The Hourglass Door (33 page)

Zo, standing on stage at the Dungeon, drenched in light, casting a deep, impenetrable shadow.

V wrapping his strong arms around Valerie, turning her face to his, turning her body into his embrace, turning her away from me.

Leo’s gentle smile at odds with his words warning me against kisses shared at midnight and wishes made at dawn.

Sighing, I slipped from my bed and sat on the edge of the window seat, dragging the quilt from my bed and wrapping it around my shoulders. Leaning against the wall, I looked out into the night sky. The moon seemed so close tonight. The thin skiff of clouds drifted slowly across the sky like encroaching blindness across a milky, white eye. I knew it was corny, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Dante could see the same moon from where he was on the riverbank.

I smiled ruefully. Of course he couldn’t see the moonlight. I’d been there. I’d seen the vast emptiness and the light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. I wondered once more how long he would be gone. All I wanted to do was spend time with him, and it didn’t seem fair that the more time we spent together now, the longer we had to stay apart in the future. If only there was a way I could reach him even while he was gone.

I opened my window. The cool night breeze breathed over me, drew soft fingers through the curtains and over my face. I closed my eyes, remembering falling through the river, the tingling sensation on my skin as the waters of time closed over me. I breathed deeply, half asleep, half remembering, half wishing.

I heard the wind whisper with Dante’s voice, so close he might have been outside my window or even inside my room. I smiled in my sleep—when had I fallen asleep?—and turned my face to the night.

“What are you doing here?” Dante asked, his voice drifting to me on the wings of a dream.

What was I doing where? I wondered. I was asleep in my room, dreaming, wasn’t I?

A picture filled my mind: Dante, standing so still on the riverbank I thought at first he was a statue—a carving left behind to mark the way, or to warn away unwary travelers. The flat light of the bank fell in strange angles on his skin, making the lines of his body sharp. His whole body was on edge. Thin. Tapering off into shadow—shadows that encased his wrists in heavy black bands, weighing him down, anchoring him in place.

It hurt my eyes to look directly at the chains on his skin. It hurt my heart to see him trapped and miserable. I opened my mouth to call his name, but as the dream unfurled its wings in my mind and the images and pictures became clearer, more defined, I realized Dante wasn’t speaking to me; he was addressing a dark figure who hovered at the edges of my vision.

“I didn’t think you liked coming here.” The words may have been spoken in Italian, but I heard them in English in my mind. And Dante’s contempt needed no translation.

“No one does.” Zo’s voice preceded his appearance in my dream. He strode into the scene like an actor commanding the stage. Heavy black shadows writhed around his wrists too, but, unlike Dante, Zo embraced his bands, wore them as a mark of honor and pride.

I felt a ripple of apprehension pass through me; I wasn’t sure I wanted to be anywhere Zo was. But this was just a dream, right?

It certainly felt like a dream . . . but with the promise of something more. It was like I was standing on a ledge and one more step would push me over, set me on the bank for real. I felt the edges of my dream bend and flex—and I mentally took a step back, staying safely on this side of the dream.

“Why are you here?” Dante clenched his fists and I saw streaks of red shoot through the black shadows, arrows of anger seeking a target.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Zo said. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

Zo laughed, the sound cracking from his mouth and dying in the void between the two men. “That hurts, Dante. It’s important that we trust each other. You of all people should know the importance of trust. And the power of secrets.”

“What secrets?”

“A couple weeks ago, Tony was here when something unusual happened.” Zo moved a few paces closer to Dante. I noticed he didn’t leave any footprints behind him. “He saw you by the river.”

Dante narrowed his eyes.

“With a girl.” A sharp smile slashed across Zo’s face. “And not just any girl. Tony saw you with Abby Edmunds.”

Even safe in my dream, I felt a shiver when Zo said my name.

“Imagine that,” he continued, circling around Dante. “Abby Edmunds. Here. Because the last time I looked, she didn’t have a membership pass to our exclusive little club.” He grabbed Dante’s wrist, squeezing through the shadows to the skin beneath. Dante hissed in pain, the stark planes of his face pale and rigid.

“Let go of me.”

Zo stepped back, baring his teeth in a feral grin. “When Tony told me what he had seen, I had to ask myself, Why would Dante want to bring someone
here?
” He spread his arms wide, turning in a circle to encompass the entire void around them. He pivoted on his heel and placed his hands on Dante’s shoulders. “And then Tony told me the rest of what he saw.” Zo leaned closer. “Tony said he saw you and Abby walk to the edge of the river. He saw you push her in. And when the river closed over her, he saw something we all thought was impossible, something Leo swore was impossible. Tony saw
a way back.
”

A tick jumped in Dante’s jaw. He chafed at his wrists as though they still hurt from Zo’s touch. “I know what he saw. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing to do with me?” Zo repeated, letting go of Dante in surprise. “A bridge appears, spanning the river—a bridge that leads to the past, to
home
— and you don’t think it has anything to do with me—with all of us? How long did you think you could keep it a secret?”

“It’s my secret to keep.”

“Keeping secrets is a dangerous business.”

“So is telling them.”

Zo acknowledged the veiled threat with a nod of his head. “How many of your secrets have you told Abby, I wonder? What did you tell her to make her willing to trust you? Did you tell her you loved her?”

Dante looked away.

“I see. Then you haven’t told her about Orlando? Or Sofia?”

He took a step toward Zo. “Don’t.”

“Interesting,” Zo said, amused at Dante’s reaction. “Secrets within secrets.”

“I suppose
you
don’t have any secrets.”

Zo laughed again, a harsh sound, brittle and venomous. “I have as many as you do. Maybe more.”

“Then you don’t need any more of mine, do you?”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Tell me how you did it. Tell me how you brought Abby here.”

Dante smiled and remained silent.

Zo frowned. “Did Leo teach you?”

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“What else has Leo taught you? What other secrets are the two of you keeping?”

Dante sighed, ignoring Zo. “I guess
I’ll
have to leave then.” He turned on his heel and took three steps away from Zo. Between the third and the fourth step, Dante disappeared.

Zo howled in rage, the roar impossibly rising in volume, impossibly expanding to fill the edges of the emptiness of the bank.

Then suddenly he looked around, his senses alert, his eyes darting from side to side, before they abruptly snapped into focus. I could see the fury etched on his face, distorting his angelic features. As our eyes met across my dream, I heard his scream of rage transform into a roar of laughter.

I woke in a cold sweat, the predawn sky the same flat empty color as the sky over the bank. Shaking, I ran to my door and locked it, pressing my back against the wood. I slid down to the floor, my mind still in a fog. I knew my fear was irrational—Zo wasn’t in the hallway, he wasn’t anywhere close to my house—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that when Zo’s eyes had locked with mine, he had seen me. Really
seen
me.

I realized with a rising sense of dread that what may have started out as a dream had suddenly become something more dangerous.

Chapter

21

Monday morning, I saw Dante walking toward me in the hallway, his backpack slung over his shoulder, as though his life was as normal as the next person’s.

My heart lifted at the sight of his tall frame parting the crowds. I’d been a wreck all weekend, barely sleeping for fear of having another dream that was more than a dream.

“We need to talk,” I said, my voice clipped and low. “Now.”

“All right. But first . . .” He brushed his fingers across my lips. “I’ve got a few moments to spare.” He bent down and kissed me.

I felt the familiar sensation of time slowing down around us, of my senses heightening and mixing. I could taste the softness of his lips, hear the clarity of his clothes sliding over his skin. I ran my fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck into his hair at the same time he slid his hands down to lock at the small of my back. His fingers left tracks of heat in their wake. He pulled me closer to him, just the two of us in a stolen moment of time.

But now was not the time for kisses.

I broke away, pressing my lips together and letting the taste of him fill my mouth before swallowing hard. He tasted of exotic places and possibilities.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, Abby.”

“It’s only been two days.”

“Two days too long.” Dante nuzzled at my earlobe.

I pushed him away, feeling myself blush. “Not at school,” I said. The few people around us were oblivious to our embrace.
“We only have so much time together. Let’s not waste it.”

I felt Dante’s mouth curve in a smile against my neck. “I don’t think this is a waste of time.”

I managed to keep my eyes open despite Dante’s focused attentions. “Who’s Sofia?”

Dante’s lips turned to ice. Time snapped back into motion. I felt a hard and fast lurch deep in my stomach and blinked at the sudden jolt in my surroundings.

He straightened up slowly, his face carefully composed to reveal nothing of his emotions. “Where did you hear that name?”

Now that the moment was here, I wasn’t sure I had the courage to say the words to this sudden stranger who wore a mask of Dante’s face. I looked around, even though I knew no one was listening to us in the crowded hallway. And even if someone was, no one would know what we were talking about. “I . . .” I cleared my throat. “Friday night I dreamed you and Zo were talking on the bank.” I lowered my voice. “Zo said you were keeping secrets. He mentioned Sofia.”

“You dreamed this.” The mask remained in place. “Friday night.”

“Well, I
thought
it was a dream. But weren’t you . . . I mean, you
were
on the bank then, right? And . . .”

“You saw me—and Zo—in your dream.” He spoke carefully, emphasizing each word as though he might have misheard me.

I nodded. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t think it was a dream exactly.”

Dante grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him, heading for the main doors. He muttered a string of vicious-sounding Italian words under his breath.

“Where are we going?”

“Leo’s.”

“But what about class?”

“I’ll have him write you a note.” Dante crashed through the doors.

He didn’t speak the entire drive to the Dungeon. I pulled into the parking lot and he opened the door and helped me out of the car. Once he had closed the car door, he grabbed my hand again and we quickly walked into the Dungeon.

“Leo!” Dante called as the door swung closed behind us.

I rubbed at my face with my free hand, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.

Dante muttered something under his breath. “Leo!” He turned abruptly and led me across the floor to the bar. He slammed open the door, but the back office was dark and quiet. Dante hit the doorjamb with his open palm. “Where is he?”

“Will you please tell me what’s going on? Why do you need Leo?”

Dante reached out and grabbed a set of keys from a cubbyhole on the desk. He pushed me back through the door and toward the glass cabinet of Leo’s curios. “You’re in danger, Abby, and it’s all my fault. I should never have taken you to the bank. I should never have told you the truth.”

“Danger?” I looked around as though a monster lurked in the corners of the room, ready to leap out and devour me whole, but there was only Dante, his chest heaving with his uneven breathing. His gray eyes were chips of ice in his frozen face.

“If anything happens to you . . .” Dante stopped by the cabinet door, the keys jingling quietly in his trembling hand. He shook his head once as though making a difficult decision, or dispelling a bad memory. He jammed the key into the lock and wrenched open the cabinet door, shaking the contents in his haste. A set of teacups rattled in their saucers. A porcelain figurine of a ballerina teetered on her pointed toe and crashed to the shelf in a shower of pink-and-white shards.

Dante pushed aside an obelisk of carved jade that stood next to the brass machine on the top shelf. He grabbed the brass box and handed it to me.