Skyline (33 page)

More
than anything, it meant Monroe’s plan wouldn’t work. They couldn’t use the
memory. It was too risky, too probable that the Council had rigged it to do
something awful.

“Done,”
Paris said gruffly, and Alek ushered them over to the pedestal. The middle
rose, lifting a familiar device. The orb Paris had used to hound them,
constructed from dozens of metal plates, bound together with wire. The pieces
of metal were different colors, different sizes, and hooked together at odd
angles. It was barely a sphere.

Charlotte
reached out and took the heavy object. This, though, they had to use. However
Monroe had come back here, he didn’t have an astrolabe on him.

“Re-calibrated
for English,” Paris muttered. He touched it, made a C, then crossed through it,
and light sprang out from between the panels. Below a date shone, the year a
series of zeroes.

“And
here is the memory,” Alek said, offering the multicolored marble once he’d
plucked it from the pedestal.

Monroe
lifted a shaking arm and took it.

“The
cuff?” Bill asked.

“Will
fall off once you’re finished,” Alek said. “Remember? Incentive.”

“Good
luck,” Cora said. “But I doubt you’ll need it.”

“Yes,
it should be simple enough,” Alek agreed. “Once you activate the memory, you
will be finished. What is it you people say? Godspeed and best wishes.”

With
his tongue at his teeth, Paris grinned. “Be seeing you.”

Outside
the Council’s spire, icy snow blew in a torrent. Across the street, a few
unlucky New Yorkers cowered inside the doorways that had been transported back
in this new Blast. For the first time, Charlotte saw the new
devastation—smaller than what the Blast was before, but still enough to
transport a thousand New Yorkers. Frost clung thickly to the New York Public
Library’s windows, dozens of faces visible through the dim whiteness.

Charlotte
clutched the Council’s makeshift astrolabe. The lights made the flurries
glitter.

“’Roe?
You okay?” Bill asked. Even though Monroe was walking on his own, Bill still
had him propped under one of his shoulders.

“Good
to go,” Monroe said. But his head hung low, his hair covered his face, his hand
still scratched at the spiral cuff. If it was still burning, he hadn’t said a
thing.

“When?”
Charlotte asked. “Someplace historical? With us out of the way, maybe Ana’d go
back to sightseeing?” She needed to see the old Monroe. Not this man suffering,
this man dealing with unknowable pain and not saying a word about it.

“That’s
what I was thinking. Prior to the New York Public Library was built, there was
a reservoir there. Bryant Park was called something else entirely. And before
that, for only three short years … That’s where she’ll be. Try 1858. Fall.
October?”

“Sure,”
Charlotte said. It wasn’t quite the history lesson she was hoping for, but it
was something. Shifting her fingers along the metal plates, Charlotte found
October 5, 1858. As good a time as any.

Time
sped up; storm clouds roiled; the flurry grew into a blizzard. Snow piled up
outside the spire, encasing Charlotte in a world of bluish white. A glacier
sliced the snow away, slamming through nearby buildings, mere shadows through
the ice. Only a barren landscape was left in the glacier’s wake. Trees
grew—swamps, lakes, even humans were visible as history flashed in front of her
eyes.

New
York City blossomed in an instant, a dirt road appearing under Charlotte’s
feet, small buildings popping up like sprouting flowers. The city grew from
huts, to houses, to skyscrapers. Right before time slowed, a structure of glass
and iron struts built around them.

The
sun glowed above, filtered through a glass-paneled ceiling. They’d appeared at
the side of the entry, a crowd wandering in, rushing forward to see a variety
of items on display. Without a word, Monroe stepped along a marble walkway in
the center. Steps led down on either side into two different exhibition areas,
and in the distance, Charlotte could see two more. In the center, between all
four areas, stood a statue of George Washington riding a horse, triumphant.

“The
Crystal Palace,” Monroe whispered. “An exhibition hall, crafted after the one
in London. There’s no place better in Bryant Park’s history.”

Being
here was helping; Monroe’s focus was outward, his head held higher. “What’s the
best thing here?” Charlotte asked.

Monroe
turned, eyes alight. “An automatic break for an elevator.” He smiled. “So
people wouldn’t be scared about a cable snapping. Skyscrapers without them?
Impos—” Monroe winced, gripping the arm with the spiral cuff.

“’Roe?”
Charlotte touched the cuff and found it warm. What was it like against his
skin? This close she could smell the smoke from his burning flesh. “What’s
happening?”

“It’s
hurting again, building, almost as if …” He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he
opened them again, they were harder. Stronger. “It must be a timer. So we’ll
keep our promise and not run off. So we won’t think.”

Clutching
Monroe’s hand, Bill said, “Because it’s a trap.”

Monroe’s
steely eyes watered. “Of
course
it’s a trap. Paris was at that console
too long. For a language shift? To ‘calibrate’ the memory?” Monroe sneered.

Watching
Monroe struggle through the pain, turn it into hatred, Charlotte wished he’d
never come to save them. His encounter with the Council had changed him into
someone else, someone stronger. Someone she didn’t even recognize.

Dropping
Bill’s hand, shoving away from Charlotte, Monroe said, “We can’t use the
memory.” His voice was so calm. Certain. “It must trigger something. A bomb,
maybe? Who knows?”

Charlotte
knelt beside him, plucking out the toolkit she’d brought with her to Liberty
Island. “We’ll get to that.” She grabbed his fingers, pulled his arm to her and
wouldn’t let go. “We gotta get this thing off of you.” If she freed him, he
could go back to being the man she’d left at the Statue of Liberty.

She
traced the edges of the spiral metal up his arm. It was sealed tight against
his skin. At the base, near his wrist, lay a thicker segment of the cuff, but
there weren’t any seams. No way to get in. No way to get it off.

“Be
quick,” Bill said from above. Nearby, a few tourists watched, but eventually
their interest was drawn back to the exhibits of the Crystal Palace. They
wandered away, only to be replaced by other onlookers.

Charlotte
pressed lightly against the thicker part of the cuff, hoping for a magnetic
seal.

“Oh,
shit,” Monroe said.

“Is
it getting worse?” Charlotte asked, looking up.

Monroe’s
face wasn’t contorted in pain. He wasn’t even looking at her or the cuff around
his arm. His gaze was away, toward the entrance of the Crystal Palace.

“Shit,”
Charlotte agreed. A platinum-haired woman had just walked inside, the final
bomb under her arm.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

As
she
strode down the marble walkway, Ana’s eyes darted to each side.

“Back,
back!” Charlotte said, gripping Monroe and tugging him behind one of the metal
columns holding the glass dome above. When would be the best time to confront
Ana? Not now—she’d just run away. She had to be distracted. She had to be
setting the bomb first.

“How?”
Charlotte asked. Was this coincidence another of the Council’s calibrations? Or
was this the same random, horrible bad luck that had followed her from the
beginning?

But
whatever luck they had held. Ana’s gaze passed over the column where they
waited, and she didn’t pause. They were safe.

In
the very center of the Crystal Palace—where Charlotte, Monroe, and Bill had
just been—Ana squatted before George Washington. The top of this bomb was a
plate of glass, held in by metal sides that curved at the edge. There wasn’t a
single screw in sight. Whether the device was impregnable or not, there was no
way there’d be enough time to defuse it. Charlotte would have to stop Ana
before she activated the bomb.

But
Ana didn’t trigger it immediately. She gazed up at the statue of George
Washington. Staring him down. Her bottom lip pulled under her teeth. Squinting.
Not saying a word, but making an internal decision that she would act on soon.

Exactly
as Leanor would. This was the woman Charlotte had been searching for this whole
time. A woman who wanted to change the world instead of destroy it. A woman who
regretted what she had done. All this time she’d been buried inside this young
girl. At last she was revealed.

Charlotte
had to act now.

She
stepped from behind the metal strut. “Leanor.”

Ana’s
regret vanished. She twisted, stood, and squared her shoulders. Ready for
another fight.

“Don’t
do this,” Charlotte said. “Don’t destroy this beautiful city.”

“How’d
you get free? What did they give you? What did they promise?”

“Nothing,”
Monroe said, stepping beside Charlotte. She couldn’t bear to look at him. “Only
pain. But you can’t do this.”

“I
can,” Ana said. “I have.”

“We
know what you’ll do,” Charlotte said. “How you’ll feel once you’re done.”

“I
won’t regret this.”

Charlotte
shook her head. “You will.” How could she get through to Ana without using the
Council’s memory? “I think you already do.”

“If
I don’t?” Ana braced herself. “Is this round four? Or did the Council give you
some other way of stopping me?”

Charlotte
drew in a breath. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. The woman they’d
been fighting had never seemed smart, just angry. Leanor was so close, barely
hidden.

Monroe
held out the marble-memory for Ana to see. But he didn’t activate it. He didn’t
say anything.

“At
least you’re smart enough not to trust them
too
much,” Ana said. She
knelt back to the bomb, holding out the screwdriver she used to activate the
devices.

Charlotte
leaped forward and clutched Ana’s wrist. “You
can’t
.”

Monroe
knelt beside her. “It’s a memory of your time.
Before
.” Then a violent
shudder coursed through him. The marble slipped from his hand, clinking onto
the marble floor.

“My
God.” Ana’s eyes traveled up Monroe’s arm. “That’s what they did. They promised
to take it off if you stopped me?”

Monroe
gulped, clenching his jaw. “They won’t. It’s increasing so we don’t—
agh—
think
things through. We know. We know it’s a trap.” Then he yelled, gripping his arm
and crumpled to the floor.

Charlotte
released Ana’s wrist and bent to Monroe’s side. Now the cuff was hot to her
touch. His pulse raced. Gripping his chin, she tried to get him to look at her.
But his eyes were fixed on Ana. Staring.

Charlotte
followed his gaze.

With
Charlotte occupied, with Monroe down, with Bill worried, Ana could’ve vanished.
She could’ve set the bomb, or taken it to another era. She didn’t. Perhaps
Monroe’s pain had sparked a memory, maybe even something as intense as the one
that he had dropped on the floor.

But
Ana’s regret hadn’t taken hold yet. “I’m sorry,” Charlotte whispered. It was a
trap; they knew it was a trap, but it was the only way. She plucked the marble
from the floor and squeezed it between her fingers.

The
memory illuminated around them, exactly as it had in the Council’s tower.

Plants
fluttered in a nonexistent breeze. The sun of Ana’s time beat down from above.
Birds wheeled in the air. But Charlotte kept her focus on Ana.

At
first Ana’s jaw dropped. Then she stood, forgetting her actual surroundings,
taking in the visuals that only the four of them could see. She brought her
hands to her face, wiping away tears as they fell.

“God,”
Ana said. “God. How could I? How could I forget this? What happened? How could
I … ?” Heaving sobs took the rest of her words away. Regret consumed her as she
stared at what had been lost because of her invention.

Before
Charlotte’s eyes, Ana turned into Leanor.

The
illumination vanished as Charlotte released the marble. “Throw it away,” she
said. If Monroe was right, there wasn’t much time. The Council would expect
them to be distracted. To have a happy reunion. But they couldn’t. Not yet. She
wound up and threw the marble at the glass wall in the distance, hoping no one
was there. She told Bill, “Throw
all
of it away.”

Bill
grunted, throwing the makeshift astrolabe through the air. It crash-landed into
a display of plants, sending them flying. People screamed, jumping away.
Good
.

Then
the astrolabe exploded, a cloud of fire roiling out and at Charlotte, sending
her from Monroe, from Ana, from Bill, like a shock wave. She slammed into
another column, pain searing along her back as she crumpled to the ground. New
explosions erupted as the inferno blazed, a domino effect of explosions, fire,
and smoke.

The
Crystal Palace was on fire.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

Screams
filled the air, as thick as the pluming smoke above. Charlotte pressed her
fingers against her eyes, trying to focus them. Then she heard Bill’s voice.
“’Roe.
’Roe
.”

Charlotte
crawled over and found Bill shaking Monroe.

Monroe
shook enough on his own, clutching his arm.

“Their
device,” Leanor said, crouching under the smoke. She was still there, still the
woman who had been killed thousands of years ago. Her fingers were pressed
against the metal spiral. “Activated his cuff to full. A punishment for being
smart enough—stupid enough—to live.”

From
across the room, a man’s voice sounded, telling everyone to come toward him.
That a fire truck was coming. Bodies swarmed by, the smoke billowing with their
movement. But Charlotte didn’t move.

“Can
you save him?” Charlotte asked. Leanor had escaped the Council so many times.
They’d tortured her, too. “Can you get the cuff off?”

“I’ve
undone one,” Leanor said, “but I had a computer then. I won’t be able to get it
off without one. I can try to deactivate it.” She prodded at Monroe’s wrist,
where the thicker segment lay, as Charlotte had done. As before, nothing
happened. But Leanor kept pressing in different spots until a metal panel
moved.