to stop a psychotic time traveler from murdering my sister in a pair of old sweatpants Dr. Wells had loaned me and a sweatshirt from St. Mary’s, wherever that is.

I toss on a suit and, without even stopping to button the shirt all the way, fumble with the dials of the DeLorean Box’s console. The date is set. It stares up at me, and just as I’m about to punch the buttons, I realize I’ve forgotten a Wormhole Device and swipe one from Dr. Wells’ supply, quickly syncing it to the Box and my thumbprint.

I hesitate a moment, my finger over the button. This doesn’t feel right. I can’t leave without telling anyone where I’ve gone. Especially Nell; if I don’t make it back, she’ll be deserted here, alone in the past, and it’d be all my fault.

I stumble out of the DeLorean Box, find a sheet of paper and a pencil stub, and scribble a note to leave on my cot. It’ll have to do. Nell will be furious when she wakes up to find me gone, but every minute spent here is one in which Cass’s life might be in danger. After setting it in place, I push aside my misgivings, climb back into the Box, and press the button.

Bright lights flash around me, flinging me once again through time.

***

June 17, 1915

I land in an alleyway again, only this time there’s a puddle that soaks my trousers. I pull myself up, cursing. I don’t have time to worry about things like wet spots on my pants or the fact that I seem to have buttoned my shirt incorrectly. I have to get to the baron’s home. I have to get there now.

The street is dark and quiet. Somewhere in the distance, a train rattles along, and overhead, I recognize the Brandenburg Gate, looming eerily in the darkness. The rain must’ve passed some time ago, because the sky is clear, save for a few scattered clouds, and the moon is bright enough overhead to light my way. Everything looks different in the dark, and at each crossroad I hesitate, fearful that I’ve somehow made a wrong turn or passed up the house along the way.

I taste the ash in the air from blocks away and break into a run.

The smoke rises from the manor, seeping out of the windows and floating upward from the chimney. There are no flames visible yet, and only a few doors of neighboring houses have creaked open, emitting narrow beams of light and the frightened, exhausted faces of curious onlookers.

“Alert the fire marshal!” I shout in German. I’m not even sure if they’re called fire marshals at this time in Berlin or how one would go about alerting them, but I don’t have time to sort all that out. I have to ensure somehow that the papers are wrong, that someone—at least one someone, who’s still supposed to have a life beyond this, who’s supposed to have descendants who one day travel through time—does escape this tragedy.

I duck between the baron’s home and the one beside it, making my way to the back door that Nell and I had exited from when we’d followed Cass and her young charge. The door is locked, of course, but my electronic lock-pick comes in handy again, and as the door swings open, smoke pours out. I cough and cover my face, blinking ash and grit from my eyes.

Most of the smoke seems to be coming from a room just beyond the staircase, and from within it, I can hear raised voices. I pull the collar of my shirt over my face and press onward, into what must be the library.

There, I can make out a figure silhouetted before a wall of flames. Three enormous windows line the opposite side of the room, and the curtains that once covered them are alive with flickering red and orange. My eyes burn, my throat tightens, and the warmth of the fire is so intense I’m half-afraid I’ll burst into flames myself. If only I had one of my fireproof suits, like the one I’d brought to destroy TUB’s DeLorean Box.

I try to shield my eyes, to catch sight of the figure moving through the smoke, and when I finally do spot it again, I recognize him instantly.

It’s Taylor. I know it from the staunchness of his shoulders, from the distinct, large-nosed profile when he turns his head. He hasn’t spotted me yet, somehow, and I fight back a cough that would give me away.

But he’s not alone. There’s someone else yelling over the crackling fire, sobbing and pulling away. It’s too small to be Cass, and for that I’m momentarily relieved, until I see that it’s her charge, Abelard. The boy is fighting and kicking, but Taylor is too strong.

“Hey! Let the kid go!” I cry out, but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even seem to hear me over the fire’s roar. I try to step forward, but the ceiling above me chooses that very moment to crumble, and I’m showered by sparks and soot and bits of what might have once been furnishings of some upstairs parlor or sitting room. An armchair falls in front of me, shooting sparks into my face as it crashes to the ground.

When I look up again, Taylor and Abelard are gone, and I don’t even know which direction they went. I stumble forward cautiously, the smoke choking out anything more than a few feet in front of my face.

I stumble on and fall, tripping over a rolled-up rug with a pale floral print and skinning my knees and elbows. Down here, the smoke is thinner, and maybe that’s why I finally have the clarity of thought to wonder why anyone would have a rolled-up rug in the middle of their library.

I stare down toward my feet, and the shape of the fabric resolves itself, forming what I should have known it was all along: a dress. A nightdress, to be precise, worn by someone precisely the same size and shape as my sister.

“Cass!”

Scrambling on my torn-up knees, I roll her over. She’s unconscious, but when I feel for her pulse, it’s still strong and even. The sound of a curtain rod crashing behind me makes me realize what trouble we’re in now. This building is coming down, and if we don’t move quickly, we’ll both perish along with it.

I scoop Cass into my arms and struggle to my feet. The smoke is so thick, I can’t see well enough to navigate through the unfamiliar house, so I have no choice but to go back out the way I came in. I maneuver around the collapsed armchair—now a pile of broken bits that’s nearly unrecognizable—and shoulder my way through the door.

At the staircase, I hesitate. Upstairs there, somewhere, the baron and his wife are still sleeping. The newspapers will be right about their demise. I want to save them, too, but I can’t see a way to do so. I have to get Cass out of there, somehow.

The smoke is thickening. I’m so lightheaded that I’m beginning to doubt my own senses. Wasn’t the door closer to the staircase? Shouldn’t I have reached it already? My feet stumble over debris, and everything’s a hazy fog. Then suddenly, just as my knees start to buckle beneath me, I make out the outline of the back door and somehow manage to crumble forward into it. I shift Cass’s weight so I can grasp the handle, and when it finally bursts open, I tumble to my knees, nearly dropping her.

Fresh air fills my lungs. I stagger upright, stumble, and have to catch myself on a wall so I don’t fall again. Cass groans as her shoulder hits the stone, which I take as a good sign. I want to stop and set her down now, check her out to make sure she’s okay, but I can’t. The newspaper reported that everyone had died, so that’s what the people of this era need to believe. Besides, the last thing I need is for anyone to corner me and start asking questions about what I was doing there, how I just happened to be walking past when the fire started, and what happened to the real arsonist. Not to mention the baron’s son.

I cut across a few blocks, my legs and arms and lungs aching, and it isn’t until we’re well away from the scene that I stop in the shadow of the Brandenburg Gate, and set my sister down to assess the damages.

“What are you doing here?” she asks groggily as I seat her with her back against the stone. She’s obviously disoriented, but I’m so relieved to hear her voice that I wrap my arms around her, squeezing her until she coughs and pushes me away. “Seriously, Dodge. I thought I told you to go away.”

“I did. And then I read that there was a fire at the baron’s mansion and that the entire household perished. Thought I ought to step in and see if you needed a hand.”

At this, Cass coughs and jolts upright. “Abelard!”

I take her hand. “Taylor has him.”

“Taylor? Who’s Taylor?”

“The man who attacked you at the train station the other day.”

“How’d you know about that?”

“I followed you. He works for PITTA—or he did anyway—in my time and was also the man who was stalking Mum back in 1893. We think that he thought she was you.”

“What?” She struggles to stand up, but her legs are still too weak, and she collapses against me.

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “We’ve marooned an older version of him back in ancient Egypt—”

“You what!?”

“Long story,” I say, “but I think you’re safe now. He thinks you perished in the fire.”

“What about Abelard?”

“I… I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m not sure why he would have taken the boy, unless he meant to hold him ransom? But if he was from my time, he must have known about the fire.”

“No,” Cass says. “He came for me, not the boy.”

“What? How do you know?”

“Because he tried to attack me in my sleep. I’d fallen asleep in an armchair with a book. Abelard’s room is directly above the library; he must’ve heard me cry out and came downstairs to see what the matter was. I knocked over a lamp in the struggle, and the curtains caught fire. Then Taylor knocked me out and… I still don’t know why he would’ve taken Abelard, though.”

“I don’t know, either. Still… we’d better take precautions. You’ll need to go back to the States, maybe take another name—”

“Oh, I planned on it.”

“You what?” I draw back, surprised. “Which part?”

“Both. Turns out I’m quite a good spy after all. I found out all sorts of juicy tidbits about Baron von Schneider. Turns out he’s been making some rather underhanded deals, trading supplies and intelligence with both sides of the conflict, a fact which I’m certain both his German friends and his English business partners are going to be extremely interested to hear. I sent the information out this afternoon, so I was planning to pretend as though I was needed back home and slip away over the next few days, before the authorities got to him. I almost feel bad for the man; regardless of which side gets a hold of him first, it’s not going to go well for him.”

“And the other part?”

“Hm?” Cass smiles innocently, a sure sign that she’s hiding something.

“The new name?”

“I’m engaged.”

It takes me a moment to process the information. “That McIntire fellow?”

“You’re not upset, are you?”

“No.” I sink back against the stone archway in utter relief. That explains why Nell and I hadn’t found any record of her after this stint in Berlin. “No, I think you’ll be very happy together.”

She smiles, then, as if suddenly remembering why we’re here, in the middle of the night, she bites her lip. “But what about Abelard? Taylor isn’t going to hurt him, is he?”

“I… I don’t know,” I admit. “The newspapers say that everyone in the baron’s household perished, so I’m afraid he must not resurface.”

“It might be better for him that way,” Cass says slowly. “I hesitated to turn in what I knew about his father for his sake. The family’s going to lose everything—their wealth, their home, their reputation, their place in society. Perhaps he’d do better with a fresh start. Perhaps Taylor is doing him a favor.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way, and now that I do, my mind sticks on it for some reason. Cass is right: the von Schneider family loses everything because of her. And wouldn’t that be enough reason for someone to try to go after her, to stop her from revealing the family’s life-destroying secrets?

“Cass,” I say slowly, the connections slowly forming in my mind. “You got a good look at your attacker, didn’t you? What did you notice about him?”

Cass snorts. “Well, there was that nose of his.”

“Prominent, isn’t it?”

“That’s understatement. Why, the only person I’ve ever met with a nose to rival that would be—” She stops and turns to me with wide eyes. “You don’t think…?”

“They’re related. I don’t know why we didn’t see it before. The family resemblance is there, and—” I smack my hand on my forehead. “Taylor! Taylor is an Anglicized version of the surname Schneider. It’s got to be him. Taylor from my time is a descendent of von Schneider! He must’ve somehow learned about his family’s downfall and somehow discovered that you, the governess, were the one to inform on the family, to bring about their downfall. So he set out to kill you.”

“And then he found out I was a time traveler because of the stun gun,” Cass says.

“Which is why he went looking in other eras and found the image of Mum in 1893.” I jump to my feet and begin pacing. “What was it he said? She shouldn’t have been meddling with the timeline, ruining innocent lives.”

“Abelard,” Cass says softly.

“Abelard and all his descendants after him. He wanted to keep you from ruining their family’s name.”

“So… is it over now?”

I think back to the timeline Nell and I had made, to the lines of blue and red and purple. “We won’t know for sure until I get back to 2134 and have a chance to look at the records to see if there’s any other locked Jumps. But as far as I can tell now… I think so.”

“And Abelard? He’s just out there somewhere, on his own?” Tears pool in Cass’s eyes. “Isn’t there anything we can do? He really is innocent in all this. He’s a sweet kid, Dodge, and it’s not his fault what his father did.”

I reach around her shoulders and pull her closer, unable to think of anything to say.