Twisted Fates

by Danielle Rollins

Dorothy had a hard time drawing in breath. What were her options? She supposed she could refuse. She could stay here, in this ruined city. Only that wasn’t really a choice, was it? There was nothing here. There was no one here.

  She found herself reaching for the yoke, fingers numbly switching dials and flipping buttons. Mac lowered his gun.

  “That’s a good girl,” he said, voice dripping with condescension. Dorothy’s eyes closed for a moment, bile rising in her throat.

  “The Black Crow is moving into position for departure,” she said. Somehow, she managed to bring the time machine to hover, and flew them across the barren landscape, and back into the anil. She piloted the Black Crow through the tunnel of stars and purple clouds and black sky. She blinked hard, refusing to cry as the air around her thickened, growing heavy and wet. Water pounded against the windshield, making the glass creak.

  And then they were surfacing, and New Seattle’s ominous, dark skyline lay before them.

  Home sweet home, Dorothy thought, numb.

  52

  Ash

  NOVEMBER 10, 2077, NEW SEATTLE

  “Oh my God, you’re alive.”

  That was Chandra. Willis stood beside her, aggressively washing a teapot in the kitchen sink, but he looked up at the sound of Chandra’s voice. It was very late, and Ash had only just made it back to the schoolhouse, somehow managing to pull himself through the window and down the hallway to the kitchen. He groaned as Zora launched herself across the room and into his arms.

  “Damn you,” she said, hugging him hard. “I thought we’d lost you this time.”

  “I’m okay,” Ash said.

  “Okay is maybe not the word that I would have used,” Chandra said, nose wrinkling. “You look like death warmed over.”

  Ash lifted a hand to his cheek, cringing at the feel of dry blood and raw flesh. He’d forgotten about the mess that Mac and his cohorts had made of his face. So much had happened since then.

  “It’ll heal,” he said, and pulled away from Zora. He tugged his shirt straight, motioning to the wound below his ribs. “This is what I’m really worried about.”

  It was sparking again, blue electricity leaping over his skin. And then it was seeping something thick and black. Ash looked away before it could change, again. It was giving him a headache. “Anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?”

  Chandra was sitting on a barstool in the corner of the kitchen, anxiously braiding and unbraiding her hair, and now she leaned forward to get a better look.

  “Gross,” she said, but she sounded excited. “What is that?”

  “Exotic matter,” said Zora, frowning. She looked up at Ash, and he could see that she was making the same calculation he’d made back on the dock. “Do you think this is why you can travel through time without a vessel or any EM?”

  “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.”

  Zora shook her head. “I’ve never heard of anything like this before.”

  “There’s nothing in your father’s notes?” Ash asked, urgent. “Nothing at all?”

  “You’ve read all the same books I have. He never mentioned experimenting with this.”

  “You said there were pages missing from his journal, didn’t you?” Willis said. “They have to be somewhere.”

  “We could look through the notes in his office again,” added Chandra, hopping off her stool. “I could help.”

  “Wait,” Ash said, before they could disperse. “There’s more.”

  They all turned and looked at him, waiting. Now was the time to tell them, Ash knew. Their friend and former comrade, Roman Estrada, was dead. Ash saw the bullet hit him. He saw him fall to the ground.

  But something rose in Ash’s throat, and he found he couldn’t say the words out loud. Not yet. He gave his head a hard shake and said, instead, “But, uh, it can wait.”

  Leaving them, Ash made his way back to the small schoolhouse room that had been his home for the last two years. It wasn’t much more than what he’d had back in the army: a thin cot and a few blankets, a trunk to hold his possessions, a window that looked out on the water. Right now, the world beyond that window was black, either because it was late at night or very early in the morning. Ash couldn’t tell which.

  There was a small slip of paper on the bed beside him, sitting on top of a tangle of sheets and blankets. Frowning, he picked it up.

  Outside the anil. Midnight, it read.

  53

  Dorothy

  NOVEMBER 10, 2077, NEW SEATTLE

  Dorothy landed the Black Crow in the Fairmont garage and cut the engine. Her eyes moved restlessly over the clouded windows and rusted pipes. It seemed strange, she thought, that this place should look so normal and familiar when everything had gone so horribly wrong.

  Woodenly, she began to fumble with her seat belt. She wanted to be back in her room, alone, so she could finally break down, but she couldn’t seem to make her fingers work fast enough. The buckle felt large and foreign in her hands, and she was all too aware of Mac’s gun, still pointed at her.

  And then they weren’t alone, anymore. Cirkus Freaks had begun to gather around the time machine, seeming to crawl out of the woodwork like cockroaches. Her fingers went still.

  Had Mac been telling the truth, before? Had they all turned their backs on her?

  Was she alone, again?

  “It’s good that they’re here,” Mac said, pushing his door open. “They’ll want to know what happened to their comrade, won’t they?”

  He holstered his gun, and Dorothy inhaled, her nose filling with the city’s familiar smell of salt and mold. Steeling herself, she exited the time machine.

  “Where’s Roman?” The question came before the door had even slammed shut behind her. Eliza was pushing her way to the front of the crowd of Freaks, eyeing Dorothy’s blood-soaked cloak with great suspicion. “Didn’t he come back with you?”

  “He . . .” Dorothy opened her mouth to explain, and found that she couldn’t speak. She heard the crack of a gunshot, saw Roman’s body spinning in place, and then falling to the ground.

  She closed her mouth and pressed a hand to her chest, breathing hard. She couldn’t say it.

  She was vaguely aware of Mac lifting his hands to quiet the crowd. She looked up at him, wondering how he planned to explain Roman’s death. Did he honestly think he could tell them the truth, hoping their allegiance would protect him?

  They’ll tear you apart, she thought, savage. And she found that she was anticipating this. Roman had been well liked. The Freaks would be furious once they’d learned what had happened to him.

  “Friends,” Mac said in a grave voice, “I am sorry to report that there has been a great tragedy in our midst today. Our Crow, Roman Estrada, has been murdered.”

  Whispers erupted like wildfire. Dorothy’s face suddenly felt very hot.

  “We cannot let this stand,” continued Mac, his gaze tracking over the crowd. “And so I am offering a reward to anyone who brings me Roman’s murderer.”

  Murderer? Dorothy felt the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. Did he really plan to pretend he hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger?

  She felt a sudden chill and realized what he was going to say a second before the words left his mouth.

  “Jonathan Asher killed Roman Estrada.”

  It sickened Dorothy, the hugeness of this lie, but she saw immediately how easily it would be accepted. The gathered crowd was already nodding, their mouths pressed into hard lines, their eyes glittering with malice. It made sense to them, that the man they’d held captive would’ve escaped to kill one of their own. Already, they were shouting for vengeance.

  “Liar,” Dorothy breathed, but her voice was drowned out by the jeers and shouts of the Freaks. Even so, Mac looked right at her, as though he alone had heard. He smiled, viciously. A dare.

  Dorothy swallowed. Her throat felt thick as she looked around, at the faces surrounding her. If she spoke up now it would be her wor
d against his. Would anyone believe her?

  Perhaps some would. But the others would want Ash’s blood. They’d be out tonight, looking for him. Hunting him.

  Someone had to warn him.

  Dorothy backed up a few steps, and then she turned and began pushing her way through the crowd of Freaks. She’d almost made it to the back of the room and the door that led—blessedly—out onto the docks when Eliza slid in front of her, blocking her way.

  “Going somewhere, little Fox?” she said.

  Dorothy froze, her skin creeping. She couldn’t tell whether she was being mocked.

  “Yes,” she snapped, allowing a sharpness to creep into her voice. “I’m going back to my room. It’s been a long day. Or haven’t you been listening?”

  Eliza tilted her head, considering her through narrowed eyes. “I saw you, you know,” she said. “Both of you.”

  “Both of us?”

  “You and Asher. Two nights ago, you met him on the docks behind the Dead Rabbit.” Eliza fixed her with a cool stare. “You looked . . . intimate.”

  Dorothy’s mouth felt dry.

  But . . . but she hadn’t met Ash on the docks that night at the Dead Rabbit. She’d left him there and gone after Roman.

  What was this?

  Whether Eliza had intended to or not, she’d caused a stir. The other Freaks were turning to face them now, frowning, listening.

  Dorothy flushed, and tried to come up with something to say in response. But the truth—no you didn’t—seemed so thin . . .

  “And I saw you again, this morning,” Eliza spit, fury lighting her face. “You snuck into the room where Ash was being held prisoner and set him free. If it weren’t for you, Roman would still be alive.”

  What? No, she hadn’t. Dorothy had gone right to the Black Crow, with Mac and Roman. There hadn’t been time to set Ash free first.

  Dorothy was still frowning, trying to decide whether to untangle the threads of the argument when Eliza moved closer, invading her space. She took an unconscious step backward, slamming into the wall.

  A vicious smile flitted across Eliza’s face.

  “Traitor,” she hissed. She reached for Dorothy, hand closing around her arm.

  “Don’t touch me,” Dorothy said, yanking her arm free. She saw some confusion in the crowd around her, nervous glances flitting back and forth, whispers, and said, full-voiced, “You’re lying.”

  “Enough,” came Mac’s voice. The crowd parted, and suddenly he was moving toward her. With Eliza at her back and Freaks pressed in around her, there was nowhere for Dorothy to go. A brief stunned silence hung over them all.

  “I imagine our Quinn must feel remorse.” Mac’s voice was a low threat. “After all, what did Asher do after you set him free? He came after you. Killed your only ally.”

  “That’s not what happened.” Dorothy pushed the words through clenched teeth. They could lie about her if they wanted, but she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. “You know it’s not what happened.”

  Mac leaned closer to her and spoke directly into her ear, low enough that no one else would hear his words.

  “Look at the position you’re in, sweetheart. You’ve been . . . what’s the phrase? Fraternizing with the enemy. Do you really want to go telling tales on me now? You think they’ll believe a word you say?” Mac paused and, when Dorothy didn’t immediately respond, he seemed to take it as acceptance and continued. “I could probably convince them that it’s in their best interests to keep you around if you were to do something to prove your loyalty.”

  Sickened, Dorothy asked, “And how would I do that?”

  He said, like it was obvious, “All you have to do is find Asher for me. And kill him yourself.”

  54

  Ash

  OUTSIDE THE ANIL. MIDNIGHT.

  Ash read the note again, a chill moving through him. He grabbed his father’s pocket watch off the wooden crate beside his bed and checked the time. Not quite midnight, but close. He’d lost all sense of day and night over the last week but, now, he did the math in his head, counting back.

  “Damn,” he murmured. He had about ten minutes left until November 11, 2077. A year ago, today, his prememories had started.

  He let the paper float back onto his bed, his skin crawling.

  There was a knock at the door, and then Chandra stepped into the room. “Hey, Zora wanted me to ask if—”

  Ash cut her off. “You’re supposed to wait until someone says ‘Come in’ to open the door.” He tried to fold the note and tuck it into his pocket, but Chandra had already seen it.

  Her eyes shifted from the note to Ash’s face. “What’s that?”

  Did it make sense to hide it? Ash supposed it was too late for that. He could feel Chandra staring at it, wondering, and so, with a sigh, he handed it over.

  Chandra read it quickly. The skin around her eyes tightened a tiny bit.

  “So that’s it, then? Today’s the day you’re supposed to die?” Chandra was hoarse. She dropped onto the bed next to him.

  “You’re not going to try to stop me from going?”

  “Would that work? Okay, then I think you should hide under your cot and hope Quinn Fox or Dorothy or whoever she really is never finds you. Ooh, or we could all run away. How’s that sound?”

  Despite everything, Ash felt himself grin. “Not so bad right now, actually.”

  “Then let’s do it. Grab a bag, we can leave tonight.”

  A minute passed, and then another. Neither of them moved. Chandra let her head fall onto his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  Ash rubbed his eyelids with two fingers. “You don’t have any sage wisdom for me?”

  Chandra scoffed. “Sage wisdom?”

  “You know, advice. How to face your death like a man and all that.”

  “You need Willis for that. Want me to get him?”

  Ash shook his head. “What about movie advice, then? If this were a movie, what would the hero do now? Would he go, knowing he was about to die?”

  “Well.” Chandra was quiet for a moment, considering. “In a love story, there’s always a moment near the end of the movie when the protagonist has to make a choice. Either she does the easy thing and life continues as usual, or she does the hard thing and everything changes. She faces her fears and winds up with everything she ever wanted.”

  “This isn’t a love story, Chandra.”

  Chandra looked up at him. “Isn’t it? Could’ve fooled me.”

  She kissed him on the cheek, and then stood and crossed the room, walking in a quick, jerky way that told Ash she was trying to make it to the hallway before she started to cry.

  She paused at the door and said, without turning to look at him again, “Maybe I do have some sage wisdom after all. Have you ever heard the parable of the blind men and the elephant?” Her voice was thick and choked, but she continued anyway. “So the story goes that these three blind men stumbled upon an elephant, right? Only they’d never met an elephant before, so they didn’t know what it was, so they groped around, trying to figure it out. And one blind man touched its trunk and said, hey this thing sort of feels like a big snake. And the other touched its leg and said, hey it’s kind of like a big column, right? And the third one touched its ear and thought it was, like, this big fan. But none of them really knew what it was because they were only seeing one part.”

  Ash thought about this story for a moment, and then he said, “I don’t get it.”

  “That prememory you keep having is, what? Five minutes long?” Chandra lifted a hand and moved it across her cheek, still facing the door. “How do you know you’re seeing the whole thing?”

  Ash felt his eyebrows draw together. “You think there’s more to it?”

  A shrug. “There always is.”

  55

  Dorothy

  Dorothy sat in Roman’s room, darkness gathering around her like an old friend. She didn’t know what time it was, only that the sky outside was black and st
arless. A candle and matches sat on Roman’s bedside table, but she couldn’t bring herself to light them. She didn’t think she could bear to look at Roman’s things; just sitting here was painful enough. If she closed her eyes she could even pretend that Roman was beside her. The sheets on his bed still smelled like him, and the walls still seemed to hold the echo of his voice.

  Have you seen the future? she remembered asking him, back when they first met.

  Perhaps, he’d answered. Perhaps I’ve even seen yours.

  A lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. She could feel the sobs rising in her chest and, for a moment, she considered letting herself break down. It would be such a relief, to cry. But she only blinked, hard, and focused on her hands clenched, tightly, in her lap.

  There were guards outside her door, at least three of them, she thought, from the sound of their voices. She’d told them she needed something from Roman’s room, and so they were giving her a few moments to gather whatever it was before they dragged her off to find Ash.

  But she’d lied to them. There wasn’t anything here that she needed. She only wanted to say goodbye, and now she had, so it was time to go.

  She looked around the room for something she could pretend she’d come here for and found her eyes drawn to Roman’s bedside table. The top drawer was cracked, and something glinted from within.

  Leaning over, Dorothy inched the drawer open further and found a dagger.

  Her breath caught. She’d left her own daggers in the future, with Roman’s body, but they’d been long, thin blades, designed to cause sharp pain and leave little trace.

  This was different. It was heavier, for one thing. The blade was nearly as thick around as her wrist. Dorothy picked it up, focusing on its weight in her hand. It was meant to do damage, to cut through bone and flesh like it was butter.

  Below the dagger, she saw a small, folded note, Roman’s handwriting staring up at her.

  Breathless, she pulled it out.

  Dearest Dorothy,

  It’s funny, I was never quite sure when to tell you this. Or, perhaps I didn’t want to admit that it was finally time. That’s the problem with knowing when and how you are going to die, I suppose. You have months and months to set all your grand plans into motion, but when the time comes, it’s too hard to go through with any of it. Strange, how the knowing doesn’t make death any easier to face.