“Someone could see,” I say as we both become visible again.
“Anyone who sees us now won’t be able to tell,” Sofía replies.
It takes a moment for her words to sink in. Anyone who sees us now would be a worker, someone low on the totem pole, someone who wouldn’t merit a spot in the lifeboats.
In the distance, we can still hear signs of life—voices carrying over the still night air, children laughing and running on the promenade—but we’re alone on the deck, entirely alone with the stars and the smell of wood oil and the cold, crisp air.
Sofía rubs her hands up and down her arms. “I knew it would be cold,” she says, “but this is ridiculous.”
“Want to go inside?” I ask. Invisible, we could slip into the beautiful rooms, stare at the opulence that’s about to sink into oblivion.
She shakes her head. “I thought I wanted to see it all, but those men . . . I don’t want to see any people,” she says.
I pull her close and wrap my arms around her. “Want to go?” I ask, already bringing up the timestream.
The sound of children playing and running grows louder, and Sofía’s distracted, turning out of my embrace. “Why are there children out here this late at night?” she asks.
“They’re coming this way,” I say, grabbing her arm. “Quick—”
Without another word, she washes us both in invisibility. I can hear the children’s voices better now—a girl and a boy—and they’re coming closer. There are other sounds—shouting from adults, a bell ringing—
And then the ship slams into the iceberg.
CHAPTER 29
The impact is near the side of the ship, violent enough to make Sofía lose her footing, but I still have a hold on her and keep her from crashing to the deck. Ice skitters across the smooth deck, and Sofía bends down to touch it, her fingers glazing over the cold surface. The nearby children scream, and I can feel a surge of power like static electricity pulse from Sofía’s hand into mine, maintaining our invisibility.
“This is it,” she says.
A chunk of ice slams across the deck where we are, almost hitting us, and I jerk Sofía back. The kids we’d been hearing race forward, using the ice as a soccer ball. “Look!” the little girl says. “Look at me!” She rears back to kick the ice again but slips, slamming first into the metal rail and then onto the hard wooden deck.
“Pheebs!” the boy shouts, running over to her.
No. No. No. That’s impossible.
“They look . . . modern,” Sofía whispers to me.
The girl is crying, clutching her arm. The boy drops to his knees in front of her, grabs her good hand— And they disappear.
The shock of it snaps inside me like the timestream pulling me back. It’s violent and harsh and painful, and I’m so glad I already have Sofía wrapped up in my arms. When we open our eyes, we’re on the floor of the common room, breathing deeply, the world spinning around us.
“What just happened?” Sofía says, still wheezing and trying to catch her breath.
“That was me.”
“What?” she gasps. Her eyes are wild, and I wonder if she feels the pain of being snapped back into the normal time as much as I do. I’m just glad time brought me back here, with her in the past, rather than throwing me all the way back to my own present.
“That was me,” I repeat. “That kid. The girl is—was—is my sister, Phoebe.”
“What? How?”
I stand up. I want to pace, but the world is still spinning too much for me to try that. “That was me,” I say once more. “Phoebe was really into the Titanic. We’d play outside and pretend to be on the ship, but I didn’t realize I actually took her there. But I did. I must have had my powers when I was younger and just . . . didn’t realize it? I must have blocked it out? I thought we were pretending . . .”
“That’s some good imagination.”
“Did that ever happen to you?” I ask. “Did you have your powers when you were little too?”
“I was always very good at hide-and-seek.”
I run my fingers through my hair. I don’t remember this happening, but at the same time, I do.
The lights in the common room flicker.
“It’s time to go,” Sofía says, and the way she looks at me makes me realize she isn’t just talking about lights-out. It’s time for me to leave, to go back to my own time. The time without her.
She stands up and walks over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my chest.
“Something bad happened, didn’t it?” she whispers.
I nod, unable to speak.
She leans up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the lips. Not anything passionate, but a sort of sad, slight pressure on my lips that’s gone too quickly.
“If I could control reality, this would be my life all the time. One magical moment with you after another,” she says, leaning into me.
“Me too,” I say, my voice cracking.
“Whatever happened, this was worth it,” Sofía says. “And remember what I said before.”
The lights flicker again. Last warning.