Page 31

“Good to meet you,” Porter says, studying him. “How’s your Jazz Age knowledge?”

“Decent,” he says.

She nods. “Better than I ever got with Gibbons,” she says under her breath. “So I wanted to get you into a hotel where it’s easier to sneak in and out, but we couldn’t gather enough information last minute to make it happen. We’re sending you into a townhouse on the Upper East Side that was built in the 1920s by a business tycoon for his daughter. He built three of them, actually, but the one we’re sending you into still has some original furnishings, including a mirror in the unit on the second floor—it’s been converted into three separate units. One of the units is on the market right now, which is how we chose it for access, but the house is occupied in 1928, so you’ll have to improvise there. Sorry.” She gives a shrug, and Ben nods understandingly. “The upside is that Gibbons knew about these houses from a previous report we did on mirrors with traveling capabilities. That’s probably where he arrived in 1908.”

Ben and I share a surprised look, but Agent Porter goes on before we make any comment. “I’ve also sent a file to both of your phones with possible contacts, the most likely one to help being⁠—”

“William Allen,” Ben interrupts even as he opens his email and the attachment she’s indicated. “He has an estate in the Hudson River Valley called Gracewoods, and he was living there most of the year in the 1920s.”

Now Porter looks impressed. “Yes. The attachment also includes what we know about Gibbons and information we think might help you. The only thing we’ve been able to gather so far about what he’s doing in 1928 has been that picture, which I’ve also included in your mission file.” She turns away from the laptop and reaches into a messenger bag, pulling out replicas of a cigarette case and a small clutch purse. “These are for hiding your phones—just let me program your fingerprints here…” She plugs the cigarette case into the laptop, taps out something on the keyboard, and then grabs Ben’s hand, placing his thumb on an indentation in the top. A moment later she repeats the process for me and the clutch. “They’ll act as battery chargers so you’ll be able to use the camera for gathering evidence and accessing the information we’ve given you. If the cases aren’t opened for more than a week, they’ll self-destruct and destroy everything inside to keep you from compromising technological history, but you really shouldn’t lose these, please.”

Ben and I both murmur our assent.

“And leave your phones inside unless you have to use them for something.” After our agreement to this, she snaps the laptop closed. “We do everything we can to prepare you and keep you from changing things, but we also have to make sure you’re prepared for your job. It’s like they tell campers—leave no trace, okay?”

“Aye, aye,” Ben says the same time I say, “Okay.” I don’t need any more lectures on the consequences of stepping a toe out of line in the past.

“You’re as ready as you’re gonna be on my end.” Porter nods at Dr. Cooper. “Just be careful,” she says to us as we move to leave. “As much as we’ve prepared you, Gibbons is a wild card.”

Ben and I nod at Porter solemnly.

“Let’s go,” Dr. Cooper says, leading the way out of the planning room. “Gibbons has at least twelve hours on you, likely more.”

An hour later, we pull up in front of a row of townhouses in the early dawn light of New York City. Ben hangs up the phone call he’d made to his mom. She hates that he had to leave town so soon after getting back, but he’s managed to convince her that the research trip he’s taking is necessary if he wants to keep the job the college gave him after he disappeared before starting it two years ago. I text Morgan, feeling a pang that the one person I have to notify won’t really notice I’m missing. Going on a research trip with Ben. May or may not be able to text—will not, I think to myself—I’ll call you when I get back in town.

Morgan answers with a heart-eyed emoji and a message to have fun. The fact that Morgan just landed a place on her firm’s team for a big case means she’ll be buried in work for a while anyway.

I push open my door and step out of the car. After a delay, Ben steps out as well, and I notice that he masks his true feelings, probably to hide the fear that Dr. Cooper and Burke might be wrong about my ability. Maybe listening to his mom worry over his leaving town so soon brought back all the bad memories of his time in the past. I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen a genuine smile from him since Dr. Cooper and Burke first came to my apartment yesterday.

We head for the front door of the building together, and I put my hand in Ben’s. “We could still back out, you know,” I say in a low voice, hating what this must be doing to him. “I don’t mind the thought of spending some quality time at Guantanamo Bay.”

Ben snorts with laughter and shakes his head at me. “I don’t want to back out. I really don’t.” I nod once, accepting his declaration. He won’t say more than that anyway.

“Is it as unnerving for you as for me how little they know about Simon Gibbons?” I ask as we climb to the second floor.

“Black ops.” He shrugs. “That’s not comforting at all.”

We come to the door of the upstairs unit, and Ben punches in a code that Agent Porter got for us for the real estate lockbox on the door handle. He retrieves the key to the unit and opens the door for us, standing aside as I enter. I smile to myself over his chivalry. I once dated a guy who’d lived in the South for a few years and had retained the habit of answering everything with “yes, ma’am.” It had been endearing and sweet, and I hope Ben’s gentleman habits don’t diminish with time away from the past.

We find the mirror we need in the entryway, hanging on the wall. Ben gently lifts it off and sets it down for ease of walking through, then steps aside for me. I study the gold frame, filigreed with leaves on the edge, and brush my fingers over the sprinkling of black spots marring the edge of the mirror because of its age.

“Are you ready?” I ask, turning to look at him over my shoulder.

“If you can open this easily, it means you can open the one back just as easily,” Ben says reassuringly. He reaches for one of my hands and kisses my palm. “For good luck.”

I haven’t touched the mirror yet, but tingles still dance over my fingers and up my arm. I slip my hand from his, and taking a deep breath, I press my palms against the mirror.

I half-hoped this might be some kind of hoax, that when I set out to touch it, nothing would happen. But energy buzzes over my fingers and then jolts up and down my arms. Within seconds the surface turns watery, and my hands sink through.

I turn to Ben, and a large lump swells in my chest. I had been the one ready to dive back into the past, but now it seems too real.

“Clara?” Ben questions.

What if this time we can’t get back? Right now, it seems easy enough, but so much could happen to change that. Maybe Dr. Cooper miscalculated, and I’m more like Gibbons than they thought.

I take a deep breath.

“Come on,” Ben says confidently. “We’re going together this time.” He weaves his fingers through mine and steps through. My hand disappears with his, but I still feel his firm grasp, so I tighten my grip on him and follow.