“Tesla, are you sure about this?” Ethan asks, scanning the crowds around us. “I don’t see any Hollows here.”
“Confirmed. The timeline alteration algorithm has traced the ripples back to this event. They are here, somewhere. The timeline has been altered.”
Ethan nods, looking over at me. I have to admit, he looks ridiculously handsome in his costume today. The black-striped slacks and the long grey jacket that trails down his back make him look older than usual. The grey is drab, but his blue eyes are startlingly bright. He’s also wearing a matching bowler hat and carrying a cane, which is the only accessory I’ve ever seen him demand. I reach up to adjust his white bowtie.
“Bowties are sexy,” he says with a wicked grin.
“Just because you keep saying it doesn’t make it true,” I respond, no humor in my voice. Normally his quips would make me smile, but not today. I’m on edge, though I’m not sure why. Maybe my historically-accurate panties are in a bunch.
This isn’t my first mission. In fact, it’s not even a particularly difficult one. The Solara plans aren’t exactly nuclear launch codes. I’m not sure why the Hollows want them so badly, except to create chaos. What could be so special about a rough solar collector? Nothing—it’s the rush, the thrill of the chase. They’re little better than feral cats. Still, if they want it, then we can’t let them have it. Our job is as simple as that. But the tiny hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. The air around me feels thick, as if the world is holding its breath. Glancing over at Kara, I wonder if she feels it too. Her expression is serene, if a little pale. The light dusting of freckles over her nose is more noticeable than normal and her eyes are rimmed with red. Late-night training again, no doubt.
Somewhere in the back of my head, a version of my own voice reminds me that this might very well be my last mission. The Trial is coming up, and it’s either pass or die. We’ve all been logging extra time in the gym and on the books. Well, everyone but Ethan. I wish I had half of his confidence. He’ll pass even if none of the rest of us do; I’m sure of that, though not fully comforted by it.
I shove the thought away, fighting to stay focused. Doubt never accomplishes anything, as Mistress Catherine likes to say.
Draping one arm over my shoulder, Ethan gives me a quick, reassuring hug. “Relax, Ember. We aren’t defusing a nuclear bomb. We’re just here to keep one nerdy scientist safe. How hard can it possibly be?”
I sigh. “I really hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?” he asks innocently.
Read my mind. “Beg for trouble.”
He grins widely as a pair of elderly gentlemen brush past us and shoot Ethan a glance that clearly screams “inappropriate behavior.” For a moment, even I’d forgotten how far back we’d traveled—how far away from our home back at the Tesla Institute. No, in this time, people simply didn’t show amusement or familiarity. It was rude. The way Ethan steps back from me, cooling his expression, makes me eager to leave 1893 in the rearview mirror.
He shakes his head, falling back into mission mode. “We’re only going to get one shot at this. Are you ready, Kara?”
“I think this dress is trying to kill me,” Kara complains, tripping forward as she steps on the long hem.
I can’t help smirking. “Be thankful they aren’t wearing the bustles anymore. Good luck getting off a decent roundhouse kick in one of those.”
She smoothes her hands down the front of her pink-and-brown dress, then smacks at the puffy sleeves. I withhold a snicker.
Squaring my shoulders, I raise my chin to the bright midday sun. It’s cool today for mid-June, and a light breeze caresses my face. That’s a good thing. These dresses are heavy, tight, and not at all like our usual clothes. Beside me, Kara curses and fights to tuck stray wisps of her deep red hair into its coil at the back of her neck.
“So, where do we find this guy?” Kara asks, glancing around.
“Current location unknown,” Tesla’s voice cuts in again.
“Oh, great. Some supercomputer you are,” she mumbles under her breath. Then, louder, she asks, “Where’s Flynn? I feel the need for some serious adult supervision.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Ethan takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. Something’s wrong. I can feel it in my gut.”
“Is that intuition or heartburn? We did just eat our weight in chili dogs,” I ask, though I know better than to question his gut. It tends to be dead right.
“Chicago Dogs,” Kara corrects me.
Yes. The taste of peppers lingers somewhere in the back of my mouth, making me wish I’d smuggled in some gum. Still, it’s probably the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. The Institute has us on strict diets of protein powder and gross, organic, tofu-based foods. Various food vendors lined the entrance to the fair, so when we saw the dog cart, no way were any of us going to pass them up. The fact that we aren’t still glutting ourselves is a testament to our self-control. Though, if everything goes well, we might just make a pit stop before we rift back home.
“Focus. Get on point,” Tesla commands through the earbuds.
Kara and I exchange a frown before the three of us shift to stand back-to-back and scan the crowd. Beside me, I feel Ethan tense. The way he can transition from fun, playful Ethan into leader Ethan is unsettling and as quick as snapping your fingers. His entire demeanor changes when he’s on point—even his voice is different.
“Let’s split up,” Ethan decides, pointing. “Kara, you head over to his booth at the main convention center. I’ll take the east side, and Ember, you take the west. We’ll meet up by the pier. Anyone runs into trouble, have Tesla put out a call to the rest of the team.”
I don’t like it. I’m feeling jumpy, which isn’t like me at all. Maybe it’s just nerves, or maybe I just don’t like the idea of being separated from them. Either way, I don’t say anything. Ethan and Kara have been with me over a year—since the day I was recruited—and I trust them with my life a hundred times over.
Without a word, we go our separate ways. I’m weaving through the crowd when I spot something—a girl about my age in a tall, black top hat and a long, fitted, leather trench coat. I catch a glimpse of her as she moves past the Zoopraxographical Hall. Her dark hair is tucked up into the hat, exposing a trail of green chevron tattoos down the back of her neck. I bite my lip.
She’s one of them. A Hollow.
The man at the ticket booth, next to the theater entrance, can’t take his eyes off her. Staring, he continues to issue tickets from behind a glass window to the showing on the small screen. Glue-plastered announcements on the exterior brick walls advertise the moving picture as “The Science of Animal Locomotion.” The top hat girl has her back to me and is leaning against the doorjamb, her arms folded across her chest.
She’s pretty, if not a bit overdone. Her eyes are ringed in dark kohl liner, and her lips are a deep red. She’s got tight black pants on under the jacket, and there are belts and straps around her waist and down her thighs. She’s out of place, though, and people whisper behind her back. Most of the women in this time are wearing floor-length, high-necked day dresses and corsets. This girl looks like Goth Barbie. She didn’t even bother to remove the silver hoop from her eyebrow.
I glance around, looking for more Hollows, but don’t see any. That’s strange. They normally travel in packs. Maybe, if she hasn’t made me out as a Rifter, I can just follow her and she’ll lead me to the others. It seems like the smartest plan. All I have to do is keep my mouth shut.
“Nice costume,” she mutters, not looking at me.
So much for being stealthy.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I hope it’s not a rental.”