Passenger (Passenger #1) - Alexandra Bracken Page 0,86

think I know where we are,” she said. “Roughly.”

Rough was a good way to describe what they saw as they stepped out of the ruined arcade and onto the street. She’d known to expect destruction—she’d seen pictures, heard Alice and Oskar describe it with a raw pain that lingered decades later. What Etta hadn’t expected was that so many Londoners would be out and about in suits, dresses, and heels, carefully picking their way through the piles of debris that had blown out of storefronts, deftly avoiding the craters that had collapsed in whole sections, the surface of the street torn away to reveal the pipes beneath.

Clouds passed over the sun, spotting the ground with shadows. Etta watched Nicholas as they made their way down a succession of connecting streets, heading east. He was drifting to the left, pulling away, until her hand slipped off his sleeve. The nausea and wooziness from the traveler’s sickness had passed, but she felt disoriented all over again, in a very different way. Though Nicholas stayed only a step ahead of her, she felt the distance build between them until she felt suddenly alone.

Every now and then Nicholas caught sight of something new—a bicycle, a window display, a police officer in uniform, a traffic light—and it would drag his attention away. Etta could tell he didn’t want to have to ask her to explain—there was some part of him that was enjoying the process of figuring it out himself—but he was curious.

“Have you been here before?” she asked finally. “Here-here?”

He shook his head, answering quietly, “I only went as far as 1925, and that was in New Orleans.”

Compared to the quiet of the eighteenth century, twentieth-century London practically roared around them. A car beeped and sped past them, and Etta felt a hand clamp over her wrist. Nicholas flew back against the nearby shop, and Etta stumbled after him.

A nearby shopkeeper was writing BUSINESS AS USUAL on a piece of wood in the shattered front window of his store, and looked up at the sudden movement in alarm. Etta sent the man a reassuring smile before turning back to the man next to her.

The breath tore in and out of Nicholas, his nostrils flaring as the car rolled to a rattling stop nearby.

After a moment he explained, “They’re…louder than I recall. Faster.”

She nodded. “They probably are.”

“And,” Nicholas said, his voice lowering as he looked down at her, “you have them in your time, as well?”

“Yeah, even better ones. Faster, quieter—they use less energy, some have built-in navigational systems—” Okay, too much detail. His eyes had widened at the words less energy, and she knew she’d lost him. “Everything changes, when given enough time.”

He worked his jaw back and forth. “Everything?”

It might have been the way he was studying her mouth, or how his hands seemed to be lightly tracing the folds of her dress’s skirt without even being fully aware of it, but the trickle of confusion roared into a jagged, painful understanding.

Oh, she thought, throat thick. Oh…

“Do you want me to tell you?” she asked him. “Do you really want to know what my time is like?”

If he did plan on returning home and never traveling again, he would never benefit from any progress—never see it for himself. It would drive anyone crazy, knowing what was out of reach of his natural lifetime.

Finally, Nicholas shook his head. “I’d rather discover it for myself.”

She could protect him in the meantime, at least. “You covered for me on the ship. The least I can do is return the favor now, the best I can.”

His smile turned rueful. “This ‘partners’ business is a rather novel concept for me…but I appreciate that.”

Etta wanted to ask him about Julian, but she also couldn’t let him drift away into a pool of terrible memories. She stepped back out onto what little was left of the sidewalk, cupping her hands over her eyes to shade them from the sunlight. “Well, I officially have no idea where we are.”

His jaw actually dropped. “Did I not say we needed a map…?”

She wasn’t about to let him win that argument. “Hold on—just a second.”

“Hold on to what?” he called after Etta as she walked away.

The shopkeeper she’d seen a moment before had ducked back into his store, and was now sweeping out the powdery dust and ash that had blown in from the street. She leaned in through the doorway.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m wondering if you could