Skyline (18 page)

But
then fingers were around her arms, pulling them back. The orb dropped back into
her bag, the device going dark. “Now now, when did Leanor get herself some
friends
?”
snarled a voice in her ear. She could practically see Paris’s horrible grin in
her periphery.

“Ana,”
Monroe said down the alley. “
Leanor
. Run.”

“’Roe,”
Charlotte said, her limbs shaking in Paris’s grip.
“No.”

Ana
struggled to her feet, but the woman with red hair—Cora, Ana had named
her—grabbed at the dangling rags, hissed something into Ana’s ear.

“Get
’em!” Monroe shouted, racing forward. Bill jumped at the tall, pale man, his
muscles flexing. Monroe headed for the red haired woman, oblivious to what was
happening behind him.

Paris’s
grip on her arms tightened, squeezing them together. Her shoulders rippled with
pain. “That wasn’t loud enough, I think.”

“’Roe!”
Charlotte shouted now. Tears were streaming down her cheek. “’Roe, stop! You
have to stop!”

Monroe
froze, arm still on the redhead, who still clutched Ana. Bill twisted his neck
to see her, even as he held Alek’s shoulders firmly. “Char,” both of them
murmured.

“You
can’t,” she said. Hating herself for going along with this hateful man.
“Charlie.”

Now
Monroe’s hand fell from Cora’s arm. Bill released Alek. And, in kind, Paris let
her shoulders relax. “Very good,” he said, hot breath in her ear.

Bill
and Monroe stepped away from Alek and Cora. Paris stepped away from her. Step
by step, they traded sides, getting back to where they’d been. And in the
center: Ana, still trapped. But before Paris could fully reach her, Ana broke
free of Cora’s grip. With all eyes on the trio, she had her chance. She raced
away, darting past Paris’s outstretched hand, then blinking out of existence,
vanishing through time.

“I’m
sorry,” Charlotte whispered as the men joined her. “I’m sorry.” She could have
broken away from Paris. Knocked his legs out, punched him while he was down,
joined the fray. But he didn’t seem to realize he’d already taken her out by
preventing her from leaping through time. “I should’ve brought him,” she said,
tears bubbling out alongside the anger. “Why didn’t I fucking bring him?”

Through
blurry vision, Charlotte watched Bill take her clenched hand and spread it.
Monroe snaked a hand over her shoulder. Exactly as they’d comforted Ana. She
wrenched herself away. “Why didn’t you think? Why didn’t she tell us what we
really needed? Why wouldn’t she answer our questions? Fuck the Council”—only
now did Charlotte realized that they had vanished—“we should’ve leapt away.
Gotten
more
out of her. And now?” With fists, Charlotte smeared the
tears away. Drew herself up. “Now we have literally,
absolutely
nothing.”

Head
tilted down, Monroe glanced over at Bill. The now-muscled man shook his head.
Neither of them could meet her eyes. At least both of them realized how foolish
they’d been.

“We’re
not superheroes,” she told them, trying to quiet down, to not scold them too
harshly. “We shouldn’t have run in.”

“Leanor
said …” Monroe began, but he couldn’t finish.

“At
least Charlie’s safe,” Charlotte said. That was something.

Then
a figure appeared, exactly where the Council had grappled with Ana moments ago.
The blue-haired figure stepped from the shadows, cracking his knuckles and
smiling like a crocodile. Charlotte shuddered, realizing she’d have to add a
couple extra words. Charlie was safe.

For
now.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

Paris
stepped forward. One foot, then the other. Closer and closer, grinning all the
while. “How curious,” he said, tilting his head. “I send you to stop the Blast,
we agree to terms, and then I get this message from my colleagues—that once
upon a time you tried to change
our
history. What, did you get lost?”

Charlotte
glanced to Monroe. To Bill. “We …”

“We
couldn’t find her,” Monroe said, stepping up. “We’ve been tracking her down,
trying to get clues.” He gulped when Paris’s menacing expression didn’t change.
“I guess we tracked her too early.”

“Seems
like,” Paris said, folding his thick arms over his chest. “Yet you told her to
run. You tried to save her from us, like we’re the threats. Like
we
bombed your precious city.”

But
Paris and the Council were
why
she’d bombed the city. That’s what Ana
said, even if she never said what made them so terrifying. What did their
torturing her, chasing her through time, have to do with destroying New York
City? “This was a way to stop her,” Charlotte tried.

“Enough
lies.” Paris sprang forward, hand out toward her neck.

She
wouldn’t be held by him again. Charlotte ducked, slid a leg under his and sent
him tumbling. He wasn’t going to take Charlie, wasn’t going to freeze her into
submission again.

She
spun to take on Paris, and Bill sprang over her, leg out. Even standing up from
where Charlotte had knocked him down, the man grabbed Bill’s leg as if it were
nothing, and pulled Bill into his fist. “Muhh,” Bill wheezed, then collapsed to
the ground.

“You
think I haven’t been watching you? I gave you all that time,
Charlotte
.”
He stepped over Bill. “A day to meet Leanor. Four years of searching the past.
Another day and night. But you had to come
here
.”

“Char!”
Monroe said, tugging at her shoulder. But she didn’t turn to face him. Didn’t
ask what he wanted. This was about her and Paris. About her stopping the man
who’d threatened her child. Adrenaline raced through her, pumping blood through
her veins, erasing every concern from her mind. “Char,” came Monroe’s voice again.
Closer. Whispering, “He doesn’t want a fight. He just wants
you
.”

Paris’s
grin widened. “Smart man, your twin brother. Tell me, why’d you just send him
to a library?”

Her
fist dropped a few inches. Even though he’d said he was watching, she hadn’t believed
him. But to know that . . . “Why do you want us?” Charlotte asked. “Me. Why do
you want me?”

“Didn’t
I already say?” He lunged forward, but not toward Charlotte. He crashed into
Monroe, sending her brother sprawling, then pivoted and gripped Charlotte’s
raised wrist. He wrenched her purse from her shoulder and dropped it to the
ground. Then he pressed his lips against her ear. “To keep my promise.”

Images
flickered in front of Charlotte fast as lightning. New York City. Trees. Ice.
An alleyway. A tall spire. A darkened street. And then the violent torrent
stopped, and Charlotte swayed in front of a building with shadows creeping up
it as the sun lowered. Felix’s apartment building, where she’d left Charlie for
safekeeping.

“No,”
Charlotte whispered, but she couldn’t break Paris’s grip on her wrist held
tightly behind her back.

“You’ll
lead me to him,” Paris said. “You’ll act like everything is fine. If you do, if
you’re good, then when you finish with the Blast, we’ll bring him back to you.
I promise.” He released his grip on her wrist. “You know I keep my promises.”

Before
he could think, Charlotte pivoted, swung a hand up right toward his face. But
he was ready, somehow knowing her that well. He caught her hand before it could
meet its target. He squeezed. “Ah ah,” he said, and released her once more.
“Try again, and you won’t like the state I return your boy in.”

“You
w—”

He
pressed a finger against her lips. “I
will
. How long have you been
traveling? How much technology do you have? I’ve been at it longer, and have
more on my side. You have your”—he looked her up and down then
sneered—“muscles. But they aren’t everything.”

Paris
moved his finger back an inch or two. “I’m not your enemy, Charlotte. I want
what you do. To save New York City.”

Charlotte
wanted to scream. To hit him because of the insanity. He’d killed Leanor, who’d
wanted the exact same thing. He was threatening her even though she was trying
her hardest. She squeezed her eyes closed, her teeth together, her fists tight.
And then she relaxed everything, opened her eyes and stared at him. “Then what
the fuck?”

“Maybe
you weren’t lying,” Paris said, ignoring her. “Maybe, somehow,
saving
Leanor all those years in the future was a way of preventing the Blast. But you
hesitated.” He jerked his head up toward the apartment. “For him. Well, no need
for that.”

“No,
give me one more chance.”

His
smile turned into a snarl, his eyes glowing with fury. “I
gave
you
chances! More than three. And you failed. So, enough of that. I’m taking him.
You can try to stop me if you like.”

Charlotte
took the invitation, throwing another punch, but stopping short. Paris grabbed
at air. She slid a leg under, hooked his ankle, then twisted up. He stumbled
back, but kept his balance. “Nice attempt,” he said. “How’s this?”

Paris
vanished, a hand suddenly around her waist. Spinning her in place. A hand
clasping hers. His body now pressed tightly against hers. “I prefer dancing to
fighting,” he said. Stepping forward, and tugging her with him. She tried to
break free, but he had her. And no amount of kicking stopped him from swinging
her around the street. He leaned in. “Isn’t this better?” he whispered, his
teeth grazing her ear, sending shivers up and down her spine.

“God,”
Charlotte said, shoving herself away. Shook the strange thoughts out of her
mind. He was a monster. He was her enemy. He wanted to steal Charlie.

“It’s
not like I need your permission,” Paris said, and strode through the doorway.

Charlotte
went after him, just a pane of glass away in the revolving door. But when he
met the lobby, he vanished. She kept pressing, stumbling forward.

“Ms.
Osqui?” Harold asked. “You visiting Felix again?”

“Yes,”
she said, surveying the lobby. Paris was here, sometime. Ready to leap forward.
He could already be up there. “Call Felix while I go up?” She bounced on her
heels. “I promise he’ll say okay.”

“Sure,”
Harold said, lifting the phone from its cradle. She sprint-walked over the
lobby to the elevator. Got in and pressed the second floor button again and
again until the door slid closed. The seconds it took to get to the next floor
up seemed eternal. But the more that dread built in Charlotte’s stomach, the
less she wanted the doors to open wide.

And
then they did, Felix at his door, eyes wide. “Charlotte,” he said, a shaking
hand against his cheek. “A man … Charlie … Gone.”

She
rushed to him. Clung to him in a way she hadn’t all year long. Stroked the
whorls of his short hair. This was worse, so much worse, than all she’d done
for the past year. She’d abandoned her husband, hurt him, made his life worse.
But now, she’d utterly failed him.

And
Charlie was gone.

Charlotte
tried to hold in the tears, squeezing her body against Felix. “It’ll be okay,”
she whispered, telling herself as much as Felix. “He promised he’d bring
Charlie back.”

Felix
pulled away. “He said to give you this.” He gulped. “In exchange for your
sacrifice.”

Charlotte
took the scrap of paper and clutched Felix back into a hug. “It’s going to be
okay,” she whispered again. “I promise he’ll be okay.” With both hands around
Felix’s back, Charlotte unfolded the paper.

Read
the words that Paris had left:
She’s always in a hidden place. Of course.
Gets in through a crowd. Obviously. Is that enough, or do I need to spell it
out?
And below the angry scrawl, a date and place in block letters:
Pier
54. May 6, 1932.

“God,”
Charlotte said, pulling Felix close for her own comfort. She felt like she’d
sold her child for a scrap of information. “It’s better this way,” she told
Felix. Told herself. “Now he’s safe.” She wouldn’t hesitate anymore. Even if
he’d come along with Felix, she still would have checked in. Would have watched
him to make certain.

“How
can he be safe with a stranger?” Felix asked.

Charlotte
had no answer.

Only
a dull ache in her heart.

The
air in Felix’s apartment hallway felt thick. “Better,” Felix muttered as he
pulled away and into his apartment. Charlie’s drawings were scattered across
the floor, wind from an open window blowing them toward Charlotte and her
ex-husband. When she followed him in, he turned to her. “How can you possibly
say this is
better
?”

Charlotte
lifted her hands. She didn’t need this. She needed to stop the next bomb, the
next, and the next, as many as Ana threw at them until Charlie was back in her
arms. “It
is
, Felix. You have to trust me. You’ve barely traveled
through time.”

His
shoulders sagged, but he didn’t respond.

He’d
barely traveled through time because of
her
. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t—”

“Can’t
we go back? You can
time travel
, Charlotte. Can’t you go back, or send
Monroe and Bill? They could be here before Paris arrives. They could stop it
from happening.”

Charlotte
shook her head, unable to keep her eyes on Felix. She ran a sweaty palm along
her cold forehead. Tasted acrid bile. “We
can’t
, Felix. Paris—that
man—has followed us at every turn. He always knows where we are. And it’s more
than that. His tech is different from mine. He was able to bring me here from
the Triangle in an
instant
. To stop every punch I threw. He’s …” 
But now that she’d met the Council, Charlotte knew Paris was only one of many.
“
They’re
too strong.”

Felix
reached out to her. “You’re just as strong, Charlotte.”

She
shuddered and stepped back. “He’s safer out of this time. I have to believe
that. You’ve never seen how awful it can be, Felix. You’ve never gone through
time, done something good, and come home to a changed, horrible world. You’ve
never seen the way that time can take away everything you love. Change everyone
into shadows you don’t recognize.”

His
eyes went wide. “Like me.”

Charlotte
sputtered to reply, hands up, apologetic, reaching back for him now. But her
phone rang. She answered it, relieved to hear Monroe. “Char, what’s going on?
Where are you? Did Paris, is Charlie—”

“Gone,”
Charlotte croaked. “With Paris. Safe.” She watched Felix, hating herself. Why
couldn’t she ever say the right thing to him?

“We’re
coming there.”

“No.
No
,” Charlotte stressed. “Go to Pier Fifty-four. I’ll be there as soon
as I can.” Her gaze flicked to Felix, and his eyebrow rose. There was only one
way to reverse the harm that she’d done to her husband. “
We’ll
be there
as soon as we can.”

With
his jaw set, Felix nodded. While Charlotte scooped up Charlie’s drawings and
arranged them on the living room table—he
would
be home soon—Felix put
on his shoes, grabbed a jacket, and zipped it up.

He
was ready, but he didn’t say a word. Outside, he led the way down to the Mid
River and hailed a gondola. He let Charlotte speak their destination. The sun
shining bright from the end of the river, she had to squint to look ahead.
Felix kept his gaze on the surrounding buildings, away from her.

“Felix,
look,” Charlotte said when they were finally off the gondola. Where the Mid
River met the Hudson, there was now a wide wooden boardwalk with a hole cut
into it. The exact footprint of the pier that had reached into the Hudson
before the Blast.

Felix
lifted a hand before Charlotte could try again. “I understand, Charlotte. Or at
least, I
want
to understand. And this …” He gestured to the gondola that
was already on its way elsewhere with new passengers. “You’re giving me an
opportunity. Thank you.”

Charlotte
lifted a hand, but Felix didn’t take it. His jaw remained set, his eyes steely.

So
she looked for Monroe instead. Not standing at the plaque commemorating this
arm at the Blast. Not atop the tall bridge reaching over the water.

Her
heart hammered. Out of worry. Out of annoyance. Out of exhaustion. Where was
he?

She
fixed her gaze away from the monument for the missing Pier Fifty-four, and
looked to the two cafés on either corner. Not sitting at the café commemorating
the
Lusitania
; he probably didn’t want to restart that fight with Bill.
But outside the other …

Monroe
sat beside Bill, peacefully sipping coffee outside the
Titanic Café
. Not
even watching for her.

“You
guys ready?” she asked the moment she was within earshot.

“Char,
hey,” Monroe said. He leaped from his chair and swept her into a hug. “I’m so
sorry. We tried to follow, but we couldn’t find him in any time and—”

“It
doesn’t matter, ’Roe.” He hadn’t been there, but if he had? Nothing would have
changed. “Paris gave us the next date. C’mon.” She looked to Bill, to the
table, and saw the astrolabe in the middle, out of reach. Three coffee cups
rested on the glass table. One next to Bill—who remained sitting with an
apology in his eyes—one where Monroe had sat, and another in front of a third
chair. “You can’t possibly think I want
coffee
.” She spread her hands,
trying not to get angry. “Coffee, after my son’s just been taken to God knows
where?”

“Charlotte,
please.” Bill stood and tugged a white wooden chair with a blue pad out, ready
for her to sit. “You need to be calm. To focus on the task ahead.”

“I
know what’s ahead, Bill.”

“
Please
,
Charlotte,” Monroe echoed.

His
use of her full name was odd, but she shook her head.

“I
can’t,” she said. “I can’t just sit, pretend like everything’s okay, when they
have Charlie. Paris said he’d give him back, and I have to believe him, but
that doesn’t mean I want to spend any more time than we have to.”

“We’re
not saying stop,” Bill said. Below his mustache, his mouth was turned in a
thoughtful frown. His eyes flicked upward. “When I told you the truth about my
plan for the past, you agreed that I should learn how to deal with bombs. Not
the tech, but everything else, right? Well.” He ran a hand over his scalp.
“This was what I learned. Don’t rush in unless there’s no choice. Get rid of
your anxieties. Get centered. Focused.”

She
could say no. Lean over and snatch her astrolabe off the table and demand they
go. But if she did that, then Bill would think she didn’t trust him. She’d
harmed Felix today with her words, lost Charlie without any choice. She
wouldn’t push Monroe and Bill away with her actions. “One drink,” she said,
fixing and folding her hair to one side.

“Felix?”
Bill asked, eyebrows up. “You want something?”

“I’ll
get it,” Felix said, and entered the opulent interior of the
Titanic Café
on his own, sending back a worried glance to Charlotte.

“I
don’t really get how
coffee
is meant to calm my nerves,” Charlotte said,
taking a drink. But it wasn’t coffee. Instead, warm milk bubbles popped against
her tongue, mixed with the earthy taste of Earl Grey and a little sugar. “Oh,
God.” She licked foam from the edge of her lips.

“I
never said it was coffee,” Monroe said. “I’m sorry if—” Bill touched his arm,
and Monroe clammed up. They were letting her relax. Trusting that she’d focus
on her own.

She
couldn’t forget Charlie. He’d always be there, that brilliant boy equipped with
a crayon or a wrench. But if she rushed in, she’d fail, just as they had with
Ana in the future. A little extra time, a little extra focus could’ve ended all
of this.

The
tea buzzed through her arms, warming and calming and focusing her.

Felix
joined them, sipping from a smaller cup, remaining silent. Why hadn’t she told
him that he’d changed? She should’ve known the truth would slip out and hurt
him. In time, perhaps, she could mend this new hurt.

Bill
looked calm, relieved that their plan was working. Charlotte could feel the
lines on her forehead smooth.

Monroe?

Monroe
wasn’t watching her like Bill. Wasn’t focused on himself like Felix. Instead,
his gaze lingered on the buildings on this arm of the Mid River. The café
across the street, modeled in the grays and blacks of the wartime
Lusitania
.
The boardwalk memorializing where Pier Fifty-four had once been. And the
businesses that had been built or flourished since the Blast.

“Dammit,
’Roe,” Charlotte whispered, but she couldn’t find any anger inside her. Just
sadness. So focused on Charlie, on Felix, on her own family, she’d forgotten
what the others would lose. She would get Charlie back. She’d get Leanor back.

But
history would change, and Monroe would never know how. What good was a history
teacher living in a new timeline?

“I’m
a shithead, right?” Monroe said, his gaze lingering on distant skyscrapers.

“No,”
Charlotte told him. “We’ll never see this again.” No one would ever know about
this alternate time.

“History
will be the same,” Bill said, his hand resting on Monroe’s back.

“But
if they’re never lost, who will care about a bunch of boring buildings?”

That
silenced whatever retort Charlotte had. Even she didn’t care much while he was
in school. It was only after the Blast that his tales came to life. Monroe
found his voice in the crosshairs of the Blast.

“You
will,” Felix said, his voice gruff and strong. “The Blast changed you. Changed
us
.
And we’ll never lose that. All you have to do, Monroe, is do what you do best.
Keep making history come to life.”

Despite
everything that had happened today, Charlotte found the corners of her mouth
tugging upward. She reached to the center of the table and lofted the astrolabe
in her hand. “Lucky for you, we have the perfect way of doing that.”

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

Once
Charlotte finished her tea, she spun them back through time to the date Paris
had prescribed. The cafés, the boardwalk, and the Mid River vanished, replaced
by a long concrete slab leading into the Hudson, guarded by a metal archway.
Paint peeled onto the archway, stating that the pier belonged to White
Star/Cunard. And then, before their eyes, a pink granite building appeared
around the structure.

“God,”
Monroe said when time slowed. “It never looks this good in pictures.”

Above
the metal arch, the pink granite came to a peak, which was topped off by a
shining bronze ball. On either side of the sloped roof, stone gargoyles peered
down at everyone entering. Down the way, the pink granite wall connected each
pier, enormous entrances marking piers fifty-four and down. The air smelled
crisp and salty.

“It
is
beautiful,” Charlotte agreed.

Monroe
nodded, but he didn’t stare too long. “Did Paris write anything else?” He was
giving up this view, giving up the chance to see and revel in history—for her.
For Charlie.

“Just
that she’d be hidden. ‘Obviously.’” Outside the pier, several black cars with
long hoods and swooping chrome details waited. Women in opulent dresses paused
as men in suits emptied the cars and handed the luggage to a boatswain. A young
captain with a well-trimmed beard stood beside the entrance, checking a sheet
of paper as a couple with two children waited. A woman outside snapped her fan
open and fluttered it before her face, waiting as her husband paid for the taxi
ride over. Nowhere here was hidden from sight.

“By
the water,” Bill said. “Remember? We saw her go outside; maybe she’s there,
just in a different time.”

“Maybe,”
Charlotte allowed. It definitely wouldn’t be here. “I can get us past the
captain.” Once she felt the hands of Monroe, Bill, and the hesitant touch of
Felix, she spun time forward to 2010, before the Blast had ever occurred.

Monroe,
Bill, and Charlotte quickly crossed the distance to the concrete slab and
stepped through the metal arch—the only remaining sign of the pink granite
building. Felix followed, eyes bugged out. “I can’t believe you three are
used
to this.”

“I’ve
had years,” Bill said with a shrug.

“It’s
just history,” Monroe said with a smile.

For
Charlotte, it was even easier. “I have to be.”

She
leaped them back to that morning, this time inside the pier. Behind her, the
same couple and their children waved to the young captain and walked toward a
cruise ship docked on the southern end of the pier.

Without
a word, Bill walked away, toward the same door that Ana had exited through in
the … past? Charlotte couldn’t quite remember whether now was before or after
the
Lusitania’s
launch. Bill pushed through the door on the northern
edge—opposite the boat.

Charlotte
followed him, squinting into the sunlight.

“What’s
the plan?” Felix asked, close behind, a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder.

She
didn’t know; Paris hadn’t given them a specific time to match the date. “Hour
by hour, I guess.” She twisted the astrolabe to an hour from now, figuring
they’d see a ghostly shadow as time progressed. But instead, when time finished
speeding past, there Ana was, walking toward the wall separating the Hudson
from the street. Across a wide channel was another pier, but the doors were
closed. The only people who could see Ana would be on a boat drifting by.