“That’s progress!” Zani whispered, dragging Will behind the bookshelves before past-Minerva came their way again. “But we need to go farther back. I’m ready to go again!”
“Just give me a moment, would you?” Will mumbled through a mouthful of cookies.
“Do you ever stop eating?” Zani asked.
“No.” He shook his head and handed her a cookie. “And I’m sorry, but I think I only have the energy for one more port tonight.”
As Papa Lathrop’s clock chimed out the hour, they were slipping into the void again. The portal snapped shut behind them before it even got to five bongs.
Will wondered how far back he could safely go. He reached out tentatively to touch the new, less familiar timelines that crisscrossed and wove through the older, more familiar ley lines. Gently he teased the tangled mess apart, separating the lines that directed distance from the ones that dictated time. He could almost see the two types of ley lines as latitude and longitude now. But that didn’t make it easier to control them.
His hand curled around the Gearheart Locket that he was so grateful to have on. It gave him courage. If all else failed, it might provide them with safety and shelter. After all, wasn’t that the whole reason Papa Lathrop, the founder of the Mudpuddle, had made it?
The minute Will found himself thinking about Papa Lathrop, they were sliding again, spinning and careening, completely out of control.
Zani clung tight to him, hanging on for dear life. He clung to her as well, holding her tight. They were slipping sideways now, then spiraling down through a narrow prismatic tunnel. Will felt like he was being squeezed through a kaleidoscope. This differed from the other time slips. Will had never moved vertically through a portal before. The only explanation was that they were traveling farther, into a different dimension.
This time, when they exited the portal, they dropped through the ceiling. They landed on a velvety sofa in a room that Will recognized as the main lobby of the Mudpuddle bookshop. Except it was not yet a bookshop in this time. The room was barely recognizable. The walls were newly constructed. He could smell the fresh wood. All the shelves were empty, save for a few precious volumes.
In a mirror across the room—or was it a mirror?—Will caught a brief glimpse of a tall figure with familiar features. His own face, but not quite. The man was dressed in nightclothes from another century.
“Will.” Zani leaned forward, gripping his arm. “Is that?—”
But before she could finish, the Pathfinders Filament finally ran out. It was stretched too tight. In one swift motion, it jerked them back, boomeranging them back through the still open portal, back through the colorful tunnel, straight past the two stops in the past and back into the present.
Finally, rather unceremoniously, they crashed back through the painting and straight into the stacks. A volume fell off the shelf and landed on Will’s foot. Much to his chagrin, the title readThe Git’s Guide to Time Management.
Rosie, who had apparently heard the crash and clatter of their return, came rushing in. “Are you two okay?” she asked. Her eyebrows flew up in surprise at finding them practically bound, wrapped as they were in the tangled web. “Wizards wedgie!” she exclaimed.
“Just a slight miscalculation.” Will offered Zani a hand. “I was practicing a new method of porting with Zani, and I must have miscalculated something.”
Zani’s cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes were shining. “We’ll get it right next time. We just have to work together.”
“I have to admit, you guys make porting seem super weird.” Rosie pulled a face. “I’m not sure I want to have anything to do with it now.”
“Nonsense!” Zani said. “It’s a wonderful way to travel. You just have to trust your partner.”
“Don’t you mean your porter?” Will grinned.
“Gross!” Rosie exclaimed, and sped out of the room.
Chapter17
Awake and Dreaming
Goldie lay in bed well past noon the following day, drifting in and out of slumber. The sun streamed through her lace curtains that billowed in the breeze. It created delicate reef-like shadows across the walls. She’d left the radio on, tuned to a local station. Big band music swelled and receded, the recordings scratchy enough to make it feel like the broadcast had traveled a century to reach her. It mingled with the constant, ever present crashing of the waves.
It was warm, and she was sweating. Her dreams had been feverish. Was she sick? She didn’t think so. The song ended and an ad for a local sightseeing company came on, followed by an announcement from the show’s host.
“And if you liked today’s radio show, you won’t want to miss the upcoming film festival. Tickets are still available for both general and VIP attendees. The film institute has announced that they’ll be screening some recently discovered lost film footage fromThe Mermaid’s Whisper, which, as many of you know, was filmed right here on the island. And if that’s not enough of a reason to get folks out, this year’s festival is coinciding with a full eclipse! Avalon is right in its path, and we’ve got optimal viewing conditions here on the island.”
Goldie heard the screech of brakes outside, followed by the thwacking sound of a large box being dropped outside her front door. Then came the trill of her doorbell being pressed three times in rapid succession to alert her about the delivery. The drivers never waited around for her to answer the door.
She still felt the sticky cobwebs of a persistent, recurrent dream clinging to her, and for once, she didn’t want to clear them away. She wanted to close her eyes and dive back in. But it was too late. The dreams were already receding.
Goldie groaned and kicked off the tangled covers. She rolled onto her stomach and pulled the soft pillow closer to her face. Her hair spilled out all around her, in luxuriant red and gold waves of silk that smelled of sunshine and saltwater. She pressed her face into them, inhaling the familiar scent.
And then her eyes flew open. She sat bolt upright, confronting her reflection in the mirror above the antique vanity desk beside her bed. She had not imagined it. Overnight, her hair had inexplicably returned itself to its former glory.
