Skyline (21 page)

“Now,”
she said, “Bill and I will rip out wiring as fast as we can. ’Roe, you have the
astrolabe ready, just in case. And
no
arguments this time. Felix?” She
looked her ex-husband straight in the eyes. He’d barely traveled through time.
He didn’t know wiring, didn’t know any calming tactics. But those eyes . . .
“Keep watch for Ana.”

He
nodded, smiling grimly.

“All
right, ’Roe. Take us to the Blast day.”

With
a twitch of his hand, the Plaza built itself around them.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

The
basement
of the Plaza where they appeared was grand and opulent, just like the rest of
the building. All around were stores designed for the Plaza's ritzy clientele.
Mini shops sold soap, jewelry, and thick purses in a well-lit arched galleria.
Charlotte blinked, trying to get used to the sudden light in their changed
surroundings.

“How
much time do we have, ’Roe?”

“We’re
a minute or so away. God, I’d forgotten the Plaza had shops in its basement.”

“They’re
pretty pricey,” Bill replied. But before he could say how he knew, whether he’d
purchased anything here, the compact device appeared between them.

The
tangled mess of wires and cables was still visible. “Get those,” Bill said,
pointing, and Charlotte ripped out all the wiring she could while he worked on
the opposite end. “Okay, that should be power. And there’s the orb.” Charlotte
snatched it out, but that orb didn’t matter; that was the one that had already
activated, bringing it to this day.

“Careful,”
Charlotte said as he kept pulling wires. “Ana said there’d be surprises.”

“Just
lots of wires,” Bill said, pulling out the other orb and handing it over. He
attacked the computer board, taking out screws so he could get beneath it. “I
think she just wanted us freaked. But no dice.” He breathed. “I’m a professional.”

With
the computer board gone, they saw a similar sight as they had in the bomb at
Pier Fifty-four. A power source inside purple goop, with wires leading out,
ready to spark. Bill didn’t hesitate. He pulled the wiring out, then cleaned
off any of the remaining explosive on his shirt until every component was dry.
“There.” He smiled at Charlotte. “But just in case.” He grabbed the box of
goop, took the astrolabe from Monroe, and vanished for only a millisecond
before reappearing. The bomb was gone. “There.”

“Where’d
…”

Charlotte
ignored Monroe’s question; where Bill went didn’t matter. Soon, the Blast would
go off—the fourth bomb would be like the second. A thinner cut would slice
through the city, ending directly where this bomb had been. Where Felix now
sat.

“Fe—!”
she said, tugging him away, over her, right as a white light exploded behind
him, carving into the foundations of the Plaza that they’d seen built.

He
tumbled over, but he was safe, breathing on top of her. His dark eyes staring
into hers.

“Thank
God,” she said. He didn’t move, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to. It’d
been a long time since they’d been intimate.

“Um,”
Monroe said. “We should probably go.” Charlotte turned from Felix’s dark eyes;
every worker and patron was watching them. Felix pushed himself off of
Charlotte, and she stood, touching her hot cheeks.

“What
just happened?” a nearby well-coiffed man asked.

“Guys,
c’mon,” Monroe said, hand out to Bill.

“They’re
still in danger,” he replied, gesturing to the cut that the Blast had made in
the Plaza’s basement. In the sudden daylight, the new rock canal was visible,
running south all the way to the Upper Bay. The exact path that the water would
gush.

“Out!”
Bill yelled, jumping up. “Everyone out!”

 “Tell
us what happened!” the same man shouted. Everyone stood frozen with fear, too
stunned to run.

The
only movement came from a petite woman at the nearby perfume shop. She lifted a
phone to her ear, saying, “Wait right there.”

“Look!”
Bill gestured, both arms flung out, to indicate the massive hole. “We don’t
have time. Water’s rushing this way. You’re going to drown.”

“There's
a man here,” the woman said into her phone, her voice measured, “threatening
us. I think he—The whole city?” Now her eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

“We’ll
save them,” Monroe said. “Later. Remember?”

Charlotte
twisted her head toward her brother. “They’re in danger now.”

“This
is just like the subway, Char!” Monroe said, hands lofted up. “You saved them
once, great. But then we removed that entire line of water. We’ll do it again.
But
we
have to go now. Or did you actually want to swim today?”

Charlotte
looked to Felix, who lifted his shoulders. To Bill, who stared her down.
Through gritted teeth, she told him, “He’s right.”

“Fine,”
Bill said, and as Charlotte gripped his hand, time swept forward. Water gushed
through, but they were dry, traveling through time. Soon a wall was rebuilt,
the water drained, and the shops renovated back to exactly how they’d looked
before. Like the Blast had never happened, even though there was still a
jarring line in the southern marble wall.

“Come
on,” Bill said, turning his head away from where the Mid River would be. “We
still have work to do.” He led the way out, and Charlotte didn’t reply to his
fury. Monroe
was
right: Bill didn’t need to sacrifice his life here; he
hadn’t needed to in the subway.

They
needed to be smarter, not reactionary. It was exactly why Monroe was there—to
remind them of that.

“So
what happened?” Monroe asked as they pushed through the Plaza’s front doors
into the night. Only moments before, they’d been on the opposite side of the
road, staring up at another Plaza. “What’d you do with the bomb?”

“What
any good technician would,” Bill replied, his voice mechanical. “I detonated
it. And—”his fury diminished; a grin grew—“I think I made the lake that all
those skaters enjoyed.”

“A
neat coincidence,” said a deep voice. Beside the entrance stood Paris, another
apple in hand. “Saved the original owner of the skating rink a lot of hard
labor.”

Felix
tried to tug his hand from Charlotte, but she clung tight. Pulled his muscled
body toward hers.
Smarter, not reactionary.

“Where’s
Charlie?” she asked the horrible blue-haired man.

“Where
else?” Paris asked with a shrug. “Home.”

Paris
stretched his grin wide, reaching a gentle hand to Charlotte’s elbow. “See? I
keep my promises.”

She
yanked the elbow away. “Home?” She glanced at Felix. “But you said—”

“You
needed incentive; I gave it to you. Look how well you’re doing. Finished with
three bombs. Like that.” He snapped. “Once we saw how well you’d done, I
brought him back. Fair’s fair. Like I told you, we keep our promises.” This
time it didn’t sound like a threat. He almost sounded
fond
of Charlotte.

“Who
are
you?” Charlotte asked. Paris couldn’t just be another council
member. Why else would he let her keep her astrolabe, chase them so doggedly?
Was he somehow working with Leanor? Or at least, had they known each other?
Were they related? There had to be something.

“Tell
us why you want the bombs stopped,” Monroe asked instead. “It was more than
just New York City she took, wasn’t it?”

“Clever
kid,” Paris said with a wink. “Good for you.”

“What
is it?” Monroe said. “Why was it so big?”

“Didn’t
Leanor lead you to us in the future? Didn’t she tell you everything?”

Bill
glanced at Charlotte. “She told us practically nothing.”

“Well,
who am I to argue with her?” The man laughed. “Go home. Get your son.”

Charlotte
bit her lip. Paris wasn’t going to give them any information, but he’d brought
Charlie home. For that, at least, he deserved her gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Oh.”
His brow lowered, his eyes clouded. “Don’t thank me yet. I think I liked him
more
before
all of this.” He took a bite of his apple and vanished.

Charlotte’s
stomach rumbled. She and Felix exchanged a worried glance, but she tried to
ignore Paris’s words. “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

A
hand on her shoulder prevented her from running. “Char, stop.” Monroe’s face
was scrunched to one side. “This is what he wants, y’know? Us terrified. Us
worried. Us not thinking.”

“But
Charlie.” Shaking herself, Charlotte said. “Didn’t you see it, ’Roe? That
wasn’t a threat. Almost an apology. Like he cared about Charlie. More than
because we’re stopping Ana.”

“Charlotte,”
Bill said, his voice quiet but barbed with rage. “He killed Leanor.”

She
cast Bill a look. Like she didn’t know that.

“Charlie’s
home,” Felix said. “Isn’t that what’s most important? Not L—Not her death. Not
whoever Paris
really
is. Charlie.”

Right.
Charlie was all that mattered. And if he was home … Charlotte tilted her head.
“Who’s with him?”

Monroe
looked from Charlotte, to Felix, to Bill. Everyone Charlie knew was standing in
this circle. “Oh shit.”

Felix’s
eyes widened as he realized what Charlotte meant. “No one’s home with him?” His
legs tensed, ready to spring into action.

“Home,”
Charlotte said. “
Which
home?” Because there was no reason to assume that
she and Felix were together in this timeline when they hadn’t been before.

“You
go to your apartment,” Felix said. “I’ll go to mine.” He raced away, dodging
through the traffic to get across the street and to the subway line that would
take him north to his place on Lexington Avenue.

“Char,”
Monroe tried.

“This
isn’t a trap, ’Roe!” Somehow, in her bones, she felt it. Paris had kept his
promise, even if something unforeseen had happened. “Stay if you want, wait if
you want,
think
if you want,” she spat. “But I’m going.”

And
she was away, the light turning red just in time so that she could cross
without worrying about reckless cabs coming her way. She pushed herself hard,
her heavy black Sketchers clunking against the pavement. Not the best shoes to
run in. What choice did she have? At Lexington, she jumped down the subway-station
steps three at a time, had her card out to tap her way through the turnstile,
and then the train arrived.

Everything
timed perfectly so she could get home faster, as if the universe actually cared
about her.

As
she boarded, she felt a finger tap her. Bill boarding behind. Monroe too,
completely out of breath. “Jeez, Char, you can
run
.”

She
shrugged and watched the doors close. If she could make this go faster, she
would. Get home in a second. But activating her orb would leave her in the same
place, just in a different time.

“Sorry
you didn’t get to see the Plaza.”

Monroe
shrugged. “There’ll be time later. Is Felix … ?” He craned his neck to look
down the subway car.

Charlotte
did the same, but the evening car was empty enough. No sign of the familiar black
man. Just a few teenagers, some hipsters, and a mom with a stroller. The woman
was on her phone, distracted as her child reached out to grab it like a toy.
“Stop,”
the woman hissed, batting her child’s hand away.

God,
how often had Charlotte done that?

Now
Charlie was home alone, and who knew what had happened? What if too much time
had passed? What if she’d missed years of Charlie’s life, thanks to Paris? What
had that man said? He liked the other “version” of Charlie better? What did
that mean? Had he changed
that
much? Growing up beside Paris could’ve
turned him into a killer. Or maybe he thought of himself as one of the Council.
Or maybe something worse had happened. He’d been hurt, physically or
emotionally. A million different versions of Charlie flashed through
Charlotte’s mind until she silenced them.

Her
son would be fine.

“It’ll
be okay,” she said to Monroe’s and Bill’s looks as the subway slowed at their
stop. The truth was, it didn’t matter why Paris waved off her thanks. She would
love Charlie regardless. Whether he was older, hurt, or somehow utterly
different, he’d always be her little boy. All that mattered was that he
existed.

When
the subway doors opened, she raced out, hearing Monroe curse, “Dammit, Char,
again
?”
Yes, again. Always, she’d run after her little boy. Never again would she waste
years of his life on anything but him.

Saving
the world was important, but time travel meant she’d always had the choice. She
could’ve taken her time. Could’ve skipped a day of work to take him to a museum.
Could’ve left the work for another day. If the astrolabe had taken them ten
years to complete, it wouldn’t have made any difference, except she would’ve
had Charlie by her side.

Fitting
her key into the apartment door, she wiped her tears. Had she been crying? It
was going to be fine. She pushed open the door, and there was Charlie, on the
floor drawing. Exactly the boy she’d left in Paris’s care hours ago in this
timeline.

With
a smile, he dropped his crayon and raced over. “Mom!” He leaped into her arms,
squeezing her tightly.

His
body was warm against hers. His wavy black hair smelled of strawberries. His
little hands pulled her shirt tight against her back.

Paris
had kept his promise. Who knew why he’d disregarded her thanks? So what if
Charlie was here alone? He’d just been drawing, working on a new anachronistic
picture. This one was a detailed and intricate picture of a circle of American
Indians, a woman standing in the center offering a feather.

“I
love you so much,” she said, clutching Charlie to her.

But
the picture nagged at her. It was almost complete, but that much time couldn’t
have passed. The subway ride had been ten minutes, tops. Maybe that explained
Paris’s regret. He’d returned Charlie before this timeline had changed. But
that was smart. Now Charlie would never know that he’d been kidnapped.

He
wiggled away, blushing. “Mom’s here!” he called, racing from her, toward the
kitchen.

She
turned, confused. Felix wouldn’t be here; he was at his apartment. She needed
to call him. Tell him that Charlie was with her. That everything was okay.
Charlie wouldn’t remember the trauma they’d experienced.

A
man stepped from the kitchen, spatula in hand. “Hello, dear,” he said.
Charlotte had never seen him before. He had blond wavy hair and warm honey-colored
eyes. An apron hung around his neck. “We just finished some cookies.” He swept
over and pecked her on the lips, then turned away without noticing that she
hadn’t moved, not even an inch.

The
apartment was cleaner than it had ever been with Monroe, filled with warm
lights and smells. The man himself was, yes, attractive and warm. Plump and
tall, but dressed in clothes that suited him. And on his left hand rested a
thick golden band, snug on his ring finger, like it had been there for years.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

Had
they
saved this man from the Blast? Charlotte could practically see it. Felix had
broken up with her like before, but in this timeline, this man helped her pick
up the pieces. He must’ve swept her off her feet.

That
hadn’t been her. She’d never lost Felix. Well, not until recently.

Her
phone buzzed from her pocket, but Charlotte still couldn’t move.

“Well,”
the stranger asked, a wry grin on his face. “Aren’t you gonna come in?”

Charlotte
took a step forward. Felt Monroe and Bill join her. The door swung closed.

“Here
you go,” the man said, sweeping over, passing a hot cookie between his hands,
then offering it to Charlotte.

“They’re
your favorite!” Charlie called without looking up from his drawing.

“What
kind are they?” she asked, taking the cookie, but keeping her eyes on her son.

The
man frowned. “Oatmeal-raisin.”

“That’s
your favorite?” Monroe whispered beside her.

With
wide eyes, Charlotte shrugged at her brother. Then she bit into her first
oatmeal-raisin cookie. The oatmeal flaked against her tongue, the warm butter
coated her taste buds, and the raisin exploded with sweet juice. “Holy shit.”
She licked up the crumbs on her lips. “That
is
good.”

Charlie
giggled, then stood from his drawing to help the stranger—God, his
stepfather
—load
another pan with cookie dough. The little boy cautiously avoided touching the
metal. The man shifted the pan away from the edge, so Charlie would be safe.

“Who’s
that with you?” the man called over. “Monroe, you’re dating again?”

Charlotte
cast Monroe a frown.

Monroe
glanced over to Bill. “Yeah, I am. Bill, this is, um …”

The
man came back over and held a hand out. “Gilbert Sullivan.
Yes
, like the
composers. My parents were awful.”

“Bill,”
Bill replied. He crossed in front of Charlotte and took the man’s hand. “Bill—”

“Holy
shit,
Bill
?” Now it was this man’s turn—midhandshake—to freeze. His eyes
scanned Bill’s mustache, his tight NYPD shirt, the arm leading down to their
clasped hands. “It
is
you. I can’t believe it.” Gilbert wrapped his arms
around Bill and squeezed, “Jesus Christ, it’s good to see you.” He leaned out
of the hug to look at Monroe. “How is this possible?” His eyes continued their
tour of the time travelers and settled on Charlotte. “Something changed, didn’t
it? You came from a different timeline. Right? Am I right?”

Her
heart shrank. He knew. He knew and Felix never did. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s
right.”

“Imagine
that,” Gilbert said. He punched Monroe’s shoulder. “It’s like a dream come
true, eh, Monroe?”

Now
Monroe returned Charlotte’s worried glance. “How do you know that something’s
changed?”

Bill
followed with, “What happened to Monroe and me? Why’d we break up?”

Gilbert
lifted a hand to his mouth. “Jesus. You don’t know.”

“What?”
Monroe asked. “Know what? What happened?”

Charlotte
reached a hand out to Monroe’s. To Bill’s. And she joined them between her. All
this time, she’d been fearful for Charlie, for her life to change once more.
She’d never once thought of how the universe would punish
them
.

Turning
to Monroe, this doughy man said, “It’s why you’ve been traveling so much.
Because you knew he would want you to. You knew he would be all gung ho about
saving everyone. Once you met Ana, well, you
had
to.”

“He
would
want me to?” Monroe repeated.

“Tell
us what you mean,” Bill demanded, revealing the cop he’d been in the past.
Tough, no-nonsense. “Stop beating around the bush and say it.”

Gilbert
ran a hand through his wavy hair. He gave Charlotte a pathetic smile, but she
couldn’t help him. “You, well, uh.” He cleared his throat. “You died, Bill. A
year ago, you died.” A year ago for Gilbert, but Bill had lived five years
since then.

Bill’s
cop mode failed him. “I
what
?”

“But
no,” Monroe said. “See, without Bill, we wouldn’t have seen Ana. Wouldn’t have
known about time travelers. Wouldn’t have, well, see? You’re wrong. You have to
be wrong. That’s … It’s … It’s crazy, what you’re saying.”