“I ought to report you to our superior.”
“He doesn’t already know? I thought he was all-seeing or something.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he does know. He hasn’t said anything to me about it.”
“If he doesn’t know, how did you find out?”
“I thought you might try it. After asking all those questions about going outside of your own time, it only made sense. And when Gopan was getting pulled by your leftover geists and no one could get hold of you, we all knew what you had done.”
“I’m not going to make a habit out of it. Besides, look what I’ve accomplished. I’ve completed two tasks for the Seelie, which means I’m nearly done and free. I have friends among the Time Corps, including a golem who can duplicate himself. And I’ve struck an alliance with a drake. No geists were harmed. So what would this superior person do to me anyway? Ground me? Force me into some new form of service? Because I’m not going to be forced into anything anymore. I can leave this world and time and you’ll never find me again.”
“Now, Astrid, I’m not threatening you. I’m not unhappy just because you broke a rule and Gopan had to pull double duty. If one of us is very sick or injured, we can cover for each other. It’s something else, something the elder did mention to me, an instability between the void and our world. By making the first Door there to send Elliot to the Library, you made a hole, like a wound. And then you tore another wound in and another out. When there’s a wound in the human body, it attempts to repair itself. The void is no different.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Well, yes. But there are things in the void, bad things. And I’m not sure if the void can heal itself properly. We don’t know what stabilizing force might be unleashed. So for God’s sake, don’t go into the void again. Stay away from it completely. For your own sake and for the safety of everyone else. Promise me.”
“I promise,” she said, and meant it. As alluring as the void might be, she had no desire to put anyone in danger. Besides, she never wanted to encounter the Library or void wyrms again.
Jeff was silent for a moment, but Astrid could hear him breathing.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to cause any problems.”
“I know you didn’t. And the wounds may still heal themselves. Doors occur naturally on their own, without any human intervention. Those heal up fine. And you’re a natural part of the world, unlike the Time Corps, who forcibly make time rips. So perhaps your natural rips will heal themselves. “
“Well, we used the Professor’s machine along with my abilities to get to the Library. I couldn’t do it on my own.”
“I see,” he said. “I suppose that explains the instability that our higher-up mentioned.”
“So are you going to report me?”
She heard him sigh.
“I don’t see what good it would do. The deed is already done and I’d hate to see you get punished for it. But if the instability persists and if he asks, I’ll have to tell him.”
She felt bad for Jeff, trying hard to keep the world stable and do his job. He was careful and conscientious, and she had just made his job a lot harder. But like he said, the deed was done.
“Hold on,” Jeff said. “I have to sign for a package.”
She waited and then heard him pick up the phone. “It’s from your address in Los Angeles.”
“I didn’t send anything,” she said.
She listened as he opened it.
“Look at that. It’s Dickens.”
That didn’t seem so extraordinary to her. The man ran a bookshop.
“It’s a first edition. My God, it has the Boz title pages and the fireside plate. All the volumes. Original publisher’s binding. And it’s in perfect condition, like it was printed yesterday. Hold on, there’s a card. It’s a thank you card from the Time Corps.”
“For what?”
“For assistance and favors, it says. Did your cousin send this?”
“Possibly. Or someone else. A bunch of people in the Time Corps travel to the eighteen hundreds, and some were born there.”
“Well, tell them thank you. I hope you don’t think this gets you off the hook.”
“I told you I didn’t send it. And honestly, what hook would that be? Between the Seelie and the drake, I’m in enough hot water.”
“I have to agree. Just promise you’ll try to behave.”
“I’ll try. I really will.”
Neil was barely back to his normal self and Elliot had already planned out their next job.
“There are two women,” said Elliot.
“Sounds like a recipe for trouble.”
“Not like that. One is a friend from the Library. Her name is Imee. She escaped from the Library, but the Librarian took her memories and left her insane. I know she was near Thessaloniki when she got out. A scholar told me she was in an asylum, but I don’t know what year.”
“Thessaloniki?” said Neil. “Hazel and I got images of a painting from that area. An ibis burning. It was painted by some ancient seer.”
“I wonder if that might be Imee,” said Elliot. “Maybe that image was seared into her mind when she left. Well, whatever happened to her, we’ll find her and return her to her family in the Philippines. Insane or not, they’ll want her back. It’s not really enough, but it’s the best I can do for her.”
“And the other woman?”
“Now that we have a machine that can go back thousands of years, there’s someone I want to find. She went to Huginn’s old country, and Yukiko and Pangur Ban even know which town.”
“Is she insane too?”
“No. She left the Library with permission, but I need to find her.”
Elliot caught Neil studying him. “You care about this woman,” Neil said.
“Yeah, and shut up. She was promised in marriage to some chieftain, but she didn’t want to go.”
“Now you’re using time travel to further your love life.”
“Fine, don’t help me. I don’t care. I’ll go alone.”
“I didn’t say that. I’ll help. I want to meet this woman. But there’s something I want to do first. I want to find out where I came from, who made me and why.”
Elliot looked at Neil, now in his forties. “How long have you known what you are?”
“A while.”
“And you didn’t tell us?”
“Unstable time loops are bad, stable timelines are good. You know the routine.”
Elliot did. So much of their relationships, from their first meetings to later encounters were dictated by trying to avoid unstable time loops. Every idea and piece of information needed a natural origin. So if Neil told the Time Corps what he was, but later learned from them that he was a golem, the information formed a loop.
Neil asked so little of Elliot, very rarely asking for anything personal, that it would be a betrayal of their friendship to deny him this wish to discover his origins.
“If you want to find where you came from, I’m up for the trip,” said Elliot.
After dinner, Hazel found Neil in the backyard. He wasn’t reading or looking at anything in particular, just standing and watching the crimson light of the smoggy Los Angeles sunset.
“Will you tell me now why you always asked me how old I was whenever we met?” she said. “You don’t do that with anyone else. Not even Elliot.”
Neil didn’t turn to look at her, but she saw him take a deep breath. She wondered if he treasured the feeling of breathing again.
“I wanted to make sure you had a choice,” he said. “That you knew what I was.”
“I’d be your friend no matter what you were. And why would my age matter?”
“How did you bring me back to life?” he ask
ed.
She felt her cheeks go hot, but she didn’t want to lie to him. He had the right to know how she had brought him back from death.
“I’m not completely certain. But I placed three drops of blood in your mouth.”
“And?”
“And I kissed you.”
There, she had said it.
“And that was all?” he said.
“I talked to you, but I had done that before already.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his duster. “I think you did more than talk. I’ve been thinking, and I think you breathed into me. Maybe when you kissed me, maybe after. But I don’t think it was the blood or the kiss.”
She remembered then, resting her forehead against his, speaking to him and sighing. But how could something so simple and ordinary bring him to life?
“In the Old Testament, Adam was a golem, in a way,” said Neil. “His name means ‘earth.’ And God breathed life into his nostrils.”
“I’m no god.”
“I never thought you were. But perhaps I may truly be free. If that method of lifegiving grants free will, I should be. I don’t know yet, but I mean to find out.”
“What does this have to do with asking me how old I am?”
“I’ve been waiting for something.” He took her hand, then slowly pulled her to him, giving her plenty of opportunity to pull away. Then he kissed her.
A minute later, she was breathless and a little dizzy, but in a pleasant way.
“You’ve been waiting twenty years to kiss me?” she asked after a few moments.
“No. I’ve kissed you countless times. This is just the first time you’ve kissed me. Well, the second if you count when I was dead.”
“And once when you were twenty.”
“Right,” he said. “So three for you. But to the point, I wanted you to know what I was before you made any decisions. It’s only fair.”
“I wouldn’t have cared.”
“I’m not even a human being. I don’t have a soul.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Maybe. But you deserve to know what I am.”
“So you waited twenty years?”
“No. Every time we meet, I ask how old you are, and if you’re older than you are today, twenty-three years and six months, then I know where we are on your personal timeline.”
“So I’ll see you again when you’re younger and I won’t scandalize the Professor by getting romantically entangled with a much older man?”
“We have twenty years of adventures in my past, and still more to come.”
“And you won’t turn on me? They say every golem turns on its creator.”
“Never.”
Huginn ruffled his black feathers and preened, running his curved beak over his wings and breast, enjoying the sensation. The ritual soothed him, and sometimes, when his memory was particularly bad, it was all he could think to do. It was familiar and comforting, like the presence of Pangur Ban.
He and the cat sat up high in their favorite tree, while Pangur Ban told him a story. He knew she had told him the tale before, and as she told it, he remembered bits and snatches of it. When she finished, they sat for a long while in silence.
“Do we have a new job lined up?” asked Huginn after a while. “I’m itching to get back to work. My mind needs something to chew on.”
“Not yet, but soon,” said Pangur Ban. “The humans don’t feel it yet, but I can. Something has loosened. Slipped. It’s so slight that I don’t know if the Twelve or Santiago and Yukiko can sense it yet. But there has been a shift.”
“I don’t feel anything.”
“That’s because you can’t remember how it was before,” she said gently. “Something is waiting.”
“Is it death?” he asked, but he didn’t know why this thought occurred to him. It was simply the first one that popped into his mind.
“Death comes to all of us, one way or another,” she said. “Even those as old as we are. But no, it’s not death.”
“Tell me about your kittens’ father,” he said. “Was he like us?”
“Do you mean was he a common animal? No, he was like us.”
“Where is he now?”
“I do not know. But cats are not like humans and ravens. We do not mate for life. I doubt I will ever see him again.”
Then she looked at him. It made him uneasy, the way she watched him.
“I have never asked you,” she said. “Did you ever have a mate?”
A little jolt of sensation went through him and he waited a few moments for it to pass. “I don’t know.”
“I do not ask you to trouble you, old friend,” she said. “Only because I wonder if there are others like you. Other ravens. If you have children, then you might have grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”
He had never thought of it before. Or, if he had, he could not remember thinking it. Perhaps it was true. But he had no way of knowing. And a moment later, he found that he did not care. If he found others, then that would be a fine thing. But sitting here, in this tree, with his closest friend beside him and his other friends in the house below, he was content.
And then he remembered other trees and other pleasant times. Evenings near a warm fire, conversations and delicious meals, bright mornings with clear skies. The memories were few, but they were strong.
Ah, so his brother was not totally gone. The Librarian had not taken everything. Damaged and broken as he was, his brother had not completely left him. A few little fragments of him remained, his memories like dandelion tufts, floating in the recesses of his mind.
A TWICE TOLD TALE
Chapter 1
No one wants to witness their own conception.
This is doubly true if one was conceived in a ritual of fire, blood and death. Neil had no desire to watch what was about to transpire.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” whispered Elliot, Neil’s partner in the Time Corps. “I can do this alone.”
“I’m going,” said Neil. He forced himself to pass from the empty hallway into the adjoining high-ceilinged room, a surgical amphitheater that seated about fifty. Neil was acutely aware that he and Elliot might be noticed in such a small group.
Sure, they were seasoned Time Corps agents and their disguises used technology that didn’t even exist in this time, 1995. But discovery meant death.
Elliot was in his late twenties, while Neil was in his early forties. They worked together at all ages, but Neil liked their missions best when they were closest in age. They argued more when they were young together, but had more interesting adventures. When they were both older, they slipped into a comfortable camaraderie, using experience and cunning more often than force. When they were far apart in age, they tended to irritate each other. But today, that wasn’t the case. Today was too important.
The amphitheater was half-full already, with ordinary-looking people, men and women, even a few children. The chairs were upholstered and soft, the air-conditioning set at a comfortable temperature. It was nearing three o’clock in the morning, but even though the desert air outside was cool, there were no windows here to open, for they were two stories underground. High above them rose a modern house of glass, chrome and wood, isolated on the far edge of Palm Springs.
Neil and Elliot took seats at the topmost row, near the end of the aisle, as far from anyone as they could get without being obvious about it. At the center of the room, two tables waited. One was empty with three large drawers beneath it. The other held a body. A white sheet covered the figure, the feet and nose making peaks in the fabric. Neil knew the exact dimensions of that body, for it was his own.
A thick-bearded man in the bottom row played with a large coin. He moved the thing from finger
to finger on one hand, making it do little flips across the backs of his knuckles. Then he palmed it and with a little flourish, pulled it from his pocket. He wasn’t doing it to entertain a child, and no one but Neil was watching him. Neil studied the man’s hands. He knew them already, each hair and wrinkle, for those hands existed in his own memories. He remembered doing coin tricks with those hands.
Other people filed in and took seats until the amphitheater was three-quarters full.
“You okay?” breathed Elliot, so softly that it was less than a whisper. A normal person would not have heard it, but Elliot knew Neil, with his sharp hearing, would.
Elliot glanced at him, concerned, and then looked away as a second door, a small one at the far end of the room, opened. Mr. March walked in, and a surge of terror ran through Neil. He didn’t betray it with any physical movement, but he felt Elliot stiffen slightly. March was the man who had made Neil, the man who had then killed him before Neil’s wife, Hazel, had brought him back to life.
March was a slight man, with fair skin and white hair. He wore an expensive gray suit, simple and classic in its cut. This was the first version of March that Neil had known. The man had been killed and had come back with a new body years ago. But tonight, this older version of Mr. March would hopefully give Neil the answers he sought.
March greeted the group and thanked them for coming. Neil vaguely registered his words, but was more interested in the woman behind March. She was young, perhaps twenty-five, buxom and sturdy, but soft and rosy-cheeked in a German milkmaid sort of way. Her blonde hair was tied back in a sensible low ponytail and she wore a cornflower-blue dress that matched her eyes. But there was a cunning and coldness in those eyes that gave Neil pause.
The bearded man with the coin rose from his seat to stand beside her, listening to March as he said that they were accomplishing a great thing today, a fine thing. He used the words “freedom” and “self-determination,” “justice” and “truth.” Neil had heard all of these words from this man before.
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