The Forgotten Locket (21 page)

Dante shuddered once, goose bumps lifting on his arms.

Numbness settled over me. I couldn’t stop looking at the four misshapen lumps of silver in my hand: a flat, heart-shaped piece with the hinge still attached, a second heart-shaped piece, rounded on top, but tapering off into nothingness, the small triangle tip of a broken heart, and a silver key that belonged to a door that no longer existed. I felt as small and jagged as the key in my hand. And as useless.

Zo had done his work thoroughly. I couldn’t imagine how to even begin to mend the locket.

Orlando knelt across from me. He placed his hand on his brother’s chest, his movements swift and sure. “He’s still breathing,” he said with relief. “And his heart feels strong.”

My eyes immediately flashed to the broken locket in my hand before I realized what Orlando was really saying.

Orlando continued his report, his tone brisk and official. “It’s slower than I would like, but still strong.” He ran his hands over the length of Dante’s body. “It doesn’t feel like anything is broken. No fresh blood. At least, not that I can see.” He leaned back on his heels, his hands resting on his thighs. He frowned. “Without knowing exactly what happened to him, I don’t know what else I can do.”

I wondered fleetingly about Orlando’s efficiency in dealing with trauma, and then I remembered that he had been a soldier, had been to war. He had probably seen much worse than this.

I sat down heavily on the floor, settling Dante’s head in my lap. The scar across his eyes looked terrible.

I carefully touched the fragments of the locket still in my hand. When Dante didn’t react, I slowly shifted the pieces closer together, laying the broken half of the front heart on top of the back half, trying to reassemble the locket as best as I could. I slipped the key back inside, too; it seemed right that they stay together. I watched Dante for any signs of distress, but the only change seemed to be that his breathing became easier the closer the locket came to being whole again. A light pink even returned to his face.

Valerie crawled toward me on her hands and knees. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry,” she mumbled, tears streaking down her face. A faint blue glow still surrounded her right hand from where she had broken open Zo’s prison. “I was trying to help. But I didn’t. I made it worse, didn’t I?” She peered into my open palm. “Did you get it? The locket—is this the locket? Is this all that is left?”

I couldn’t speak. At the sound of her voice, my numbness disintegrated in a flash of anger so hot it made my blood crackle like fire in my veins. If Valerie hadn’t broken the shell, Zo would still be here. And if Zo was still here, I was sure I could make him fix the locket. I didn’t know how, but the blind rage inside me insisted that it was true.

I closed my fingers over the locket in a fist. I didn’t want Valerie to be anywhere near it or even see it.

“Get her out of here,” I ordered Orlando in a flat voice. “Now.”

Orlando moved and gently lifted Valerie to her feet, drawing her away from my side.

The more rational part of me observed coolly that if Valerie hadn’t broken the shell, then Zo would surely have destroyed even more of the locket than he already had. Yes, Zo was gone, but at least he had left behind the locket in his haste to get away. And with these small fragments of the locket in our possession, maybe we could do something to help Dante. At least, I hoped so.

“Oh,” Valerie sobbed, covering her mouth in horror. “Hearts are so very fragile in the Pirate King’s hands. You saw what he did to mine.” She moved her hands from her mouth to her chest, covering the breast pocket of her bathrobe. “And to yours.” She pressed her hands to Orlando’s chest. “And to the River Policeman’s.” Her voice sank into a strange, singsong chant. “What the Pirate King takes, is what the Pirate King breaks, and we all must suffer the Pirate King’s fate.” Valerie touched her forehead and looked up at Orlando with glassy eyes. “I don’t feel so good. My head feels all wobbly.”

Orlando tightened his grip on Valerie, holding her upright in his arms so she didn’t fall.

Valerie turned toward me, her face pale and drawn. “I don’t want to hurt anymore,” she said with a whimper.

“Take her to the bank,” I said wearily to Orlando, my anger having burned itself out. “When she touched the shell around Zo, she absorbed the time I used to create it. If she doesn’t burn off the extra time, it’ll make her sick.”

Orlando hesitated, looking from me to Dante.

“Go,” I said to Orlando quietly. “You said it yourself. There’s nothing else we can do. I’ll watch over him. Come back when you can.”

Finally, Orlando nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

They left, and the shop fell into silence. It was just me and Dante. Alone for the moment.

“Dante?” I called softly, placing my free hand against his cheek.

He didn’t answer, but I felt him relax a little at my touch.

Reassured by his reaction, I relaxed a little as well.

I wiped away the sweat from his forehead, careful not to touch the wound across his eyes. I brushed back his hair. I placed my hand that held the locket on his chest, right above his heart. I counted the beats of his heart, until I felt confident that each one was stronger than the one before it.

“Come back to me,” I whispered. “Wherever you are, whatever happened to you, come back to me. Please.”

He didn’t move, but his skin didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

I sighed and rubbed at my forehead. The room looked like I felt: confused and chaotic. The counter was still covered with open boxes and bottles. A few shelves had been dislodged during Zo and Dante’s altercation, and the floor was scuffed with a mixed pattern of prints from their boots, Valerie’s bare feet, and my sneakers. The fire still burned bright, but there were also black smudges of soot along the hearth.

Clearly the shop had seen better days. But then, hadn’t we all?

I felt a huge weight of weariness lodge in my chest. What was I supposed to do now? This wasn’t how I thought events would unfold at all. The plan was for me to come through the door and close the loop and save Dante. Instead, Zo had found me on the other side of the door, he’d ruined my memories and invaded my mind, and Dante—my indestructible Master of Time Dante—was wounded body and soul.

Without warning, Dante stirred in my lap, his head tilting toward me. He reached up with one hand, and I clasped it before he could touch my face. I didn’t want him to feel the tears on my cheeks.

“Dante?” I felt like a light had come to life inside of me, igniting a joy that reached deep into my soul. “Are you all right? Can you hear me? Can you talk to me?” I had more questions, but I didn’t want to overwhelm him with too much too soon.

“Zo’s gone, isn’t he?” Dante asked. His voice was weak, but at least he was talking. He was still with me. He was going to be okay.

I nodded.

“He broke the locket, didn’t he?”

I nodded again.

Dante exhaled slowly as though his ribs pained him. “I felt it. Here.” He touched my hand that still rested on his chest above his heart. “It felt like a fist had reached inside me and squeezed. The pressure . . . it was worse than going through the door. Worse than my worst day on the bank.” Dante grimaced. “If what Zo felt when I broke his guitar was anything like that—”

“He doesn’t deserve your sympathy,” I interrupted. “Or your pity.”

“I have no pity for Zo,” Dante said. “No, what I was going to say was that if what he felt was anything like this, then it’s a wonder he survived at all.”

“How
did
he survive?” I asked. “I mean, when you collapsed, I thought you were . . .” I swallowed, unwilling to say the word.

Dante was braver than I was. “Dead?” he finished. A hint of a smile crossed his face. “Not yet.”

“How did this happen, Dante?” I asked quietly. The locket felt like shards of rocks in my hand. “I don’t understand. Why are you linked to the locket? What made you do it?”

Dante slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. I slipped my arm around his shoulders and helped him sit all the way up. He crossed his legs and took a deep breath. Wincing, he pressed his hand to his chest again, rubbing a small circle over his heart. He exhaled slowly.

“Dante?” I asked, worried that the color in his cheeks came from pain and not from his strength returning. “What can I do?”

He shook his head. “Give me a moment.”

“You can have all the time you want,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

He laughed, but there was no trace of humor in it. He looked at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this before.”

“Had you planned to tell me someday?”

He nodded.

“Then tell me now. Tell me everything.”

He was still for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “The year after I came through the door was . . . difficult.”

I touched his arm, moving closer. “Leo told me. He said you almost didn’t make it.”

“I don’t think I would have made it except for two things. You”—he brushed his fingers over my wrist—“and the locket.” He covered the shattered silver in my hand with his.

I looked down at our hands. Though his skin was still a little pale, I could feel the energy returning to his body the longer we touched.

Dante spoke quietly, his words slowly gaining speed and strength as he told me the truth of the one last secret he had kept from me.

“It started the night of the Poetry Slam at the Dungeon. That was the first time I had tried to use a poem to help alleviate the pressure weighing me down—to do what Zo, Tony, and V were doing with their music.”

“I remember,” I said, conjuring up in my mind the memory of Dante standing on the stage, his poem rolling out over us like a wave, or a blessing. He had used the same poem to heal me on the bank and restore my memories. It was a poem I would never forget. “You were amazing. I still remember how your voice made me feel.”

The night of the Poetry Slam had been the same night Valerie had won an invitation to the Valentine’s dance with V, taking her first step down a path that would ultimately lead her into insanity. But that had also been the night that Leo had made me a Midnight Kiss and I had made a wish. So much had happened that night. So many small threads that were only now coming together to form a complete picture.

“The poem worked, but barely,” said Dante. “And it came at a high price. After Leo closed the Dungeon, he found me collapsed by the back stairs. I was barely alive. At least, that’s what he told me. I don’t really remember what happened.” He drew in a tight breath. “Well, that’s not exactly true. I remember feeling like I was drifting between the river and the bank. Like I was being pulled in two different directions. Torn in half.”

I deliberately didn’t look at the broken halves of the heart-shaped locket in my hand, though I felt the points and edges pressing into my palm.

“It felt a lot like when I was trapped in the darkness between the doors of the time machine,” he finished. “Before you called me back into the light.”

I squeezed his hand, trying to send all the strength I had inside of me to him.

Dante cleared his throat. “Leo helped me recover, though it took some time to find my balance again. That was when he told me about something he had learned that might help. He knew of a way to link a small part of yourself to an object in order to help stabilize the whole. That way, the object could serve as a kind of anchor, a touchstone that would be easy to find wherever you were and easy to hold on to. He said he had taught the process to the others who had been through the door and it had seemed to help them. He believed it would help me too.”

“Others?” I echoed. “You mean Zo and his guitar.”

Dante nodded.

“What about Tony and V? Did they have touchstones too? Did Leo?”

“If they did, I didn’t know about it. It’s possible they didn’t feel like they needed one. Or wanted one. It was a personal choice; Leo wasn’t going to force the decision on anyone. He said if I wanted to try it, having a touchstone might help me maintain my balance until I had mastered it by myself. More, he said it could help protect me from drifting like that again.” Dante lifted his hand to reveal the locket in my palm. “It was an easy choice to make.”

“You chose the locket,” I said.

Dante shook his head. “I chose you.”

The broken bits of silver suddenly felt like ice.

“I followed Leo’s directions. I crafted the locket. Shaped it. Poured my heart into it. And then I gave it to you. I wanted you to be my anchor, my touchstone.”

I remembered the night Dante had come to my house to give me the locket. He had placed it around my neck with a kiss and said that it held the key to his heart. I hadn’t known then that the key inside the locket would open the black hourglass door or that the locket itself was part of Dante’s heart. I wondered how much of what had followed would have been different if I had known the truth.

The hollow of my throat felt strangely exposed. I thought back to all the times when I had drawn comfort or strength from having the locket around my neck. Every time I had touched the shape of the heart, it had reminded me of Dante. It had linked me to Dante as surely as it had linked Dante to me.