Michael glanced at the paper doubtfully. “Are you sure that will work?”

  “It did before.”

  “Right. You just hold onto it good and tight, now.”

  “Okay,” April said. She set the rolling numbers to the correct date and time, then placed her hand on the lever. “Here we go.”

  I hope this works, she thought, and pushed the lever forward. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the cellar around them began to blur at the edges. They were still in the distillery’s cellar. Except for brief flashes of light, they were mostly surrounded by darkness.

  Dorian leaned over and whispered in her ear. “We should have checked to see if this cellar still exists in our time,” he whispered nervously.

  He was right. What if the cellar had been filled in? What would happen to them? Randall’s wide eyes showed that he was thinking something similar.

  Finally, the whirring of the machine’s gears slowed.

  “Hold on,” April said, and she pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. The room was flooded with retina-piercing blue light. She shone the light around the room.

  The cellar was still there, though it was only from the half-barrel shape that she recognized it as such. The only evidence of the distillery was a stack of mostly-broken wooden barrels in one corner. The rest of the space had been taken over by years of detritus, unremarkable boxes of all shapes and sizes, a pallet of metal folding chairs, and some tables pushed to the side.

  April shone her light at the back of the cellar and immediately wished she hadn’t. The back wall was caved in. The spot where the gate had been was no more than a pile of rubble.

  An immediate and undeniable sadness flowed over her. She didn’t know why she was so shocked by the scene. She’d known the gate wouldn’t be there.

  The edge of the beam of light illuminated Michael’s features in gray-blue light. He looked like a ghost. April could tell that he, too, was feeling the immense sadness.

  “Pop,” Junior said, “The gate—”

  “We must have moved it,” he said, shooting a knowing glance at April. “Yeah? Let’s go.” He sounded eager to leave. April was, too. The place had the somber air of a graveyard.

  As they climbed the stairs, deep bass pulsed through the floorboards above their heads. It grew louder the higher they went.

  “What is that godawful sound?” Junior said with a look of disgust on his face. “Is someone summoning a demon?”

  Randall shook his head. He had to speak loudly to make himself heard over the music. “They turned the distillery into a dance club.”

  “A what?”

  “Like a dance hall,” Dorian explained. No one noticed when they emerged through the basement door. Hopefully no one would make their way into the basement for a spare table or set of chairs and find the time machine inexplicably parked there.

  If someone unwittingly messed with it and went forward or backward in time, it would be nearly impossible to get it back. Her brain hurt trying to think of the possible consequences.

  But she didn’t have time to think about that. She had to focus on the problem at hand.

  Luckily the library was only a few blocks away. April had dressed for the humid July day in 1940, not a frigid November night. She leaned against Dorian for warmth as they walked down the street. He moved away from her at first, but once he noticed the way her teeth chattered he wrapped his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. The contact sent tingles down her spine.

  Focus, she told herself. You can think about what Dorian said later… if there is a later.

  They reached the parking lot of the library. A purplish glow with green undertones was visible through the Werner Room windows.

  “That can’t be good,” April said.

  Michael squinted up at the light. “They’ve cast a magic detection spell.”

  “They’re looking for the threshold,” Dorian said.

  “Do you think they’ve got it?” April asked, her pulse quickening. Were they too late? They were in the real world now, they didn’t have the extra cushion of time to plan before acting.

  “Most likely.”

  “Then why are they still there?”

  “They’re waiting for us,” Randall said.

  “That’s something that’s on our side—they can’t remove the threshold until they’ve got us back. Probably gives us a little time.”

  “Then let’s not waste it. Michaels,” she said to the wizards. “Are you ready?”

  They nodded.

  “Remember the plan. You guys cause your distraction, and I’ll get back to the gate and retract the collectors’ invitation.” She held the small wad of paper in her palm.

  “Dorian and I will cover you,” Randall said.

  She unlocked the front door as quietly as possible. Every step seemed to creak. Even their breath seemed as loud as a freight train.

  They crept up the stairs, pausing to peek around at the turn of each landing, checking for guards. The first and second floors were clear, but Junior raised his hand at the landing below the third floor, signaling for them to stop.

  “Two guards are up at the top,” he said.

  The Michaels whispered to each other for a few seconds, and then nodded.

  “We need to make a sound,” Michael whispered. “Not loud enough that they yell for help, but we need them to come down the stairs.”

  “I have an idea,” Randall said. He lifted his foot, holding it above one of the creaky stairs. Randall would know better than anyone which stairs made noise. “Ready?”

  “Hold on.” They pulled out their wands and waved them around their heads with a flourish. As they did, they became darker, as though they were made of shadow. They pressed themselves into the corners at either side of the landing. They were nearly indistinguishable from the shadows of the already-dark stairwell.

  “Go ahead.”

  Randall stepped on the stair. It creaked. Even though they had done it on purpose, April’s heart jumped in her chest at the noise.

  They held their breath and listened.

  “What was that?” One of the guards said.

  “Don’t be so jumpy, rookie. It’s just the foundation settling,” the other collector replied, though he didn’t sound sure.

  Pause. “You’re probably right.”

  Randall lifted his foot and stepped on the stair again.

  “I’m going to take a look,” the rookie said. His companion didn’t argue with him this time. “Should I radio Silvis?”

  Uh oh. They needed to take these guards out without alerting anyone in the Werner Room. The element of surprise was the only edge they had, aside from Michael and Junior’s magic.

  “Only if you want your ass chewed out for wasting her time.”

  Heavy footsteps banged above their heads. They continued down the stairs and onto the landing where Michael and Junior were disguised as shadows.

  A young man dressed in black fatigues appeared at the top of the stairwell. He held a rifle in front of his chest with both hands. He looked around the corner of the stairwell. He made eye contact with April. Surprise appeared in his eyes. Before he could do anything, a shadowy hand shot out of the corner and threw a handful of pink sleep sand in the man’s face.

  The man’s look of surprise shifted to one of confusion, then his eyes rolled up and his mouth fell open. He collapsed downward towards them.

  “Catch him!” April whispered. She, Dorian, and Randall caught the man, preventing him from breaking his neck, but making a lot of noise in the process.

  “Bill?”

  More footsteps rang out as the second guard hurried down the stairs, drawn by the commotion. He didn’t even make it down to the landing before a puff of pink appeared in front of his face. He collapsed, the shadows moving forward to catch his fall.

  They laid them down gently. They crept up the final half flight of stairs, the Michaels still disguised as shadows.

  They paused below the landing, peering over the railing and into the open double doors of the Werner Room. Everyone stood facing the gate, which was opened to the 1940 Minneapolis street that they’d been left in earlier. The man who’d introduced himself as Thaddeus’ boss—Mason—was going on about how they weren’t there on the other side.

  April met Michael’s shadowy eyes. He nodded, and she nodded back.

  “Go,” she whispered, and suddenly everyone was moving towards the Werner Room. The Michaels moved from shadow to shadow.

  Shocked, none of the collectors reacted right away.

  Mason’s back was turned away from them, but Thaddeus’s eyes met hers the second they entered the room. Crap. She knew she should be moving, but she felt like a deer caught in headlights. They stood like that for several seconds. Why wasn’t he pointing her out? He looked almost… bored. As though reading her thoughts, he raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

  He’s not going to say anything, she thought. She didn’t know what that meant, but she doubted he was about to help her.

  She decided to discern Thaddeus’ mood swings later. Right now, she only had to get the piece of paper in her hand into the gate.

  “There they are!”

  Her head swiveled towards the source of the voice. An operative near the gate was pointing at them.

  “Where?” Mason began looking around, first only through the gate—the logical place where they’d be spotted—but as more and more of the men turned towards the double doors, he turned.

  “Oh,” he said when he saw them. “How did you get on this side? Someone’s been naughty!”

  He began to advance on April, but before he could take more than a couple steps, Michael yelled, “NOW, Junior!”

  Mason and the operatives began covering their eyes, with their hands and wincing in pain. Their shouts filled the room.

  “It’s so bright—”

  “I can’t see!”

  “My eyes!”

  Others just screamed wordlessly.

  The Michaels were again fully visible, as though casting the second spell had negated the first, or maybe they’d decided blending into the shadows was unnecessary, since the operatives so obviously couldn’t see. April turned to Michael.

  “What’s happened to them?” April asked.

  Michael grinned. “All they can see is white-hot light. It’ll keep them occupied for a few minutes, but that’s no reason to dawdle. Go!”

  April made her way towards the gate and tossed the piece of paper in. It passed through the veil with a hiss.

  She waited for the collectors to be expelled, wondering how it would work now that they couldn’t see. Last time it had looked like an outside force was pushing them away.

  But nothing happened.

  “What are you waiting for?” Dorian yelled at her. “Throw it in!”

  “I did,” she said back to him. “It didn’t work!”

  Mason hobbled towards them, gripping the edges of the tables and chairs that he passed by. He obviously couldn’t see, but he was handling it better than the others. “Here’s the thing,” he said in their general direction. “Protection spells like this one are only good from one side, especially weak ones created by amateurs like your friend Mr. Nagles. Once we were in, we dismantled it with ease. Last time we didn’t bother. We never expected you to betray Thaddeus. This time we knew better.”

  He felt around at the opening of his suitcoat, reached inside, and pulled out a tapered stick about half the length of his forearm. It was a wand just like the Michaels’.

  “Oh, how does it go again?” he said, tapping the wand against his temple. “Eradico? Eradicato? That one sounds right.” He waved the wand around his head. “Eradicato.”

  Though he still blinked like he’d gotten shampoo in his eyes, his eyes focused on her. He could see again. The same seemed to be happening for the rest of the collectors.

  “Jeez,” he said, obviously irked by his counter-spell’s lack of efficacy. he turned to Michael. “You’re a wielder, right? What is it that I’m doing wrong? Did I emphasize the wrong syllable? What?”

  Michael spat at Mason’s feet. “You did not earn that wand. It can sense you wield it with malice and greed. It will never fully bow to you.”

  “Hmm,” Mason said. “That’s a dying shame.”

  By this time most of the collectors had risen to their feet and were pointing their guns at April and the others, though their eyes were red and watery.

  Mason stepped towards April. “You should have accepted my job offer. The fact that you’re here is a testament to your will and intellect. What you might have become with us to guide you.”

  Off to her right, April could see Junior raising his wand. He began to speak, but before he could get out even the first syllable, Mason had raised his hand, and with a flick, Junior had frozen in place.

  “How’s that for bending magic to my will?” Mason said with a grin.

  Michael let out a pained shriek. He charged Mason like a madman, his wand raised.

  With a flick of Mason’s wrist, he too, was frozen, motionless, flesh made statue.

  Mason walked towards the inert forms, pulling their wands from their hands. They came free with sick tearing sounds, as though he’d pulled away some skin along with the wands.

  Mason pocketed his bounty. “Now, where were we?”

  ~~~

  Thaddeus couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He’d known Mason had used magic to accumulate his wealth and power, but this… this was an abomination. It went against everything the agency stood for. Mason now wielded more power than any wizard or witch Thaddeus had worked against.

  “What are you doing, Mason? Wielding magic?”

  Mason shook his head as though shooing away a mosquito that had been buzzing in his ear. “Would you stop with your incessant whining?” He said. “So what if I’m using magic? I deserve it. We deserve it. Do you think these inconsequential fools deserve it? No! Look at them, scared for their lives.”

  “This is wrong, Mason,” Thaddeus said.

  “Says the half-witch operative! That’s right—everything Alan told you was true.” He sighed. “Ah, that feels good to get off my chest. And you know what’s worse? Your father knew. He knew who she was. She seduced him with her magic, but he didn’t care.”

  “No,” Thaddeus said. “My father hated magic.”

  “Yes, he did. That much is true. I don’t know how he reconciled his love for you with his hatred for what flows through your veins, but he did. That’s why he never went after that she-witch in jail. He knew to do so would endanger your life. I didn’t find out until the spell she put upon you was well in place. It was powerful stuff. I had teams working on removing it—your father never knew—but no luck.”

  “I will not stand for this,” Thaddeus said. He couldn’t process the things that Mason was saying at that moment. All he knew was that he had to stop him.

  Mason raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What exactly are you going to do?”

  Thaddeus gritted his teeth. Mason was right. There was nothing he could do to stop him, not when he had three wands in his hand and had two dozen agents at his command.

  “That’s what I thought. Fall in line. Let the true leaders lead. It’s what you’re best at.”

  Thaddeus caught the Pagewalker looking at him. She was a magic-wielder of sorts, true, but her sins paled in comparison with Mason’s. The whole agency was corrupt. Had anything Thaddeus ever believed been true?

  Mason turned back to the gate. “Now that our friends have returned from their trip back in time,” Mason said, “Let’s retrieve that threshold.”

  Two of the operatives, their light-scorched eyes still streaming, began to pry the brick in question loose from the wall. Once it was loose, it would be added to the agency’s hoard of magic. With no other recourse available to him, Thaddeus had no choice but to watch it happen.

  One side of the brick loosened first. The operatives grunted as they put pressure on the crowbar, and the brick came free with the crunch and crack of the wall behind it. As they pulled it out, he noticed the brass plaque attached to the side that had faced into the wall. He moved closer to read it: Collins Distillery & Spirits founded 18—. The final two digits had been chipped away so the exact year wasn’t legible.

  He squinted at the plaque. There was something familiar about the numbers; he couldn’t place his finger on it…

  The operative who’d removed the threshold gently blew off the excess brick dust, then held it out to Mason as though presenting a sacrificial object to a vengeful deity.

  The poor sap had no idea that Mason would most likely kill him and every operative in the room after the job was done. At the very least they’d be locked up. They’d all seen Mason admit to using magic for his own personal gain—that wasn’t something Mason could afford to get out to the lower-ranking agents.

  Mason took the threshold triumphantly, but his expression soon shifted to one of dismay. “If this is the threshold,” he said, “Then why is the portal still open?”

  It was true; the gate remained open still, unchanged.

  “It’s chipped,” Mason said, rubbing his fingers over the missing digits. “You morons!” he barked at the operatives. “It’s broken! Where are the missing pieces?”

  The operatives scrambled to action, combing through the bits of broken brick at the base of the window and peering into the hole above it where the threshold had been. Thaddeus could tell that each one was worried they might be the next fall under Mason’s magical ire.

  The grandfather clock in the corner began to chime. One ring, then two. Everyone was so concerned with the missing piece that they didn’t even register the sound—everyone except Thaddeus.

  He started to think of the mismatched numbers on the clock’s face. Had he just imagined it? The distillery had opened in 1859. They’d learned that in the hours after April had revealed what the threshold was. The gate opened each night at nine and closed again in the morning at five. Such a coincidence was possible, though not likely. Especially when magic was involved.

  No one noticed when Thaddeus strode over to the grandfather clock and opened its face. The nine and the five were different. Slightly too large, and they protruded from the clock’s face a bit further than the other numerals. A glowing pinprick as bright as the threshold itself lit was visible on the edge of the five. He reached out, pausing a moment, loathe to touch such potent magic directly. Then he brushed it ever-so-gingerly with only his fingernail, and scratched. As he removed the paint covering the letters, the glow hidden behind the paint spread. He continued to scratch, still unnoticed within the chaos of the room, like he was using a lottery ticket, until the bright luminescence of the nine and the five was only marred by the thinnest flecks of paint here and there.

 

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