Library Gate 3, page 11
“The Time Machine?” Dorian asked skeptically. “H. G. Wells is your great master plan?”
“Not H. G. Wells,” April said. “The time machine itself.” She talked faster, excited now.
“I still don’t follow.”
“It’s so simple it’s funny, actually. We got here by census, right? Theoretically we could get back the same way—by finding a census document from our time and going there—except it doesn’t work the other way. We don’t have access to censuses from the future, and even if we did, it wouldn’t be exact enough.”
“Uh huh,” Dorian said again, still not impressed.
“So we take the time machine, bring it here to our world, and then use it to go forward in time.”
Dorian cupped his fingers over his nose. “There are so many holes in this plan. Not least of all is the fact that this”—he picked up the book off the table—“is not a key. Werner had to turn the books into keys, remember?”
“Right,” April nodded. “Oswald Werner, a self-taught wizard, was able to turn ordinary books like this one into gate keys. We have two trained wizards here—why couldn’t they do the same?”
Dorian opened his mouth and closed it again several times before saying, “So you’re proposing that we go into the world of The Time Machine—again, assuming that Michael and Junior can turn this book into a gate key—bring the heavy, fictional machine here, and then travel forward in time to the present, and stop the collectors?”
“That’s the gist of it.”
“How will the time machine get back to its book?” Dorian asked.
“We could take it,” Junior said. “Anyway, we don’t have a time lock to return it, since our gate is always open.”
Randall rubbed his chin and looked at Michael and Junior. “Could you do it? Turn this book into a key?”
Junior whistled. “Not me. You think you could swing this, Pop?”
The elder Michael thought for a moment. “It’ll take some freestyling. I’ll look at Grandpa Collins’ grimoire. He’s the one who transferred the threshold into the brick. I may be able to modify that procedure somehow.”
“So, are we doing this?” April said. She looked around at everyone.
Michael smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
April looked down at her watch. They’d been at the distillery for several hours already. It was now nearly midnight in the library. “We’d better hurry.”
Chapter Sixteen
Michael went into a separate room in the house. April got the feeling he didn’t want them to see what he was doing. That was fine with her, as long as she was able to get back to the present, save Barty, and stop the collectors.
And punch Thaddeus in his stupid, no good, lying face.
The others waited in the sitting room, working out what they would do if Michael succeeded. When he succeeds, April reminded herself. She wasn’t the only one who was anxious. The others would periodically glance at the door with furrowed brows, and Junior moved in and out of the room more often than necessary.
April was checking her watch for what was probably the twentieth time when Michael came back from the room. He looked haggard, and there were now bags under his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier, but he smiled. “I think I did it.”
“Let’s test it out,” April said. They brought the book down to the cellar and opened it. April had chosen a part of the story where the time traveler had left the machine to explore. because it felt like the most likely moment that they’d be able to get the time machine out.
“Here goes nothing,” Michael said, and opened the book. The silvery clouds on the other side began to swirl faster. Flashes of lighting illuminated the mist here and there, and April’s hair flew around her face in the light breeze. Finally, the clouds’ motion stopped, and they began to slowly fade like lifting fog to reveal a dense jungle landscape. In the middle of a clearing they could see the time machine.
“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Michael said. “It worked.”
“Let’s go,” April said.
They ran over to the device. There was no one around, but it was near twilight. “It’s almost dark,” April said. “After sunset the morlocks come out.”
“Morlocks?” Michael Junior asked.
“Cannibalistic human evolutions from the future. Let’s go!”
The time machine was surprisingly light. By working together, they were able to carry it back through the gate. She glanced around anxiously just before stepping back over. Glowing red eyes stared back at her through the leaves at the edge of darkness. She shivered and hurried back through the veil.
Chapter Seventeen
Thaddeus had hoped that Mason wouldn’t notice his absence. No such luck. When he re-entered the Werner Room, Mason greeted him with, “Nice of you to join us.”
Thaddeus shrugged. “I almost forgot I’d arranged to have a drink with one of the Petersens tonight. I didn’t want to sour the agency’s relationship with them.”
Mason approached him, and for a moment Thaddeus thought he was going to strike him. He was surprised when Mason wrapped him in a bear-hug. “Son, your father would be so proud of the man you’ve become. You’ve really embraced your new role within the agency. Come on. We’re almost done here.”
He ended the hug by clapping Thaddeus on the back. As Thaddeus followed him to the edge of the portal, he wondered at Mason’s ability to change his demeanor at a moment’s notice to work a situation to his advantage.
He also wondered at Mason’s ego. Surely he knew that Alan had been placed with the Petersens. Was he so sure of his influence over Thaddeus that he wasn’t worried at all?
The agent who’d set up the detection charm looked up at Mason. “Ready when you are, sir.” He held a glass jar filled with various objects, a recipe they’d taken from a witch’s grimoire. When it was activated, it made any magic within a certain area glow. It was invaluable for finding hidden items after a raid.
Items that are just going into the hands of the rich and powerful, like the Petersens. Like Mason.
Thaddeus pushed the thought away.
Mason nodded. “Let’s get this show on the road. My wife is going to kill me for being home this late as it is.”
The agent nodded, breaking the glass jar against one of the tables.
Thaddeus grimaced as the pulse from the jar pass through him. Even after all he’d learned—or maybe even because of it—he hated magic more than ever. Knowing it was around him, invisible as an airborne virus, made his skin crawl.
The room filled with luminescence as though they were holding a black light over a crime scene. The brightest light came from the stained-glass window itself. You could read a book by it. The next brightest spots were, of course, the books. The entire room—tables, chairs, shelves, even the floor—glowed faintly. Magic corrupted everything, given enough time. It was seeping into his pores at that very moment, becoming part of him. He shivered.
A voice in the back of his head that sounded annoyingly like Alan’s tremble whispered, the magic is already in you, isn’t it?
He couldn’t stop himself from looking down at his skin. He was as dark as any of the other operatives, who looked like shadows against the library’s slightly-glowing backdrop.
The voice whispered again. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s in your blood. You can’t see it through your skin.
“Hmm,” Mason said. “It appears that the threshold is embedded within the wall. You know what that means—demolition time, boys.”
The operatives began pulling out the crowbars, hammers, and other tools they’d brought for just such a contingency. They began hammering at the brick around the window, starting with the spot they’d deemed the most likely for the threshold to be: directly above the gate.
As the sound of metal striking stone filled the library, Thaddeus decided that he couldn’t hold his silence any longer.
“Sir,” he said. “May I speak with you in private?”
“Can’t this wait until later?” Mason asked, annoyance in his voice. “We’re a little busy right now.”
“It’s pertinent to the matter at hand, sir.”
Mason looked at Silvis. “Supervise the boys, sweetheart.”
With one last suspicious look in Thaddeus’ direction, Silvis followed orders. No matter what, she always followed orders, no questions asked. Was he like that? Blindly following commands?
“What’s on your mind, Thad?” Mason asked after they’d walked several paces away.
Thaddeus breathed in before responding. “I have a matter that’s been weighing heavily on me. I’m sure it’s nothing, but, I’d be more focused on the task at hand if you could dispel some… rumors I’ve heard.”
“Rumors?” Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“Sir…” Thaddeus paused, searching for the best way to phrase his concern that wouldn’t offend. He was certain Mason would dispel his doubts, and he didn’t want to damage their relationship. Mason was his superior, after all. “At the Petersen fundraiser, I ran into a man who claims to be a wizard. He said he was working for the Petersens.”
“An obvious lie,” Mason said. “Another agent hoping to get a rise out of you, perhaps a bit of hazing to welcome you to the acquisition management team. Don’t be so gullible, Thad.”
“I would have thought something similar, sir, except that I saw him being pulled from the prison in the warehouse the day I was promoted. He looked in bad shape. He also wore an iron collar. It seems like a lot of work for a joke.”
Mason paused, then laughed as though it were all a big joke. “Okay, son. You caught me.”
“So… it’s all true?” Thaddeus asked. There had to be some mistake.
“The Petersens have invested heavily in the agency. It only stands to reason that they would want something in return. We are keen to see our partnership with them continue, so we accommodate their requests when possible.”
“So you rented out a wizard to them? Why keep the wizards alive in the first place?”
“Why not?”
“The conditions they’re kept in are atrocious,” Thaddeus said. “Death is preferable.”
“Since when are you so worried about the treatment wielders? What’s the big deal? I thought you hated them.”
Thaddeus struggled to find words. He had hated users of magic. He still did. “I kill when it’s necessary,” Thaddeus said, “What you’re doing is… it’s just wrong.”
Mason turned to Thaddeus. “I’ve devoted my life to this mission. Do you see anyone paying us for what we do? Of course not. We need to survive, as well. Think of the magic as our payment.”
This confirmed one of Thaddeus’ fears—Alan had been telling the truth. Mason’s expensive cars, his houses, his daughter’s fancy private school... They were all gotten by magical means, or at least the money that paid for them was.
Mason must have read the disgust on Thaddeus’ face, because he leaned in and said, “I wouldn’t act so high and mighty if I were you. Those paychecks you cash every month—where do you think that money comes from? Do you think it just appears out of nowhere because we do the right thing?” The darkness in Mason’s face disappeared, and he smiled that fake, affable smile. “What do you want—a pay raise? That can be arranged.” He paused. “Your father was never so disapproving.”
His father had known about this. The man who was always ranting about magic, instilling it in the deepest recesses of Thaddeus’ psyche that magic was evil. Why?
“I… I need to supervise the operatives,” Thaddeus said, and he pushed away from Mason.
Mason called after him. “You’re a good soldier, son. Don’t think about it too hard. Do the job, get paid. It’s what you’re good at.”
Thaddeus tried to keep his face passive, but a wave of nausea passed over him.
If Alan had been right about this, was he right about his mother as well?
The clock on the wall chimed once. Thaddeus stared at it, both seeing it and not seeing it. There was something off about its face, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Voices by the gate drew his attention away from the clock. They’d found the brick. He walked over. There, not quite at the pinnacle of the arch, was a stone that glowed ten times brighter than the wall behind it; brighter even than the window itself.
“Wonderful,” Mason said.
“Should we take it down, sir?” one of the operatives called.
“Not yet,” Mason said. “First we have to retrieve our friends.”
Mason opened the census book, and the 1940s Minneapolis street appeared in place of the stained glass. It was so picturesque that it could have been a painting come to life. There was only one problem: the Pagewalker and her associates were nowhere to be seen.
“Well, where are they?” Mason said irritably.
“You left them with no guard,” Thaddeus said. “Did you really think they would sit there and wait? This portal encompasses the entirety of the city of Minneapolis, and beyond.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Mason said, obviously not eager to take the blame. “What do I keep you around for? You’re the portal expert.”
Thaddeus had had enough of this. “Why do you keep me around, Mason? By your own count, I’ve failed to secure this portal, I’ve failed to report a meeting with the enemy, and I even sabotaged a mission to secure leverage on the subject. By all cases I should be stripped of my rank at the very least… instead you promoted me. Why? Is it because you don’t want me as an enemy?” He leaned in close to Mason, so that only he could hear what he was about to say next. “Is it true? Was my mother a witch? Was her last free act to make it so you can’t touch me?”
Mason’s eyes grew hard. He didn’t back away from Thaddeus, and for a moment Thaddeus thought that he might slap him. Instead, he returned Thaddeus’ words in the same low, dangerous tone.
“Thaddeus, I don’t know where you heard such a thing. I have put up with your rash behavior out of respect for your father and nothing more. If you prefer that I treat you with harshness, that can be arranged.” He turned back towards the gate.
“Where is the Pagewalker?” he yelled.
Thaddeus moved towards one of the windows that overlooked the parking lot. Could he trust anything that Mason had said? He’d kept the truth from him at least twice.
“She’s not here,” one of the operatives said. He’d stepped away from Mason. He wasn’t used to the usually affable Mason displaying such anger. Thaddeus could see by the unsure glances the operatives gave each other that they had all been taken off guard.
“Do you want us to send a group in to find them?”
Mason cleared his throat, bringing himself back under control. He smiled self-indulgently. “No,” he said. “They know the laws of balance as much as we do. They’ll be back before it closes. Mark my words.”
As Mason and the others settled in to wait, movement in the parking lot below caught his eye. Six dark shapes were making their way towards the entrance of the library. Five humans and a dog.
Thaddeus turned to alert the others, but then he closed his mouth. Why? It wasn’t that he wanted to help the Pagewalker, per se. But he wouldn’t help Mason anymore. Not until he knew the truth.
And he wanted to see what would happen.
~~~
It was a tight fit, but they all managed to fit on the bench-like seat of the time machine. Since April was the smallest, she had to sit on someone’s lap. Randall already held Rex, and she decided it was less awkward to sit on Dorian’s lap than one of the Michaels’… though not by much.
Dorian kept moving his hands, trying to find a place to put them. With no room on either side of them, they eventually settled into her lap, folded in on themselves as if in prayer.
April suddenly felt hot, and not from the teardrop necklace. Her stomach did a flip as she remembered what Dorian had told her in the barrel cellar… Focus, she told herself. You have no time for distraction.
Michael was bent over the control panel. All things considered, it was fairly basic. There was a large lever, and next to it a series of rolling numbers that reminded her of a slot machine. A knob increased or decreased the numbers, depending on which way you turned it. “Seems easy enough,” he said. “We just have to set this to the correct date and time, and then pull the lever.”
“Should we set it for earlier in the day before they show up?” Randall asked. “Then we might be able to keep all of this from happening in the first place.”
Dorian shook his head. “We can’t. If we stop it all from happening in the first place, then we never go back to stop it from happening, which means it still happens. This creates a—”
“Grandfather paradox,” April and Randall supplied in unison.
“What if we don’t stop ourselves from going back—we’ll just hide out in the shadows? Set a trap or something?” Randall asked.
Dorian shook his head. “There’s too much that could go wrong with that. I just hope that this thing with the time machine actually works.”
April nodded. “Let’s do this as straightforward as possible.” She lifted her wrist to indicate Mae’s watch. “I know what time it is in the library. We’ll go back to that moment and surprise them.”
“Surprise I am all for,” Dorian said. “What I need to know is what the plan is for beating them. They’re going to have more men than us, and weapons.”
“Oh,” Michael said, grinning a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You leave that to us. You just take care of the gate.”
There was a bitter, sad note in his voice that made April think he was out for vengeance. Vengeance for all the gates and keepers that had fallen before him, and vengeance for something that hadn’t even happened yet. Vengeance for his son.
He looked at April. “You got that piece of paper, gatekeeper?”
She clutched the note in her hand. On it she’d written, I retract the invitation of Thaddeus Broker, William Mason, and all their associates. They are no longer welcome in the library.
