Will, Zani, and Burnside headed back into the hall where they’d arrived with Papa Lathrop in tow. They took turns embracing the beloved patriarch before preparing for their departure.
“Wait!” a tiny voice squeaked. Flora rushed toward them as they were saying their last goodbyes, the butterfly charm bouncing at her throat. She was holding Zani’s satchel. “I was spying in the courtyard. You don’t want to leave without your bag!”
“Thank you, Flora!” Zani exclaimed. She couldn’t believe she’d almost left her beloved satchel behind. She’d just been so happy to see Will that nothing else seemed to matter.
“You’re taking her away from me?” she stared warily at Will and Burnside. It wasn’t so much a question as an accusation.
“I’m going home,” Zani replied gently, embracing her friend. “And quite happy to go, though I will miss you dearly, Flora. Thank you for believing in me, even when my story seemed impossible.”
Flora smiled through her tears. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, in another time.”
Burnside gestured to the wall, which was beginning to dissolve. “It’s time.”
Zani climbed onto Will’s back. Will placed his hands on Burnside’s shoulder. The air began to vibrate around them as the portal widened and took shape.
As they stepped through, Zani couldn’t resist one last glance back over her shoulder.
She knew she would never forget the image of Papa Lathrop holding the Gearheart Locket up to the light, his young face awash with wonder and inspiration, and Flora beside him, her hand clutching the butterfly charm at her throat.
Then they were gone, spinning through the corridors of time, homeward bound at last.
Chapter23
Muscle Memory
She did not need to make an effort to seek Cosimo out. He was already waiting for her when she arrived home. He was sitting in the garden, lit by starlight, rocking comfortably in Octavia’s fickle embrace. The night air ruffled the ridged edges of a neat stack of photos on the stone bench beside the swing. He’d found the folder.
“Are you looking for this?” Goldie asked. Cosimo looked up. His jaw dropped. He was clearly stunned by her suddenly youthful appearance. She took the matchbook from her pocket and threw it at him. It hit him in the chest with a softthwackand fell to the ground.
He sucked in an unsteady breath. “What’s happened to you?” he asked. “You’ve changed.”
“Did you prefer me older?” Goldie asked. “Or are you just surprised to see me more like you remembered me?” She tilted her chin at the matchbook. “It only seems fair, don’t you think? After all, you haven’t changed one bit in the last hundred years. Why should I be any different?”
“You and I are very different.” Cosimo sighed.
Goldie set the tote bag with the reels next to the photos on the makeshift coffee table. “I received these reels as well. Do you know what’s on them?”
Cosimo shook his head, indicating he did not. Then he closed his eyes, seeming to reconsider. “Actually, I might,” he admitted.
“It’s lost footage of me, transforming into a mermaid. Footage that I don’t remember filming. I would say it was special effects, but you and I know the special effects of the 1920s were hardly photorealistic. Is this what you were hoping to find when you broke into the Casino?”
Cosimo closed his eyes for a long moment, choosing not to speak. So Goldie continued.
“I don’t have any idea who sent this box to me. The return address is for a studio that hasn’t operated in decades. I don’t think there’s even an actual building on that lot anymore. I would check it out myself, but I’ve missed the last ferry back to the mainland tonight.”
Cosimo’s eyes opened, and he stared at her now, sad eyes shining like firelight in the reflected glow of Gary the Garibaldi’s flickering solar lantern.
“That matchbook. Why don’t I remember it?” Goldie watched his gaze as it panned to the matchbook still on the concrete paver. Cosimo reached down and swept it up, only glancing at for the briefest moment before tucking it into his pocket.
“Dance with me?” He jumped to his feet with fluid grace and amazing speed. When he reached her side, he bent at the waist and performed a courtly bow. Then he held out a hand.
His dark eyes were imploring.
She wanted to ask him who he really was, what he was. Why was he here and why hadn’t he changed at all from the man in the matchbook photo? But instead she asked him about music.
“How can we possibly dance without music?”
“As you wish.” Cosimo waved his hand and her bedroom window flew open. Her antique radio turned on and the sounds of big band music filtered out into the night. Cosimo looked up at the swaying trees and snapped a finger. Instantly, the branches were lit with fireflies and fairy lights.
