I hope this letter finds you well. And that your family has recovered from the terrible loss of your father. I know your mother and sisters must find great comfort in your return. Yet I pray that you soon find your way back to me. There is great excitement in the professor’s lab these days. Yet I feel little of it, for the days have turned gray without you by my side and in my bed. Sell the land. Return to New York. Bring your family if you must. But come back, my sweet friend. As you yourself have said many times, you would make a terrible farmer.
Now, the news I promised in my last letter. Oh, if only you’d been here to share in the wonder. For the first trial, Tesla chose that bootlicker Jacobo. A wise choice in my eyes, as there would be no loss if the man never returned, yes? Though he has not yet revealed our secret relationship to anyone, he still looks upon me with disgust and uses every opportunity to discredit me with Tesla.
But back to the tale. It has been two weeks since Jacobo returned, after being “away” for three days! Bedraggled and filthy he was, but very much alive. Hard to fathom, I know. But believe that I speak nothing but truth. The device the good professor has created! It is genuine. It. Is. Real.
I write you now to let you know this . . . The professor has finally agreed that I shall be next . . .”
Bran shrugged. “The next few sentences were too damaged to make out. Only the signature remained.”
“Tesla?” Moira whispered. “That can’t be right. This would indicate that Tesla . . .”
“Built his own device in New York City.” Bran slapped a hand on the table. “Exactly. The moment my . . . Celia . . . learned this, she became obsessed with contacting the man himself. It will come as no surprise that I am not exactly in my mother’s inner circle these days. So it took a while to tease out a few details. But from what I can ascertain, Gunnar Blasi has come up with an idea for an enhancement, which—?for all intents and purposes—?would mask the bearer’s genetic signature, giving the traveler more time in the past.”
Collum straightened abruptly. “More time? How much more time?”
Bran shrugged. “Several days more, according to my source. Blasi claims he must dismantle and rework the original Tesla device to know if his sketches for the enhancement are truly plausible. The good news is that Celia does not trust him enough to allow this. So, for weeks she’s been searching for a timeline that would allow them to meet up with Nikola Tesla so they could take Blasi’s sketches to the inventor himself. She finally became impatient when the Dim would not cooperate. And now . . .”
“Now,” I finished for him, “she’s contacted Jonathan Carlyle and convinced him to do her dirty work for her.”
Bran looked suddenly exhausted as he nodded. “Just so.”
“And,” Doug mused, “since we know that once the past has been penetrated time moves in a linear fashion in both timelines, by now Jonathan would’ve had time to sail to New York.”
Bran’s eyes skipped from face to face, turning last to me. “You cannot begin to imagine my mother’s frustration when—?only days ago—?she received word that the time and location she’d been hoping for would soon open.”
Oh, and I bet she’s royally pissed about that. I smiled a little at the thought. Since poor little Celia already entered that stream, and the mean old Dim won’t allow anyone to travel twice to the same timeline, her butt is stuck here. Aww. Guess she’ll have to sit this one out.
My head shot up. The question emerged from my lips, though I already knew the answer. Of course I did.
“She’s sending you, isn’t she?” I said. “That’s what you came here to tell us. She’s sending you back.”
Bran’s lips were pressed into a tight line, but he raised his chin to look straight into my eyes. “Yes.”
“And you agreed?”
Bran’s blue and green eyes sparked with fury, and when he spoke, it was with such bone-deep resentment, I felt it ignite my own hatred of the woman all over again. “She has withdrawn my little brother from the school he’s called home since he was six years old, and is withholding his current location from me. She has further informed me that should I ever wish to see or speak to Tony again, I will obey her.” Bran rose, the tips of his fingers whitening as they pressed hard into the tabletop. “My loving mother has grown increasingly suspicious of Blasi and most of the others, you see. Recently, she learned that he tried to circumvent her by going directly to Do?a Maria. The demented old bat being the one who holds all the money cards, Blasi thought to cut out the middleman.”
When Bran looked at me, I could see the bewilderment hiding behind the anger. “It has come to this. Aside from Jasper Flint, I am now the only person my mother trusts. And isn’t that just a sad state of affairs?”
Mac broke the silence that followed. “Do you believe this enhancement will actually work, lad?”
“Blasi is convinced.”
Collum stood up and scrubbed both hands back over his bristly hair. Like a great cat sensing prey, he paced back and forth. “If this thing does what Cameron claims, do you realize what it could mean?” His voice rose, his gestures growing animated. “Think what we could do with even three more days. How often have we seen the Dim open to England in the right time but not the right location? With extra days, we could do a proper search and still get back in time.” I jumped as he slammed his palms down on the tabletop. “My God! We could find him. We could finally bring Da home.”
“Bran.” Moira spoke in a quiet voice. Her eyes were shut, as though in pain. “If Celia were to get this device . . . this enhancement . . . what do you think she’d do?”
“Mrs. MacPherson,” Bran replied, “for once, my mother’s actions are not the most concerning. I came to speak with you today because of how badly Gunnar Blasi wants this. I don’t know why, and that is what scares me more than anything.”
“Well, that settles it then,” Phoebe said. “We have to go.”
“Hang on a tic.” Doug reached down to pull his phone from his sporran. After jabbing at the screen a few times, he looked up. “I, ah, I’ve built an app that links into the computer and displays the upcoming passages.” He swallowed. “It appears that when you factor in the—”
Phoebe grabbed his large wrist and tilted the phone toward her. “Longitude and latitude, blah blah,” she read, scrolling down. “Numbers, numbers, numbers. Hey!” Her blue eyes widened as they skimmed down the page. “Well, Bran. Looks like your lot won’t be all alone in the Big Apple.”
Collum made a grab for the phone but Phoebe was quicker. Doug put an arm around her and squeezed her to him as she scrolled again. She stopped, head tilting. “Hmm,” she said. “Better warm up your sewing machine, Gran. We’ve got less than four days to prepare.” She was squirming now, practically dancing with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to do the Victorian era. I only wish it were Christmastime and not March. No one did Christmas like the Vickies.”
Caught up in her own excitement, Phoebe didn’t notice the way Doug’s shoulders fell. I tried to catch her eye, but she had already passed the phone back to him, mumbling to herself about which gowns could be altered.
Doug hesitated before punching a few numbers into the phone. “Actually,” he said, “it is three days, sixteen hours, and twenty-two minutes. Tuesday, at 8:23 a.m., the Dim will open.”