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Fear rippled like a wave through the wedding guests, as row by row they realized that something was happening—and then they all seemed to realize the danger. The flames climbed quickly, spreading as though the entire church had been doused in kerosene, and despite the lack of heat, a dark smoke began to fill the space. Within it, energy crackled like lightning about to strike. The smoke churned and gathered, moving as though directed and molded by unseen hands. By the time the terrible roaring began, the congregation had already dissolved into chaos. But Viola had long since gone.
TO CHOOSE OR COMMAND
1980—East Fifty-Ninth Street and Fifth Avenue
Esta watched Dakari from down the block, still unsure about whether she could really do what they were planning to do to him. Could she take away his free will by imposing a future upon him that wasn’t of his choosing? How did that make her any better than Nibsy?
Over the past few days, they’d looked at every possibility from every angle, and they hadn’t been able to come up with anything else. Maybe Harte was right. Maybe it was the only way to give Dakari a future. He hadn’t been all that old when Professor Lachlan killed him. Once he raised the girl and sent her back to 1902 to find the Magician, once he completed the time loop, he could go on and have the life he deserved.
But it still wouldn’t be the life he’d chosen for himself.
She thought of the last few days with Harte. They’d spent them gathering the clothing and supplies they needed without any real trouble and making their plans. They’d spent them together. It had been a reprieve, but nothing they did had yet changed the writing in the diary. No plans they made swayed the future inscribed there in Nibsy’s own hand. Still, she’d been happy, even knowing that it was all about to end—even knowing that she could be returning to the past to face an unavoidable fate.
Maybe there was a chance they could outsmart Nibsy and change the entry in the diary. But was that possibility of a chance enough to do this to Dakari? Could she really choose her own life, her own happiness, over his?
No. She couldn’t.
“Harte…” Esta turned toward him so that she didn’t have to look at the line of horses and carriages. “I can’t take his free will from him.”
“Esta, we’ve been over this a thousand times,” Harte told her, looking suddenly panicked.
“I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that Dakari was under Professor Lachlan’s control the whole time I knew him. I can’t make him into my puppet. I can’t do that to the one person who was always there for me.”
“Esta—” Harte reached for her.
“No,” she said, stepping back. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
“Please,” he said, taking her hand. “We can talk about this.”
But she only shook her head, knowing there was nothing more to say.
“He’s more important to you than I am?”
She saw the frustration cloud his face and the anger sparking in his stormy eyes, and she wished it were otherwise.
“Don’t do that, Harte. You know this isn’t about the choice between you or Dakari. It’s about me. It’s about what I can live with and what I’ll live to regret. And having this regret? Even if everything works—if we survive the Conclave and manage to fix the Brink and neutralize the danger of the Book—even if we do all of that and succeed, knowing we’d hurt Dakari would poison everything between us.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “What if it’s not forced?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if I don’t compel him?” Harte told her. “Maybe I could just suggest?”
“And what? Dakari just goes through life making choices without knowing why he’s making them?” She shook her head. “No, Harte. I can’t—” Then another idea occurred to her. “But if he agreed to it… It would be different if we could talk to him and if he understood what he was undertaking. Maybe if he had the choice.”
Harte stared at her, dumbfounded. “What are you planning to do? Walk up to him and say, ‘Hello. You don’t know me yet, but you will. And, by the way, could you raise the baby that I used to be twenty years from now?’?” He shook his head. “He’ll think you’re mad, Esta. Hell, I think you’re mad, and this was mostly my idea.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But what if he doesn’t? What if he agrees to help us?”
Harte shook his head, and she knew he wanted to argue.
“I want a future with you, Harte, but I can’t have that—not even if everything else goes right. Not if I’m dragging the past along behind me.”
“Fine,” he said, drawing her close to him. “We’ll try it your way.”
“There’s only one problem,” she told him.
“There’s a lot more than one,” he said with a sigh. But he sounded more amused than exhausted. A few nights of uninterrupted sleep and a couple of good meals had done wonders for him. For both of them. The gauntness of his cheeks was nearly gone, and his eyes were no longer shadowed by the heavy hollows that had haunted him since San Francisco.
