sitting beside the edge of the roof. “Aim for the Needle,” he’d said.
They’d spent the next few hours smacking golf balls off the roof, aiming at the tiny, blue prick of light in the distance that Ash knew was the Space Needle. They hadn’t spoken more than that, but Ash still remembered how grateful he’d been to Roman, that night, for giving him some sense of ease in this strange, new world.
They’d been friends before they were enemies. It was so easy to forget that, after everything that had happened.
Ash clenched his eyes shut a moment before the bullet hit him and threw himself backward off the building. He fell past the broken docks and crashed into the ice, hitting the hard, frozen surface of the water with a crack that moved through his whole body.
He blinked up at the sky and, for a moment, he saw nothing but swirling black darkness.
Then, he heard footsteps. Mac’s voice called to him from the darkness, “Go ahead and run, boy. I don’t think you’re going to find anything to help you out there.”
And then, cackling, he walked away.
Ash tried to stand, and collapsed, gasping. He was injured, and his first thought was of Mac’s gun, the bullet that had been speeding toward him a moment before he disappeared and wound up here. He clutched his side, gasping, but when he looked down he didn’t see blood oozing out from below his ribs but something else.
It was a milky, iridescent liquid. And then Ash blinked and it wasn’t liquid at all but a solid, steel spike protruding from his ribs. And then it was purple electricity prickling over his skin. And then something goopy and thick and a deep, bloody red.
Ash grimaced as he pressed his hand to his wound. He needed to get back to his time, to Zora.
There was a noise above him, and he looked up in time to see the Black Crow zoom overhead and disappear into the distance. Staring after it, Ash thought of Dorothy and felt a pang deep within his chest. He knew he should be worried for himself just now. He was badly injured and alone here in this strange time. But, still, he couldn’t help thinking about her. Was she okay? Would she be safe with Mac?
He sighed and gave his head a hard shake. He supposed none of that mattered right now. He had to find a way home.
He thought he could make out the anil in the distance. It was a pinprick of light, like a distant star. It wasn’t far, and the water beneath him was frozen solid. He was pretty sure he could walk there.
He stood and, limping a bit, started toward the tunnel that would take him home.
LOG ENTRY—JANUARY 7, 1943
13:44 HOURS
THE NEW YORKER HOTEL
Nikola asked me to visit him one last time before his death. And so here I am.
He was still alive when I entered his hotel room, but only just. I think he was happy to see me. He opened his eyes when I walked in and said, his voice weak, “I was hoping it would be you, my friend.”
I felt pretty terrible just then. Perhaps I should have visited more often over the years. But when I attempted to apologize, Nikola only shook his head and gestured to a stack of trunks in the corner of his hotel room and told me that they were for me.
“I only meant that I wanted you to have them before the leeches at the FBI came sniffing around,” he told me. “Hopefully they will help you with your research into time travel.”
I was quite blown away by this. Of course I’ve heard rumors that several of Nikola’s trunks went missing after his death, but it never occurred to me that I’d been the one to take them. I immediately went over to the stacks of trunks and opened the first one, anxious to see what Nikola thought I might find useful.
The trunk was filled to the brim with notes written in Nikola’s small, cramped handwriting. And when I read the first few pages, I couldn’t believe what they contained.
Time travel. Nikola was looking into time travel.
“Won’t someone notice these missing?” I asked Nikola, as I eagerly looked through the pages of notes.
He only shrugged and told me, “I don’t think so. They all think I’m working on a death ray.”
I think that was supposed to be a joke. Apparently Nikola doesn’t realize that, for centuries, the world believed