Authors: Carolyn MacCullough
“Fine,” I say, taking a breath to steady my voice.
“But you should know one thing. You and I are nothing alike. Talent or no Talent.
You're not doing this for your family, whatever you might think. You're doing this for yourself. And that's the difference between you and me.” Alistair stares at me for a second, his face blank, unreadable.
“How very touching,” he says at last, biting the words off.
“Now, shall we proceed?” I nod. I don't have much bargaining power.
“Behind you,” I say. Slowly, Alistair turns, studies the clock above our heads.
“Of course,” he says softly.
“So many times I passed by this. And it was here all along” Then he pivots neatly and in a sickeningly cheerful voice says,
“Are you ready, my dear?” Rowena looks up from the thread on her sleeve, gives him a vacant smile.
“Open it,” he says to me as he wraps one hand around my sister's arm, his knuckles suddenly bulging into hard white knobs. My sister looks up at him, then gives a shrill little laugh.
“We're playing a game?” she asks. I swallow hard, turn back to the clock.
“Help me up,” I whisper to Gabriel.
“Are you sure this is–”
“Yes,” I say, although my teeth are chattering. He cups his palms, and before he can change his mind, I step intothem and hoist myself up onto the counter. The clock looms directly above my hand.
“Step back,” I say to Gabriel, having no idea what might happen otherwise.
“You don't want to freeze again.”
“Hey!” There's a startled shout from the ticket seller.
“Get down from there.”
“Hurry,” Alistair hisses. There is no time to rethink this. I arch upward, brush the clock with my fingertips. A shaft of light bursts forth from its domed center. Fixing firmly in my head the image of my grandmother young and healthy in 1939, I let her power sweep over me. Images scroll across the backs of my eyelids, almost too fast for me to follow. Four people standing in a square, their arms raised. A roiling mass of darkness hovers over their bowed heads and then a fist of fire stabs down toward a fifth person bound in chains. And then the images move at warp speed and blur into white, the white of my family's book's pages that are emptier than a field of freshly fallen snow. Tamsin, my grandmother's voice rings through my head. Don't let him take her. If he takes your sister, he will be unstoppable. How, though? I cry silently to her. Time. Only time and a great distance can break this spell. I open my eyes. A quick glance behind me shows that Gabriel is still alive. He meets my eyes and mouths, Okay? I nod, turning back to my sister.
“Ro?” I say, and she lifts her head slowly, her eyes still full of that chilling, unfocused look.
“Well done,” Alistair says, and his voice is pure crystal. His mouth is open slightly as if he's panting.
“Now, Rowena. Now.” And with horror I watch as my sister turns her still-perfect profile to me and gazes at the clock, which glimmers with a cold, cold light. In scrolling script, letters appear all around the curve of the clock face. Tall, golden letters that wriggle and vanish whenever I stare at them, making it impossible to read them. But Rowena has no such difficulty. Her voice rings out as if she is standing by our family's altar, singing thanks to the stars and elements.
“Fire in the East and Water for the South; Air for the North and Earth in the West.
All of these now Blood does bind. Yet only Time may keep what Blood has wrought.” For one dreaming second nothing happens. And then with a soft whirring noise the clock hands begin to turn backward, faster and faster until they are traveling at warp speed. Lightning rips through the blue domed ceiling, stabs downward, and slams into the clock. Crack. Another bolt flares across the gold constellations and then chunks of plaster and stone begin to plummet down. The rain starts asecond later, instantly pinning my clothes to my skin.
Before my eyes, the clock is growing into monstrous proportions, wreathed in white fire, a fire that seems to be unquenchable despite the rain.
“Tamsin,” Gabriel hisses into my ear, and then he sprints forward. The floor beneath my feet pitches and heaves and huge fissures begin to split through the marble tiles, revealing a churning maw of stone underneath. Fire, water, earth, I recite to myself. Air? As if on cue the wind starts, gusts and gusts of it, screaming through the Main Concourse, like a thousand voices fused together in one unearthly song. Darkness pours through the hallway, a darkness alleviated only by the occasional flash of lightning and by the clock still glowing with that cold white fire. Falling to my knees, I close my eyes, and with all of my might I will this to stop. Nothing happens. This is not something that I can just stop. This is no one's Talent, I realize suddenly. Instead, this is the power of the four elements, the source of all our Talents, something beyond any one person's control. I open my eyes and stare at the clock. It's opening. One face has now become a door that's swinging open. And all the while the hands are still spinning, spinning, unraveling the moments and years. Ten feet from the door, three figures seem locked in a strange kind of dance, arms and legs distorted by the clock's bright glare. Alistair is pulling my sister toward thedoor while Gabriel has latched on to her other arm. Rowena twists between them like a rag doll. Alistair's mouth is working and he seems to be saying something to my sister just as Gabriel's hold on her slips slightly.
“No!” I scream, scrambling to my feet just as the floor rumbles again. Leaping across the widening cracks in the marble, I stretch my arms toward my sister.
Another slab of ceiling tumbles down, shattering three inches to my left, the spray of debris cutting into my leg.
“Let me go,” Rowena is crying, and I think she's talking to Gabriel, but thankfully her voice is lost under the rush of wind. Alistair tugs her again toward the clock door and the complete blackness that waits beyond.
“Rowena!” I scream again. Alistair's eyes–chips of ice– meet mine, and then he yanks hard on my sister's arm, so hard that I think he'll pull it straight from the socket. I hold up my hand, envisioning the comet of fire that will smash into his face. The blood starts to heat under my skin. But then my mother's words come looping back to me. Whatever you do to the spell caster reflects back onto the enspelled. Three times over. The floor pitches me forward again. I roll sideways, raise my palm, and aim as carefully as I can. I don't want to do this, I don't want to, I don't want to.
“I'm sorry, Ro,” I whisper. A ripple of fire spreads along Rowena's arm, the one that Alistair holds in a death grip. My sister's eyes widen inpain. Screaming, she wrenches her body backward, away from Alistair, and his hold on her breaks.
Gabriel releases her hand briefly only to wrap his arms around her waist and tug her backward. As they tumble to the floor, lightning flickers across the ceiling again. A sizable chunk of blue stone spins through the air, smashing into Gabriel's head. He tries to rise, but even from here I can see the dark seep of blood. Alistair spares me one glittering look, his mouth clamped in fury as the rain runs in rivulets down his face.
“Rowena!” he roars to my sister, and she looks up, tears staining her cheeks, her burned arm cradled tenderly in her lap.
“Rowena, through the door. Now!” Like a marionette my sister climbs to her feet, stepping across Gabriel's body. He half rolls and makes a feeble swipe for Rowena's hand, but she evades him. Her eyes are blank and lifeless, her face wax white. I swallow, remembering my grandmother's visions of Rowena's body blurring into nothingness. I step forward with my fingers outstretched, intending to freeze my sister. If she's frozen then she'll be a dead weight and hopefully Alistair won't be able to carry her through the door. But my arm is seized in midair. Alistair wrenches me backward as my sister runs past me.
“You won't get her that easily,” he hisses into my ear, his words carrying over the wind and the rain. I twist desperately, watching asmy sister reaches the door.
With her hands reaching out in front of her, she takes one step, then another.
“Neither will you,” I whisper. Then I raise my free hand, palm outward, and shoot a gust of flame to land directly in front of her feet. She shrieks and falls backward as the fire runs along the edge of the clock. Its bright orange glow flares briefly before it's subdued by the cold white light rimming the edges of the door. The floor shifts again and new fissures begin spreading across the marble like a crazed spider web. My sister slips, her arms flailing, and then falls through a particularly wide crack. And at the same moment the clock hands stop spinning backward. Slowly the door begins to swing closed. A terrible choice, my grandmother's voice eddies into my mind like an errant breeze. You have a terrible choice. With a snarl, Alistair throws me to the floor. Darting forward, he pauses at the edge of the precipice, leans down, and holds out one hand. I roll to my knees just as my sister lifts her right hand, tries to catch Alistair's fingers. I throw another gust of flame at them. Just in time she pulls her hand back. My sister's head bobs downward as if she's slipped farther.
“Rowena!” I scream, pulling myself upright. Cracks widen under my feet and I leap away just in time. I stumble forward, pinning my gaze to Rowena's left hand, willing herto hold on just a little longer. The closing clock door casts a shadow across Alistair's face. Twisting, he looks over his shoulder. The door is less than halfway ajar now. Then he looks back at my sister. It seems I'm not the only one who faces a terrible choice. With a roar, Alistair comes to his feet, and without a backward glance he throws himself through the narrow opening of the doorway. Moving forward, I crouch down at the ledge of the precipice. My sister's fingers are clamped to the edge of the floor, her mouth a white line of pain and terror. Her feet are wedged on either side of the chasm, but the gap is widening. Her right foot flails for purchase and kicks through empty air, and her fingers slip down a little farther. I throw one glance over my shoulder. Another two feet and the door will close. And now the enormity of my own choice comes crashing down on me. Maybe I could stop all of this before it ever even happens. Save Rowena or follow Alistair to the time before the war between our families. Rowena sobs once, a harsh broken noise, and I turn back to her.
“Hang on, Ro,” I cry, but I don't think she can hear me. Her eyes roll back in her head and I realize that my sister is about to faint. Lying flat on my stomach, Ireach down, clamp my hands under her elbows, and pull. But her weight pulls me forward and in horror I realize I am sliding slowly but inexorably across the slick marble floor. Then Gabriel is crouching by my side, his face still dripping blood. He locks his hands around my sister's arms and with one hard tug we pull her up and over the edge and then free of the chasm altogether. With a thunderclap the clock door slams shut. I close my eyes in the silence, my ears ringing with the sudden absence of all sound. Just when I think this could go on and on forever, I both hear and feel a steady ticking right above my heart.
Prying open my eyes, I stare at the unbroken blue domed ceiling above me, the constellations whole and shining bright. I jackknife up, glance around. The floor is smooth and unmarred, the marble glinting. Lastly I turn my head and look at the clock. It has shrunk back to its normal size. Next to me Gabriel groans, pulling himself into a sitting position. The blood has dried on his face and one eye is swollen shut, but he reaches for my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. I swallow, turn to my sister, and touch her face gently. Her eyelids flutter once, and then she is looking at me.
“Tamsin,” she whispers. Her arm is badly burned and her disheveled hair is matted with dust and plaster and rain. Her face is still pale and long scratches mar one side of her neck and shoulder, but her eyes are suddenly focused and clear. I don't think she's ever looked more beautiful.
“Ro? Are you… are you you?” One pale eyebrow flexes upward in a look so effortless and elegant, a look that I used to practice for hours before a mirror when I was younger. I still can't do it the way she can.
“Who else would I be?” she asks. Then she tries to sit up, grimaces, and seems to think better of it.
“What happened?” she asks. A familiar trace of impatience is entering her tone, and I know her what happened is about three seconds away from turning into what have you done?Good question. And as if in response, the ticking above my heart grows still louder until it is echoing in perfect time with my heartbeat.
Fumbling at the collar of my shirt, I tug on the chain of the locket and press the tiny catch. Two things become apparent with a dash of ice-cold clarity. My docket is now working. And I have become the Keeper.
“Hi, Mom,” I say as we step through the kitchen door. My mother drops the teakettle she has presumably just filled and screams. The kettle smashes to the floor, the lid spinning off. Water sprays and arcs at our feet. I kind of wish I had prepared her.
“Rowena,” she gasps.
“Tamsin. Oh, girls, you're home” And then Rowena and I are smashed together as my mothertries to wrap her arms around us both, all the while still shrieking our names. Half blinded by my mother's hair, I turn my head to see my father, Lydia, and James burst through the door. My father moves toward me, Rowena manages to struggle free only to fling herself into James's arms, and Lydia approaches Gabriel with a smile that begins to lighten all the tired shadows under her eyes.
“How did you do it?” my mother keeps crying, and I hear Rowena murmuring to James,
“Yes, it's really me. It's really, really me” Everyone keeps talking over one another.
Lydia is dabbing Gabriel's head with a damp dishcloth, her fingers tenderly combing through his hair. My mother keeps grabbing first me and then Rowena, and my father grips my shoulder tightly while blotting his sleeve against his eyes.
And then Silda and Jerom and Gwyneth pile through the kitchen door and the tumult only grows louder. Finally, I manage to free myself from my mother's embrace long enough to ask,
“Is Grandmother…” My mother gives a firm shake of her head, pushes her hair away from her face.