Passenger

by Alexandra Bracken

  Or, some passages were secret, created for one particular family’s use alone.

  “How do the Thorns fit into this?” Nicholas asked.

  The notes of the symphony of lives, desires, and revenge suddenly swelled into a chorus of generations, blasting through Etta’s mind. She already knew the answer to his question. “They’re united in wanting to create passages to the past, to return to what they all see as the original timeline, to restore the centuries and years that orphaned them when Ironwood began to bend the timeline to suit his needs.”

  Which wouldn’t be the future she had grown up in: days in the park, lessons with Alice, tea with her mom…For a moment, Etta wasn’t sure which was more terrifying: if Ironwood moved forward into the future, or if the Thorns interfered with the past.

  “And those who were lost to them,” Alice added. “To save them.”

  The way I want to save you. Etta pressed her fingers against her mouth, trying to seal in the whirlwind of sudden uncertainty whipping through her. How is what I want to do any different than what they want to do? Why does Alice deserve to live more than their loved ones?

  No—she couldn’t think about it. Alice deserved to live. She didn’t deserve to die, not the way she had.

  “They wouldn’t dare,” Nicholas said. She could tell he was trying to avoid looking at her, even as he added, “We cannot save the dead. We cannot even warn them, should we cross paths with them.”

  “Only if you follow the rules,” Alice pointed out. “The rules Ironwood established when he rose to power. He destroyed everything, including our way of life.”

  More secrets. More to agonize over. More reasons to find the astrolabe as soon as they possibly could. Etta rubbed at the spot between her eyes that had begun to pound in time with her heart. Just keep going. Stopping to think about this too hard would only keep her locked in a cycle of doubt, and she couldn’t afford to be overwhelmed just then. She needed to take things as they came. Her plan would stay the same: Find the astrolabe. Save her mom. Save Alice. Escape Ironwood if they had to.

  “I wish it could be the way it was, back when the families flourished and balanced out each other’s powers,” Alice said. “The professor and my father used to talk about it very wistfully. Each family had a proper role, and they alternated them every few decades to ensure no family undermined another and the timeline remained stable.”

  “What kind of roles?” Etta asked, curious.

  “Record-keepers, financiers, and shifters—that last one entailed correcting any changes to the timeline and checking on the stability of the passages themselves,” Alice explained. “And, of course, one family would hold trials and enforce punishments for breaking the rules—the enforcers.”

  “That was ages ago,” Nicholas said dismissively. “Corruption unraveled it rather neatly. My understanding is that it only worked well for a few hundred years, back when the ‘families’ were still mere alliances and clans.”

  “Alliances?” Etta repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “Did your mother never tell you about our own history?” Alice asked.

  She shook her head, trying to beat back the frustration. “It’s…complicated.”

  “Ah, well,” Alice said. “No bother. While it’s generally accepted we all come from a common ancestor with the ability, the families today originally existed as alliances between many separate families that united together under banners—the trees we now use as our family names—against their rivals and enemies. That was another time of huge conflict; everyone was trying to claim centuries and territories to control. It was mostly resolved through treaties and the establishment of the system of roles and laws. You can still see the evidence of how widespread their numbers used to be in the diversity within the remaining members of the families today.”

  Nicholas flicked his gaze back onto the street below. He shifted again, and now all Etta could see was the long curve of his spine, the strong width of his shoulders, and his left fingers as they tapped against the muscle of his right arm.

  “Enough history; it hardly matters now. Ask her the question that brought us here,” he said, a note of impatience in his voice.

  Etta turned to Alice with an apologetic look, but she didn’t seem bothered.

  “Mom left me a series of clues to find it,” she said. “In a coded letter.”

  “A letter that can only be read when a key—a symbol—is placed over it, showing which words are meant to be read?” Alice said with a knowing smile. “We all used to exchange messages that way.”

  Etta felt the hair rise on her arms. It was a connection, however thin, to a larger family she’d never known. “We think the next riddle—the clue—is meant to lead us to a passage near the Elgin Marbles, but we’re not sure where to find them in this year. I thought you might know, since your father works for the museum…?”

  “Can you answer one thing for me first?” Alice said. “How did you know to come to this house? Did you look up the address? Ask around?”

  “I didn’t need to,” Etta said. “You and Mom brought me by a few times. You said it was very special—that it was important for me to see where you’d grown up.”

  Alice sighed, sounding almost relieved. “Then both of us wanted you to be able to find me. That’s good. They—we, I mean, we must have known something like this might happen.”

  The fact was cemented in her now. None of this was a coincidence. Alice, her Alice in the future, had met Etta in the past. She’d known her as nearly an adult before she’d ever met the small wisp of a girl clutching her child-size violin. This was the reason she and Rose had fought—because Alice knew Etta would come here, because she’d already lived through it.

  The thought of their inevitability in each other’s lives burrowed deep into her heart, past the hardened shell she’d put up to keep herself together.

  “The museum and government have taken the Marbles underground,” Alice said. “They’re tucked away in the Underground, in the tunnel between the Aldwych and Holborn stations. It’s not exactly near where I report to work, but I can at least point you in the right direction.”

  “Will we have access to the tunnel?” Etta asked.

  “Both stations are being used as shelters during the air raids,” Alice explained. “You’ll need to find an opportunity when the stations aren’t being watched by police, but you should be able to climb down from the platform and walk through the tunnel. The Marbles will be in crates, but they’re obvious enough by their size.”

  Etta nodded, processing this.

  “Is there a back entrance out of your home?” Nicholas asked suddenly, drawing the curtain shut in front of him.

  “Well, yes,” Alice said, rising slowly. “Why?”

  “Two gentlemen in the street are watching this house,” he said. “Unless they’re interested in painting it, I think it’s a fair assumption that we’ve been found.”

  THROUGH THE BACK DOOR, THROUGH THE BACK GARDEN, through a gate that opened out onto a street. Etta had one second to celebrate their narrow escape, when the man she’d seen before—the one with the fedora and newspaper—appeared at the other end of the street.

  “I know him,” Alice said, grabbing her wrist.

  “One of Ironwood’s?” Etta asked.

  She shook her head. “No…I don’t think so. Rosie left me photos to identify them. This one’s definitely come round looking for her before, though.”

  Not an Ironwood guardian…then who the hell was he?

  The girls struggled to keep pace with Nicholas’s longer strides. He kept one hand buried deep in his bag—if Etta had to guess, it was on the revolver inside. Whether or not he’d actually bought ammunition was anyone’s guess, but Etta had a feeling that the answer was—

  She slammed into something, and felt herself ripped away from Alice’s grip. One of Etta’s feet caught the other and she landed hard on her bottom, her scraped hands singing in agony. When the spots of black cleared from her eyes, Etta s
aw a woman, the one in the brown suit, reeling and clutching her nose. Just past her shoulder, Nicholas wheeled around, his face blank with horror.

  A pair of hands scooped Etta up by the elbows, hauling her back before she could get her feet beneath her. The smell of cologne and sweat flooded her nose, and she threw her head back, trying to hit some soft, fleshy part of him.

  “Rose,” the man gasped out, “Rose, damn you—”

  Rose?

  A pale fist flew past her face, landing on the man’s jaw. Alice’s face was glowing red with fury as she shook her hand out, but it was Nicholas who charged past her and tackled the man to the ground. Etta finally had a look at him: horn-rimmed glasses, a mussed tweed suit. It was a different man than the one who’d carried the paper. Younger.

  “I’m not—” he gasped as Nicholas hauled him up with a snarl and launched a fist into his face. “Not—”

  Not what? Etta looked to Alice for an answer, but the girl only shrugged and shoved aside the woman in brown, who was still moaning in pain.

  “Come on, Carter!” Alice called. “Keep moving!”

  He didn’t move, except to raise his fist again.

  “Nicholas!” Etta called. “Come on!”

  He finally shook himself out of his anger’s grip, dropped the battered man back onto the sidewalk, and ran to catch up to them.

  “Are you all right?” He tried to reach over, but Etta only ran harder, toward the crowds gathering in front of them and the cars honking to get through.

  No time. Just run. Run.

  Her breath burned inside her chest as they pushed through the busy city, dodging through street after street of homes and shops until, after nearly twenty minutes, they reached their destination. Over their heads was a rainbow array of glowing advertising signs and lights—LEMON HART, BP, SCHWEPPES—and, at the center of a traffic circle, a statue of Eros watched the slow crawl of double-decker buses and police cars. Even without the modern billboards, Etta recognized the intersection. They’d run the whole way to Piccadilly Circus, and her blisters and cramping legs and feet were proof of it.

  Alice looked around, her face pink and gleaming with sweat despite the chill in the air. “I can’t take you all the way there, I’m sorry—I can’t miss my shift. There are people depending on me. I wish I could—”

  Etta swallowed the small, selfish pang of desperation to keep Alice close, and said, “That’s okay. Thank you for getting us this far. Is the Underground station much farther?”

  “It’s another twenty-minute walk from here,” Alice said. “I can give you money for a taxi—”

  “It’ll be easier to lose them on foot,” Nicholas said. “Thank you. Where do we go from here?”

  Using the back of her mother’s letter and a ballpoint pen, Etta had Alice quickly write out the remainder of the instructions. Head east as the road turns from Piccadilly Circus to Swiss Court, to Cranbourn Street to Carrick, up King Street past St. Paul’s Cathedral, back down to Russell, right on Catherine Street once you pass the Royal Opera House.… All at once, Etta missed her phone and satellites and the luxury of never having to feel lost.

  “Be safe,” Alice said, throwing her arms around her.

  The faint anxiety that prickled over Etta’s skin sparked into paralyzing dread. No time. No time for this, but—

  “We must go.…” she heard Nicholas say gently, in warning.

  She pulled back with a bone-deep reluctance, an aching hollowness at the pit of her stomach. What you’re speaking of isn’t a matter of morality. It’s an impossibility.

  What would change—what could change if she warned Alice now? The thought gnawed on her; it would be a small ripple, wouldn’t it? A small change in an enormous sea of moments. If she couldn’t travel back to her time and pull Alice to safety without crossing paths with herself, she could at least do this. She could rewrite that moment, the pale terror of her instructor’s face, the blood.…

  “Alice—”

  “No, no, none of that,” Alice interrupted. “No tears, no secrets. I want the life I’m meant to have, Etta. It’s as simple as that. My father always says that the way to truly live is to do so without expectation or fear hanging over you, affecting your choices—and that’s bloody hard to do with you travelers coming and going. I want to know you the way you know me one day. I want to play my violin, make my mistakes, fall in love, live in as many different cities as I can.…Would you really take that from me?”

  Etta couldn’t breathe; her hands were curling and uncurling at her side, and she was trembling with the effort to keep from sobbing. She glanced at Nicholas, who had turned his head to survey the crowd and was politely pretending he wasn’t listening. Finally she shook her head.

  “We’re called ‘guardians’ because we’re meant to take care of you lot, as you take care of our world. And Etta, don’t forget—the truly remarkable thing about your life is that you’re not bound to live it straight forward like the rest of us. You can come see me for a visit anytime. It’s like how the song goes: I’ll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places.…”

  Etta pulled back, half-stunned to hear those words again. She watched Alice wave and step into the rush of bodies around them, until even the flash of her bright hair dimmed and disappeared completely.

  “—Etta? Are you all right?” She didn’t realize Nicholas was speaking to her until he reached over, brushing a thumb over her unhurt cheek.

  “She said that before…the last time I saw her, just before…” Before she died. She needed to say it. She needed to accept it, because it was clear to her now, so agonizingly clear, that Alice remembered this meeting. She knew Etta would try to tell her about what would happen to her, and she, in her very Alice way, wanted to let her know what she had said in the past was true. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to change the life she’d lived with Etta up to that point.

  But Alice had loved her enough to still fight to keep her from having to travel, or at least travel without knowing the truth. Maybe that’s why her mom had been so firmly against telling Etta; she could be unsentimental when Alice and Etta couldn’t.

  “She doesn’t want me to save her.” Etta wiped at her eyes, surprised to feel the wet tracks of tears dripping down off her chin. “Sorry…I’m just…a little overwhelmed. And tired.”

  All I wanted was to save you. What was she even going back to now? Was there a point to performing in any kind of debut, having any kind of career, if Alice couldn’t see it?

  She knew Alice had been in what Rose called the “twilight years” of her life—she’d lived a long time, and even as a young student, Etta had understood that she wouldn’t be around forever. But she couldn’t reconcile herself with this. She couldn’t understand how any of this was fair.

  I’ll see her again, she thought. Not in my time, and maybe not even soon, but one day…

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. We’ll rest as soon as it’s safe, but we do need to keep moving,” Nicholas said.

  Etta nodded and followed.

  The line of his body was rigid, poised to strike. Sharp, cutting dark eyes assessed each person who passed them. Now and then he rubbed at the broken skin on his bruised knuckles, and she knew that while she was thinking about Alice, his thoughts were locked on what had happened behind the house. She reached over to brush her fingers over the back of his hand, trying to break him out of what looked like a vicious cycle of thoughts. They’d already lost a day trying to solve this clue; they couldn’t waste a second more on regrets.

  Etta began walking faster, nearly at a jog, but he kept up easily with his long strides. Sweeping her gaze around the street, she tried to identify the source of the uneasiness rippling down the back of her neck.

  “What do you think the man who grabbed me was going to say—he wasn’t a what?” she asked. “An enemy? An Ironwood?”

  “If Miss…Alice…is right, and he’s not an Ironwood, then it’s likely he’s a Thorn,” Nicholas said slowly. “Equ
ally dangerous, considering they want the astrolabe as well.”

  Rose. The man had called her Rose.

  “He used my mom’s name,” she said. “That man had clearly seen her before if he mistook me for her.”

  He gave one of his curt nods. “Alice implied that your mother was tied to the Thorns at one point or another.”

  Etta frowned. Something about all of this was rubbing her the wrong way, brushing up like sandpaper against her attempts to puzzle this out. Her mother had wanted her to travel; she’d known it was inevitable. Etta was beginning to think the “consequences” Rose had referenced in her fight with Alice had to do with trying to change the timeline by keeping Etta from going. So why would Rose join a group that wanted to use the astrolabe for itself—and would stop Etta from getting it? Had she pulled the same kind of con on the Thorns as she had on the Ironwoods?

  Rose could be cold, guarded, but Etta hadn’t realized before now that her mother could also be ruthless. It gave her hope that, if her mom really did believe she could handle this, she recognized there was fight in Etta, too.

  They were going to have a long conversation when Etta found her. Starting with why she hadn’t just destroyed the astrolabe in the first place, and saved everyone the grief.

  The sun was setting, and the mood of the city was shifting into something that made her stomach churn. Heavy curtains were being drawn behind windows, and cardboard was being placed in the flat windows of storefronts. The streetlamps remained off. The crowds of people began to disperse, breaking off in clusters and heading up the side streets, jumping in whatever bus or taxi was passing by. It was like the city had sucked in one last, enormous gasp and was holding its breath. Etta felt as though she were walking along a crack that was threatening to cave in on itself.