by April White
“Why?”
“Because it’s a portal.”
Doran
“A what?”
“A doorway.”
Adam stared at me for a long moment, and then understanding dawned in his eyes. “Like your kind of doorway?”
I nodded, and backed away from the painting as if it could bite me.
“This must have been the Clocker tower.” Adam looked around him in wonder. “I don’t think there’s been a Clocker headmaster in a hundred years.”
“Would you mind if we closed the drapes again? That thing is giving me the creeps.”
“Sure, but why? It’s just a painting.”
I shook my head. “It’s a puke machine.”
He looked at me in frank assessment. “Seriously?”
“The first time I went through I wanted to vomit. The second time I did. Not pretty.”
He shrugged his shoulders with a grin. “I can do that in a night at the pub. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is I’m guessing you usually know where you are when you wake up.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “On second thought, maybe you don’t.”
Adam laughed and closed the drapes over the painting. I immediately felt less anxious and I took a deep breath. “You saw that painting in your vision?”
Adam nodded. “I saw us looking at it together.”
“How did you know the room was here?”
“I saw the round walls in the vision and this is the only tower I hadn’t explored because I could never get in.”
“So, the other tower rooms belonged to the other Family headmasters?” I wandered slowly around the room, looking at objects that had been left behind. A couple of books, a magnifying glass, an old fountain pen with several different nibs – I picked that up and felt its weight.
“What is it?”
“A drawing pen, for pen and ink drawings.” I pulled a piece of blank paper out of the desk drawer and shook the pen before I tried it. The ink was old and the tip was crusted with it, but I got it cleared and quickly did a rough sketch of the bridge from the painting that was now behind the curtain.
Adam looked over my shoulder and then stared at me. “You’re really good.”
I shrugged. “Thanks. It’s a really good pen.” I put the fountain pen back into its case and was about to close it into the desk drawer when Adam stopped me.
“You should keep it. It belonged to your ancestor anyway.” I looked in his eyes for any sign that he was laughing at me, but he was serious – and about six inches away from my face. I took a step back.
“Yeah, I guess I will.” I shoved the pen case into my back pocket and headed for the door. “We should probably go.”
“Hang on; you wanted to climb, right? Let’s see where this tower goes.” Adam was looking up at the flat ceiling about twelve feet above us. “The tower roofs are pitched and the ceiling in here is flat. Which means it’s probably the floor of something else.”
I examined the room with a critical eye. “Over there. The wardrobe.”
Adam stopped in front of a large, gothic-looking carved wood cabinet. I joined him there. “It’s too deep.”
Adam put his hand inside. “No it’s not. It’s just a wardrobe.”
I moved him over to the side of the wardrobe. “It’s way deeper than your arm. Look.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes and I grinned. We spoke simultaneously. “A secret entrance.” Adam stepped into the wardrobe. “It’s too dark. I can’t see.”
I switched on my Maglite and shone it inside the dark wood furniture. Adam nodded approvingly. “Impressive. What else do you carry around in your pockets?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I focused on the outside edges of the back, feeling along the seams in the wood until finally I found the catch I was looking for.
“Here.” I flipped the invisible catch and the back of the wardrobe swung open.
“Cool.” There was awe in his voice. It made him sound like a kid. Way better than the arrogant jerk he sounded like when he was trying to be smooth.
I shone my flashlight in and immediately saw circular stone steps. “Going up?” I grinned at him and stepped into the darkness. The staircase wound about halfway around the tower and the steps were steep. The door at the top opened with a push.
The tower room was filled with sunlight and the view from the windows was spectacular. The room felt warm and welcoming in a way the Seer’s tower had not.
“This room’s not warded.” I touched the stone walls and they felt warmed by sunlight. My skin soaked up the sun like it had been starved for light and heat and I breathed a sigh of deep contentment.
“You look happy.” I opened my eyes to see Adam watching me.
“I’m warm. I don’t think I realized how cold everything is in England until just now.”
“Our tower has the same view.” Adam sounded a little defensive and I smiled.
“Yeah, but it’s cold. I guess if they warded a room they used for Clocking, they might not be able to get back in.” It made sense. Warded rooms were supposed to be like safe-houses. Someplace a person could go to keep others out. It kind of fascinated and disturbed me that Clockers would be vulnerable at the points of departure and arrival.
Adam looked down out the window and saw a class heading outside. He quickly checked his watch. “Oh crap! I’ve got Economics with Ms. Rothchild, affectionately known as the Rothbitch.”
“You seriously call someone that?”
“Yeah, you saw her in the Solarium your first day. She looks like she eats small children with caviar for breakfast.” Ah yes, the snooty one I hated on sight. Adam pulled open the door and bolted down the stone steps. I followed quickly on his heels, making sure to close the top door behind me so light wouldn’t shine down and give away the entrance.
He was already at the main door to the office when I closed the wardrobe door behind me. “Hang on, I’m coming with you.” I pocketed my Maglite and followed him out. He quickly locked the office door and re-hid the key in the clock.
“Thanks for finding this place.” I really meant it. For the first time I was starting to feel like I might belong somewhere; like I could actually make, and keep, friends. Adam turned up the wattage on his grin. “Like I said, I love it when hot girls owe me.” He bolted down the hall before my slap could connect with any part of him. But I was laughing too.
Okay, what next? If I wasn’t going to class with Adam, and to be honest, Economics sent chills of horror down my spine, I figured I should head back to the library and find some answers. Several younger students were filing out of the big room when I arrived, and for a moment, I was totally alone. I found the school computers in a corner, and lucky for me someone was lazy about logging off.
Okay, ‘Jack the Ripper.’ First, the killings. It was very odd to read about the two murders I’d witnessed first-hand, and very disheartening to realize the next one would be in three weeks. Well, a hundred and twenty-odd years ago and three weeks. He basically disappeared from the media after the death of Mary Kelly on November 9th, 1888. There were other murders they tried to pin on the Ripper after that, but most investigators look at the “canonical five” woman as the primary Ripper killings.
Most importantly, none of the other victims was unidentified. And none of them were wearing a green dress. So my mom’s name wasn’t among the victims. That, at least, was a good thing. There were pages and pages of investigative documents on the Ripper, but the sound of students coming in made me log off the computer, and I slipped back out to the main stacks.
Miss Rogers sat at a table, looking calmly right at me. “There you are, Miss Elian. I’ve been hoping to run into you.”
I dropped into the chair across from her. “I could have come to your class to see you.”
“Sadly, you could not. That would be a preordained meeting. This way is much better.” Miss Rogers waited until a group of kids passed our table. They were younger boys and one of them, a b
oy with tousled blond hair and an easy grin winked at me. “Off with you, Connor Edwards, before I tell your Uncle you’re flirting with older women.”
The kid grinned at Miss Rogers. “He’ll say I’ve got good taste, Miss Rogers. You look nice today.”
She laughed at made a shooing gesture. “Rascal!”
Connor and his friends left the library shoving each other playfully. Miss Rogers sighed. “That one is too smart for his own good, and when his brother gets here, the pair of them will be insufferable.” Miss Rogers turned her attention to me. “Now, for you, Miss Elian, I have five minutes before my next class, and as you may have heard by now, I do know something of your abilities. Ask what you will.”
“Are spirals the only way to time travel?”
“If there are other ways, I haven’t heard of them.”
Her answers were just as no-nonsense and rapid fire as my questions. “Can I make my own spiral to travel?”
“Some can, but it’s rare. I haven’t heard of a modern Clocker strong enough to do so.”
Interesting. Thank you, Doran, for making my spirals. “Will I go to the same time and place each time?”
She had to think about that one for a moment. “Not necessarily. I believe there are defaults that a spiral sends you to, and I understand the time rings are approximately a hundred twenty-five years apart. But a skilled Clocker can control the place and time they travel to.”
“How do I get that skill?”
“You learn it from one who can do it.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” Miss Roger’s voice sounded tired and I had the feeling my Q&A session was ending.
“Is there a cost to time traveling?” I suddenly had the thought I could be taking years off my life every time I went through a spiral. Miss Rogers seemed to know exactly what I meant though, and I think she was impressed with the question.
“As I understand it, and please realize, I’m merely a quarter-time with no traveling skill whatsoever, the only cost to clocking is the risk of getting lost.”
“But as long as there’s a spiral on the other end, there’s no way to get lost, right?”
She smiled at me, her ancient face so lined only the sparkle of her eyes gave it away. “My dear, I can get lost from my bed to the toilet these days. I find presumptions to be a source of false confidence. But then again, confidence may be exactly what you need.” She took a deep, raspy breath and I wondered how old she really was. “Your Guardian, Lady Elian, never learned the finer points of clocking because there was no one left to teach her, and she didn’t have the courage to try on her own and risk failure. Sometimes our failures are the only way to truly learn.”
A class of older students began filing into the library and Miss Rogers pushed back her chair. I raced around the table and helped her to her feet. She was as light as a bird and I thought her bones could possibly be hollow.
“Thank you, my dear. You asked about the costs of clocking? I can’t speak to that so much as the costs of being one of our family.” I was holding her arm – and my breath – as I walked her to the door of the library. “Time moves more slowly for us than for others, a blessing when we’re young, but less interesting when our bones are brittle and our eyesight fails.”
I tried not to stare at her parchment skin and snow-white hair. “Can I ask how old you are?”
Her eyes sparkled again and I could hear the laughter in her voice. “You can ask and I won’t tell. Suffice to say I remember when the Titanic sank.” She took her arm out of my hand and walked gracefully, if a little slowly, down the hall.
Some kids ran past Miss Rogers on their way to class and I wanted to yell at them to watch out for her, but she didn’t seem to mind them a bit.
I spun back into the library and found an encyclopedia from 1990. Old, but still useful for my purpose. I flipped through the T’s to ‘Titanic,’ did some quick mental math, and then picked my jaw up off the floor. The Titanic sank in 1912. Miss Rogers was over a hundred years old.
Wow.
A class of about ten kids entered the library and that was my cue to leave. I didn’t know where Adam and Ava were, and I had no idea what time it was. Part of me wanted to go curl up under my covers and hide out, and the other part wanted more. More information, more experience, just more.
So I did what I liked to do when I had to think. I ran.
The thing about free-running is that almost no one can catch me when I do it, especially in hallways rapidly emptying of students going to their next classes.
“Hey, new girl!”
I looked for the speaker. It was the blond kid, Connor. He grinned at me and gave me a thumbs-up. I waved back at the kid, and kept running.
I leapt over a railing and took a set of stairs three at a time, then climbed more stairs, raced down halls, turned corners, and climbed again. It was only when I finally stopped right outside the heavy wooden door did I realize where my feet had taken me. The Clocker tower. I unlocked the door, slipped inside, and turned the lock behind me.
I grabbed a couple pieces of yellowed blank paper from the desk and a board to write on. Then I opened the secret stairway door in the back of the wardrobe and bounded up the stairs to my gloriously warm and sunny tower.
I was already thinking of the place as my own. The Seers had their tower, God knows what the Mongers and Shifters had, and I had my very own Clocker tower. Besides Miss Rogers who clearly wasn’t in any shape to be climbing stairs, I was the only Clocker at St. Brigid’s, so why shouldn’t it be mine?
I picked the sunniest spot in the room and sat on the floor with my drawing pens and paper. It was warm there and I stretched out like a cat. I only noticed how tense I’d been when I felt my muscles start to unlock and my breathing shifted into low-gear. I closed my eyes and let my mind go blank, and for a moment, I savored the nothing-ness.
And then slowly, almost like a reflection clearing on a rippled pond, the image of Archer came into my brain. Not Archer-the-Vampire I just saw the night before, but Archer-the-University-Student from Victorian England. He was smiling in the picture in my head and I started trying to sketch that smile. I realized pretty quickly that I couldn’t draw the mouth without first drawing his eyes since that’s where his smile started. And before I was even aware I’d done it, a rough sketch of Archer’s face stared back at me from the paper.
I looked at the sketch with critical eyes. The nose wasn’t quite right, and I didn’t think his eyebrows were so arched. I wanted to see him in person. It was an irrational thing, maybe just so I could get the details of the drawing exactly right. I tucked the pens back into my pocket and stood up.
And came face to face with a man.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Every hair on my body stood straight up. “Who are you?” My voice squeaked and it was barely above a whisper. His face looked oddly familiar. Not like I’d necessarily seen him before, but maybe I knew his parents or something.
“Nice work on the portrait. Looks like him.” His eyes lit up merrily. He was probably in his mid-twenties with longish, shaggy light brown hair and the look of an adventurer or outdoorsman. Like the kind of guy who climbs pyramids to watch the sun rise, or skydives just to see the view.
I stared at him. “You know Archer?”
He shrugged as if he knew everyone, then held out his hand to shake. “I’m Doran.”
I think my mouth fell open. I’m not sure, but I had the distinct feeling I looked like a fish. Okay. Breathe. “Thanks for the Spirals.”
He grinned. “Glad you found them.”
I looked behind him at the staircase leading to the Clocker room. He caught my look and anticipated my question. “I came in through the painting.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I figured it’s about time to introduce myself.”
“Finally.” I spoke almost to myself, and then blurted out, “Can I travel between portals in the same time?”
He laughed a
t me. I didn’t care.
“Yeah, absolutely. But it helps to have a really strong image of something on the other side.”
“A landmark like the Bridge in the painting?”
“Yeah, it’s easiest if you already have a visual of the place, though I’ve traveled to places I’ve never seen before too.”
“How?”
“An emotional connection can link you there if it’s strong enough.”
“Like to a person?”
“Sometimes.”
My eyes narrowed as I looked at Doran. “You’re not exactly big on details, are you?”
He shrugged. “Sorry, I’ve never had to teach anyone before. It’s hard to teach what you just… know.”
“Great. That’s helpful.”
“The Family has a locket I think. With a clock on the face. I’ve heard of some of them using that to focus their travels.”
“What do you mean, ‘focus?”
“Well, like this. You’ve gone to 1888. A fairly simple one-ring jump into the past. Your native time draws you back to it like a magnet each time, so going between these two times is always easiest. If you wanted to do a two-ring jump, or jump to a specific year, you’d have to focus your travel. Some of us do it on our own, but the less skilled would use the clock on the locket like a conduit to that time.”
“I supposed Millicent has the locket now?” As head of the Elian Family it made sense.
“I doubt it. I don’t think it’s been seen since Melinda’s time. They thought she might have died with it on.”
Melinda. I’d heard that name before. Melinda Elian. Oh! I gasped. “You mean the council massacre.”
He nodded. “I heard it was pretty awful. But I guess that’s what happens when you bring Weres in to do your dirty work.”
Weres? As in Werewolves? He had to be kidding. Doran made a move for the stairs. “Got anything else for me?”
“About a million things. Miss Simpson said she taught you in the 70s. How come you aren’t that old?”
He shrugged like it was no big deal. “I jump around a lot in time. Oh, by the way, you won’t be able to go anywhere you already are.”