Twenty-One
It was a slower process with Otto and Pip, but eventually all three Stories were empty—or rather, the books were empty, and the Stories were written on their skin. Otto kept pulling up his shirt and peering at the tiny text, trying to make out every word, but Pip pulled her sleeves down firmly and didn’t glance.
The Librarian and Editor showed them out to the lobby, where the cats were waiting. The kitten-of-ashes had fallen asleep curled against the cat-of-ashes, and the older cat was idly grooming the kitten’s fur, leaving it sticking straight up behind her head.
“You’re short a princess,” the cat-of-ashes noted.
“Long story,” Otto said. The cat-of-ashes narrowed her eyes but didn’t press.
The Librarian folded two of his hands. “Please be prompt in returning with the ink and quill, and the pilfered books. Reality itself may be counting on you,” he said. Four more hands emerged, and he held out a small, white card to each of them. Eleanor took it.
eleanor barton: member, it said.
“Library cards?” Otto asked.
“They will allow you to return at any time, without the aid of the Wending,” the Librarian said. “They are not often given out. Do not abuse the privilege.”
“We won’t,” Otto pledged, his eyes shining at the idea of being able to get to the Library whenever he wanted.
“Humph,” the Librarian said. “I am going to make tea. Editor?”
“I have something I need to discuss with Eleanor,” the Editor said.
“Suit yourself,” the Librarian said, and drifted out of the room.
The Editor waited until he was gone, and then she beckoned Eleanor over to a corner of the lobby. “I’m not actually authorized to do this, but here.” She drew a plainly bound book from her robes. The front was labeled in neat lettering: The Small, Cursed Town of Eden Eld, Version One (Archived).
“We can take it with us?” Eleanor asked.
“You can use it to overwrite the version Katie has,” the Editor told her. “That means you can fix things as soon as you get your hands on the other book—no need to get back here first. The draft only goes up to the eclipse, but that should be enough for the rest of the timeline to repair itself on its own.”
“Does that mean the people who disappeared will be back?” Eleanor asked.
“Indeed. Everything back the way it should be,” the Editor promised.
“But what about us?” Eleanor asked. “We’ll still have been missing for months. Can’t we go back to the eclipse?”
The Editor shook her head. “Time marched on without you, Eleanor. Broken or otherwise. Going back now would only create new problems. But I did make a minor revision for you—small enough it shouldn’t cause any problems.”
Eleanor opened the book to the last few pages and spotted the red-ink paragraph right away. “Everyone thinks we’ve been at a special boarding school in Maine?” she asked.
“You’ve been writing home regularly. They miss you, but they aren’t worried. I made sure to put in that you’ve been getting excellent grades,” the Editor said, sounding pleased with herself.
At least their families wouldn’t be frantic. “Thank you,” Eleanor said. She hugged the book against her chest. Jenny and Naomi and Lily and Pip’s dad were safe within the pages of this book.
The Editor glanced over at the hedgewitch, who was looking through her bag, checking her supplies. The Editor pulled out two other books—these ones much slimmer. “And I thought you might find these useful, too,” she whispered.
Eleanor looked at the titles, and her heart skipped a beat.
The Glass-Heart Girl, Version One.
Claire Barton, Version One.
“I’m afraid I don’t know your father’s name or origin, so I wasn’t able to find his book,” the Editor said.
Eleanor opened to the first page of her mother’s book. Claire Barton was born in Eden Eld to parents who tried their best to love her. Their best, alas, was not very good at all.
“Here. To carry them,” the Editor said. She handed Eleanor a tote bag with library of endersea 5,000TH annual poetry slam printed on it. Eleanor looked over her shoulder. The hedgewitch had finished her inspection of her satchel and was turning back. Eleanor tucked the three books into the tote and slung it over her shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“I always hope for a happy ending,” the Editor said, and patted her shoulder kindly. “Good luck, Eleanor. Good luck to all of you.”
Eleanor looked toward the others. They were ready, waiting for her. It was time to go. She steeled herself and reached for the Wending.
This time, it leaped into her grasp. She almost laughed in surprise—she could feel it, see it, all around her like a tapestry, every thread blazing in a thousand colors. Worlds and people, all woven together. Nothing was truly alone, she realized—everything in every world was bound to other things, other people. And she could see all of them.
“Eleanor, you’re glowing,” Otto said, sounding both alarmed and excited. Eleanor looked down at her hands. The words written on her skin were glimmering with light.
“It’s okay,” she said, grinning. The power shining within her wasn’t frightening anymore—it was wonderful. It was hers. She stretched out her hand. “Take us home,” she asked the Wending. “Please.”
And the road opened. An orderly gravel path, twining right up to the front door of Ashford House.
“Nice,” Pip said. She picked up the kitten-of-ashes, setting the little feline on her shoulder, and started forward. The others traipsed along behind. Eleanor followed. As she stepped between the Library and the front yard of the house, the air pressure changed, making her ears pop. It was still pitch-black, and the false night was chilly and damp.
“It’s just the way we left it,” Pip said, looking around.
“Not quite,” Otto said. He pointed to the flower bed under the front window, which Jenny tended every spring. The daffodils had begun to come up, their blossoms still closed tight.
“It’s Halloween. And the eclipse. And spring,” Eleanor said slowly. “Katie didn’t just keep time broken. She broke it more. We aren’t just going to have to fight her—we’re going to have to fight all three of them. Mrs. Prosper. Katie. And Mr. January.”
“Aw, rats. That means I’m going to have to work,” the cat-of-ashes complained.
The kitten-of-ashes laid back her ears and hissed. “Bad,” she growled.
“Oh, hush. My master hasn’t given me any instructions yet. Doubt he’ll even notice I’m back for a while,” the cat-of-ashes said.
“Great. This is all just great,” Otto said.
“We’ll prevail,” Pip said. She flashed them a grin. “We’re the Heroes Three for real now, right? We can’t lose.”
Eleanor wished she believed that.
INSIDE THE HOUSE, the color was still normal. Ashford House, it seemed, still offered some protection.
“I don’t know if this will last,” Otto said, peering around. “I can see the magic Bartimaeus put on the house, now. It’s all patchy. And it’s wearing out more and more.”
“Why hasn’t he fixed it?” Eleanor asked. Then she realized—the house was completely quiet. Her heart thudded in her chest. “Uncle Ben?” Eleanor called. There was no answer. “Bartimaeus? Anyone?”
Nothing.
Panic flashed through her. She ran through the Great Room, looked in the drawing room and the kitchen, dashed up each of the staircases. She threw open doors and hollered down hallways, but there was no sign of either man.
Otto and Pip were doing the same and the three of them careened into each other in the hall outside Eleanor’s room, panting. The kitten-of-ashes clung to Otto’s shoulder, leaving little scorch marks on his shirt.
“They’re gone,” Eleanor said. “They’re gone and everything’s gray and—”
“It’s okay,” Otto said. “They’ll come back when we reset things, right?”
“They probably just fell through the time cracks with everyone else,” Pip said in agreement, her hand on Eleanor’s arm. The kitten-of-ashes chirped comfortingly and gave a raspy little purr.
Eleanor nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks. Ben would be okay. He was safe, just like Naomi and Jenny were safe, just like everyone was safe.
“Uh,” Otto said. He was looking behind Eleanor with a pained expression. “That wasn’t like that before, was it?” he asked.
Eleanor turned with a sinking feeling. Otto was staring at the grandfather clock. The clock that ran backward, that warned them when the People Who Look Away had arrived. The glass face of the clock had cracked, and the pendulum was still. The hands weren’t going anywhere—forward or back. And there were too many of them.
“There are nine,” Otto noted. “Three hour hands, three minute hands, three second hands.”
“Halloween, the spring equinox, and the eclipse. Three times, all stacked on top of each other,” Eleanor said.
“Bad,” the kitten mewed once more.
Otto gave a grim nod. “I might be able to fix some of Bartimaeus’s wards. I’ll get the hedgewitch to help.”
“I’ll scout the perimeter. Make sure Katie’s not already sneaking up on us,” Pip said.
“What should I do?” Eleanor asked, a note of panic still in her voice.
“You got us here,” Pip said, giving her arm a friendly squeeze. “Take a breath. We’ve got a few minutes before the world ends.”
“Probably,” Otto added, and Pip elbowed him in the ribs.
Otto and Pip dispersed to their tasks. Eleanor made her way down the stairs. Ben was gone. Jenny was gone. Naomi was gone, with her infectious laugh and perfect dimples. Thea was gone. For good.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs and shut her eyes. She had to stop losing people. She couldn’t bear it any longer.
Cold as glass, Eleanor thought. Wander had warned her not to let her heart be broken. But then, she’d lost Wander, too—and Jack. Except . . .
Ben had said they disappeared through one of Wander’s portals before time broke. That meant they hadn’t been in Eden Eld. Maybe they hadn’t disappeared through the cracks in time like Jenny and the others.
Maybe she could still find them. She’d pulled the hedgewitch into the Pallid Kingdom. Surely she could find her father the same way.
All those bright threads connecting things—some of them connected to her. And she found the two she was looking for. “Can you bring them here?” she asked the Wending. Maybe it was foolish to talk to it like it understood her, but she almost thought she felt a kindness in the Wending as she opened her eyes. A simple path unfurled before her, and she reached, pouring all her aching love and longing into it. The air shimmered—and Jack and Wander appeared on the road, looking bewildered. Then they spotted Eleanor.
Jack let out a cry of relief, and rushed forward to sweep Eleanor up in his arms. “Eleanor, you’re alive!” he said, holding her tight.
“Jack!” she said, laughing, wrapping her arms around him to return his embrace. Behind him, the road vanished, just as Pip came charging into the room, Gloaming drawn.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
Jack released Eleanor, wheeled, and hugged Pip, too. She yelped, getting Gloaming out of the way just in time not to skewer him. Then Otto came into the room, the kitten-of-ashes on his shoulder, and there was more hugging, everyone talking at the same time.
“What on earth happened to you?” Jack asked. “We’ve been trying to get back to Eden Eld for months, but we haven’t been able to get through.”
“It might have been easier if my abilities had not abandoned me quite suddenly,” Wander noted. Eleanor winced, but Wander was smiling faintly. “Your eyes are full of starlight, Eleanor. You carry the Story like it belongs with you.”
Jack looked suddenly grave. “The world-walker. It has taken you, then.”
“More like the other way around,” Otto said. Jack looked at him, brow furrowed.
Eleanor sighed. “It’s complicated. But the Stories aren’t a danger to us anymore.”
“How is this possible?” Jack asked wonderingly.
“They’re remarkable children,” the hedgewitch said. Jack stiffened, turned. He looked at her and his lips formed the name Claire. The hedgewitch looked at him, arms folded, expression unreadable. “Hello, Jack. Wander.”
Jack’s hand tightened on Eleanor’s shoulder. She covered his hand with hers. “She’s been helping us,” she told him. He looked down at her, eyes shining with the grief she felt every time she looked at the hedgewitch. He’d loved her mother, too.
His voice was rough as he said, “I think you had better explain everything that’s happened.”