A Hero at the End of the World (26 page)

Ewan let out a relieved breath. He didn’t want to have the destruction of the universe on his hands. “So maybe we’re still in our dimension?”

“Well.” Sophie looked thoughtful. “I didn’t say that he couldn’t create something to move us to another universe... just that causing an entire universe to implode would be quite a feat.”

“What you’re saying is that we need the Baahl back,” Oliver said firmly.

“I—” Sophie began, but she fell silent when Louise loudly demanded, “Archibald, come with Mummy.”

She extended her hand.

But instead of getting up to join her, Archie glanced at the three of them, his gaze lingering on Ewan the longest. Ewan’s stomach did a somersault.

“No,” Archie said, his voice breaking, “I think I’d rather stay with them.”

For an instant, Louise looked as though she had been slapped—and even though she was evil, Ewan felt almost sorry for her. Her features immediately smoothed over. “Fine, if that’s what you want,” she said. “I’m very disappointed in you, son.”

She held up the Baahl.

“I’m going for it,” whispered Oliver.

“Going for what?” Ewan hissed.

As soon as the words left his lips, two things happened at once: with a shout, Oliver hurled himself off the floor in the direction of Louise and the Baahl, and Louise, the Baahl in her hands, pushed down on one of the mirrored squares with her thumb. It cracked audibly.

Chapter 26

E
wan stood behind the counter at Eine Kaffee.

No, it wasn’t Eine Kaffee. The counter under his hands was the wrong color and texture—black marble, not oak. A funny feeling began to gnaw at him, and he slowly dragged his gaze upward until he was looking out across the floor. The layout of the shop was exactly the same as Eine Kaffee, from the bungled-together furniture to the aging manual espresso machine, yet the shop’s walls were blue instead of gray, and the paintings actually looked like they were meant to instead of like colorful, childlike blobs.

Ewan glanced back down. Next to his elbow was the same floral mug Sara always put his tea in, and beside that was a price list with
Welcome to Un Caffé
scrawled along the top.

It all came flooding back to him: the Baahl, Louise’s plan, the end of the world.

Ewan jerked back so forcefully that his shoulder crashed into the espresso machine. In pain, he twisted around, knocking an aluminum milk pitcher to the floor with a loud clatter. Milk splashed all over his trainers. He took a step back, but he slipped on the milk and had to grab the counter to keep from falling; half of the glasses that were artfully arranged in a pyramid to the right of the espresso machine toppled over and shattered on the floor.

Ewan screwed his eyes shut. “Bugger.”

The door to the kitchen was yanked open. A woman appeared in the doorway. Instead of an apron, she was wearing a dark pea coat with a red knitted cap and scarf, her dark hair tangled around her face.

“Sophie?” Ewan exclaimed, both relieved and confused.

She pulled off her cap. “One minute I was in the Tower, and then I woke up on the floor,” she said grimly. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“I think we’re in another universe,” Ewan told her. “Everything’s the same but different.”

Sophie blinked at him in surprise before looking around, as if suddenly noticing where they were. She picked up one of the mugs that hadn’t broken. “You work in a coffee shop in this universe?”

“Yes,” he said, “in
this
universe.”

After weeks to himself up in Scotland, Ewan had been forced to admit that he missed Eine Kaffee. He preferred his life before he had gone on the lam, which had been soul-crushing but predictable; he had spent much of the past fortnight flinching at every noise outside the cottage, wondering if Louise or the Government had finally found him. On top of that, he was a Londoner through and through—the countryside was dull, and he didn’t like the way the Shetland ponies looked at him.

The bell over the door chimed.

“Sorry I’m late,” Sara called cheerfully. She was already tugging the strap of her shoulder bag over her head, her cheeks bright pink. “I had
two
buses terminate early, and then a man decided to
argue
with the driver over the change, as though—oh, hi, Sophie, I didn’t think you were in today.”

Ewan gawked at her, but Sophie recovered more quickly. With a pinched smile, she replied, “I’m not working, I’m just, ah, here to see Ewan.”

“Yeah, we’re mates,” Ewan added awkwardly. He began to drape an over Sophie’s shoulders but pulled it back when she glared at him.

“Okay,” Sara replied, her grin faltering.

“I think we work together in this universe,” Ewan whispered after Sara disappeared into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her.

“Logistically, none of this makes sense,” murmured Sophie. “I only came to London after the SMCA accepted me. Otherwise, I would’ve stayed in Bristol with my friends, not come to London on my own without a job.”

Ewan wondered what his counterpart in this universe was like. Were they exactly the same? Did he like video games, milky tea, and cats? Did he have a scar on his knee from a bike accident when he was twelve, and had he broken the same arm two summers in a row?

Or had something happened to him to make him an entirely different person? Maybe this one had brothers or sisters or cousins; perhaps he had done well in school. Obviously, this other Ewan had still made the biggest cock-up of Ewan’s life—not making it in time to kill Duff Slan—but it was possible that he hadn’t made the second biggest one: getting involved with Louise Gardener Hobbes and her backstabbing son.

The door jingled again. The two of them silently turned to watch as a customer entered, wiping his feet on the doormat. He didn’t seem to notice their stares as he ambled up to the counter.

“Hello,” he said, “can I please have—”

“Get out,” Sophie said flatly.

The man looked from Sophie’s stony face to Ewan’s far more sheepish one and then turned around and fled.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re bad with people?” Ewan asked.

“Yes, everyone’s told me that. Except for Oliver.” Sophie clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening. “Where’s Oliver?”

The kitchen door opened, and Sara poked her head out. “Was that a customer?”

“A lost tourist,” Sophie explained.

Sara threw them a skeptical look but pulled herself back into the kitchen.

“We need to find Oliver,” Sophie said in an undertone. “We need to get back to our universe.”

“You want to work together?” Ewan asked skeptically.

Sophie blinked. “Why wouldn’t I? We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

“But I’m a criminal,” Ewan reminded her.

“Well, yes,” she said, and, for a moment, she hesitated. “But we’ll sort you out once we’re home. It’s not as if you
meant
for any of this to happen.”

“I did mean for Ralph the Ravager to die.”

“Do you want to go home or not?” she asked, looking annoyed.

After everything that had happened, he didn’t know whether or not he could trust her. On the other hand, if the other Ewan showed up, it would be incredibly awkward.

“If I know Oliver, he’ll be headed to the Tower,” he told her.

Sophie tugged her knitted cap back on. “Do you think so,” she said sarcastically. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Sara,” Ewan shouted in the direction of the kitchen, “Sophie and I have to go to an alternate universe. Bye.”

“
What
?” he heard Sara scream after him as he shut the front door and—

Stepped onto a street that was entirely different from the one he had been expecting.

The sky above was a pale, almost white, London gray. A low fog had settled over the street, making it impossible for Ewan to see more than a few feet ahead of him. Through the thick vapor he could faintly make out the darker visages of brick buildings and black rooftops. Un Caffé’s flickering sign was the only hint of color.

Even with the fog, he knew that it was all wrong. The row of white buildings across from the coffee shop were too far away, not the same architecture style, and, more importantly, not the right shops; where Eine Kaffee was surrounding by small, colorful music shops, bookstores, Chinese restaurants, and gluten-free bakeries, Un Caffé seemed to be in the middle of a row of buildings that disappeared up into the gloom, far higher than the ones he was used to seeing around his workplace. Even the cobblestones beneath his feet were made from a different material.

Disoriented, Ewan spun around, trying to figure out where they were. “This isn’t Soho,” he said. His breath hung in the cold air.

“I think we’re in Mayfair,” Sophie said, pointing up at a black and white street sign that said
City of Westminster
under its name, partially obscured in the fog. The postcode began with a W. “Montague Square’s down that way, I’m fairly certain.”

“That’s odd, I would’ve thought we’d have been in the same—”

Ewan stopped cold in front of a news sign standing outside of an off-license.
London 26% werewolf, says Westminster MP
. Another one down the road said,
Six out of ten British voters agree werewolves sign of immigrant meltdown
, and in the window was,
Tories blame werewolf attacks on benefit cheats.

“I’m sensing a theme here,” Ewan said.

“Well, now we know how this London differs from our own.” Sophie peered through the haze and seemed to see something. “I think we need to go this way,” she called, heading down a street in a brisk trot.

He hurried after her. As they made their way south, Ewan became increasingly aware that they were the only people out. Mayfair, known for being a district of wealthy residential buildings, foreign embassies, and posh hotels, had never been a particularly exciting part of London. Ewan had worked a brief three-month job in a shop in nearby Marble Arch after being booted out of school. But now the narrow streets were utterly silent, and something about this, combined with the fog, filled Ewan with unease. Worse, it was freezing. He pulled his fleece-lined hood over his head, wishing he’d put on his coat before he and Oliver had destroyed the universe.

Somewhere nearby, a wolf howled.

Ewan and Sophie exchanged glances.

“I have to warn you,” Sophie whispered, edging closer to him, “I’m afraid of dogs.”

“You won’t have time to be afraid when your face is bitten off,” Ewan said.

“That’s very comforting,” Sophie muttered under her breath.

They quickly turned the corner, but Ewan stopped in his tracks when he realized they had backed into an alley with no throughway. The three white-brick buildings blocking them off went up until they disappeared into the fog, and none, as far as he could tell, had fire escapes or back doors. Sophie made an irritated noise.

Ewan gazed up at the closed, dark windows. “I thought you knew where you were going,” he said.

“I do,” she said. “Charing Cross should be—”

He heard her suck in a sharp breath.

Ewan closed his eyes. “What?” he asked with a deep, abiding sense of apprehension.

“There’s something coming.”

Screwing up his courage, Ewan opened his eyes and turned. There was an orb of white light in the distance, even paler than the fog. It hung in the air like a moon and was gently bobbing as it moved closer and closer.

A chill went through Ewan’s bones. “That’s really not good.”

“Get behind me,” Sophie ordered, shifting into a defensive stance.

He tried his best to shield his six-foot-plus body behind her five-foot-five frame, ducking between her and the icy brick wall of the nearest building. He had forgotten that she was afraid of dogs (and, presumably, werewolves) until she began her spell and her voice trembled.

A string of words tumbled out of her mouth. He didn’t remotely recognize which spell she was using; it sounded complicated, and it rhymed.

“Is that the instrumental case?” he whispered, and she glared at him from over her shoulder.

Perspiration was dotting Sophie’s brow, but Ewan didn’t feel a thing—he felt so little, in fact, that he started to question whether she had done anything at all, until he looked down and noticed that several leaves stuck to the pavement had all been chopped in half in the exact same spot, as though someone had dragged a blade along the road. She had drawn up a shield over them both.

The orb was nearly to them. Now Ewan could make out a person moving through the fog, but he couldn’t tell if it was a human or some kind of monster. He tried to take a step back, but the back of his heels hit a wall. He wasn’t ready to die—not like this: trapped like a rat, torn to shreds by a werewolf.

The mist parted around the figure as he stepped into full view.

“Oh,” said Ewan, vaguely disappointed, “it’s you.”

“It’s great to see you, too, mate,” Oliver replied dryly.

“Oliver,” Sophie cried.

She rushed forward, and, after some hesitation, Ewan followed her. The air around him shimmered as he broke through the shield.

The Baahl floated above Oliver’s head. He held out his hands, and it dropped down into them. “I woke up on the street not too far from here,” he told them. He shook the Baahl a little, holding it the same way he would a football. “This was with me. I’m willing to bet Louise has put out a location spell and is—what?” he asked, looking from Ewan to Sophie.

“We thought you were a werewolf,” Sophie replied.

Oliver’s brow creased. “What? Why?”

“Because you can’t move for werewolves in London, apparently,” said Ewan.

If anything, Oliver appeared more confused. “There’s no such thing as werewolves. Next you’ll be saying there are vampires, too.”

A wolf howled in the distance.

“What about that?” Ewan asked.

“Perfectly normal,” said Oliver.

Thunder struck, and the ground rattled beneath their feet, nearly knocking Ewan off balance. When Sophie and Oliver exchanged glances and then bolted in the direction of the blast, the Baahl tucked safely under Oliver’s arm, Ewan realized that it wasn’t thunder at all. It was an explosion, and it was close by.