“Five floors,” Zinnia said.
“Five floors,” Margaret agreed. “See? We’ve already been in 1955 for a while, and nothing bad has happened. We’ve been here since the minute we stepped out of the elevator.”
Zinnia said nothing as she looked over the building. It was made of gray concrete. The main structure had been fully constructed, but the windows were missing from the upper stories. She looked around for construction workers but didn’t see any.
“Either the crew is on a break or it’s the weekend here,” Zinnia said.
“Perfect,” Margaret said. “Nobody will notice when we come back later. How about one hour?”
Zinnia looked at her friend and then back at the tall, familiar building. “I don’t know,” she said hesitantly.
“That’s the exact tone I use with my kids when they’ve broken me down,” Margaret said, pumping her fists.
“We can stay for one hour.” Zinnia licked her lips. “I could use a strawberry milkshake.”
Margaret dug into her purse, popped open her coin purse, and frowned. It was empty.
“Darn kids,” she said, and then, “Oh, well. At least we’re witches. I’ll just charm the soda jerk into giving us a freebie.” She grinned up at Zinnia. “I’m not being mean, you know. They were called soda jerks. See? I know the terminology. I’ll fit right in here.”
Zinnia pulled some coins from her purse. What would a 1955 soda jerk say to a coin dated the next millennium? He’d accuse them of trying to pass counterfeit currency. Luckily, Zinnia had more than enough backdated change for them to buy a few treats without causing anachronisms.
Zinnia handed all of her loose change to Margaret. “Here.”
“Ooh! An allowance.”
“Buy whatever you want with this money, but promise you won’t use any magic. This might not be the real 1955.”
“What?” Margaret gave her a skeptical look. “Do you mean it might be 1956?”
“No. I mean we could be inside a hell dimension that only looks like Earth on the surface. And, as we learned in those books you made me stay up all night reading, hell dimensions are highly combustible. Even a tiny spark of magic could set off a cataclysmic event.”
Margaret wasn’t listening. She was already wandering off in the direction of the soda shop they knew of, Lucky’s Diner.
Zinnia caught up with her friend.
They walked into the busier part of town, the main shopping streets. Zinnia couldn’t help but stare at the people around her, going about their business. She was in the past! Half of the people she was walking by were dead by now. It was not unlike walking among ghosts.
After a while, Zinnia leaned over and said, “I’m concerned that our clothes might make us look out of place.” Her jacket, in particular, looked too modern, so she’d folded it up in a small square.
Margaret looked both of them up and down. “Actually, we fit right in.” She frowned. “That doesn’t say much for our fashion sense, does it?”
Zinnia frowned. A woman wearing a jacket exactly like the one Zinnia was clutching in a bundle walked by. Perhaps Zinnia’s jacket wasn’t too modern after all.
They passed a group of women their age on the sidewalk. The women gave them friendly looks and returned to their conversation about recipes.
Out of the side of her mouth, Margaret said, “Next time we come here, we need to wear hats. Look how many ladies are wearing hats. And the men, too. Hats everywhere.”
Zinnia looked around. It was true about the hats, but her mind balked at the idea of there being a next time. Zinnia couldn’t fathom coming to the past again. She wanted to, yes, but her mind boggled at all the infinite ways they might screw up the future.
Chapter 20
HOURS LATER
Margaret Mills wasn’t known for being punctual. It came as no surprise to Zinnia when their “one hour” stay in 1955 turned into several hours. Their visit to the past showed no sign of ending soon. Margaret insisted on spending every single penny of the pocket change she’d been given, so they’d visited every chocolatier and bakery in the much smaller yet still familiar main streets of Wisteria.
Margaret was down to her last nickel at five o’clock, when they entered a charming, old-fashioned candy shop that was, to the people of that time, simply a candy shop.
“I can’t decide,” Margaret said. “Everything looks so yummy.” She leaned forward over the display case, studying the colorful gumballs and rainbow suckers. She accidentally brushed against an upright display kiosk. The green scarab pendant she’d been wearing lately popped free of its pin and dropped onto the counter with a light clink.
The woman working behind the counter squealed. “My brooch!” She swept up the pin and whooped with joy. The woman had long, dark hair, and an Italian accent. In her exuberance, she almost sounded like she was singing. “My darling little beetle! Oh, my baby.” She said to the women, “I’ve been looking for this everywhere. Where did you find it?”
Margaret and Zinnia exchanged a look. They’d bought it from a street vendor two weeks earlier, along with a deck of tarot cards for Dawna. Or, to put it in current terms, they hadn’t bought it yet, but they would buy it in sixty-some years.
The woman asked again, more insistently, “Where did you find my darling little beetle?”
“Oh, it was just out on the street not far from here,” Margaret said. “I, uh, figured I’d wear it on my lapel until the real owner identified it.”
The woman, who appeared to be in her forties, about the same age as the two witches, beamed happily as she pinned the brooch onto the top of her apron. “You’re both angels,” she said.
“We’re not exactly angels,” Margaret said.
Zinnia snorted softly.
“Here,” said the woman, setting out trays of candies before them. “Help yourself to as much as you can carry. Consider it your reward.” She regarded the green scarab brooch with a smile. “This old thing isn’t worth more than a dollar, but it does have sentimental value.” She called over her shoulder, “Piero, come quickly! You have to meet these two angels who found my pin!”
Margaret, who had restrained herself to choosing only six pieces of candy, nudged Zinnia toward the door. “Actually, we should be going,” she said to the Italian woman.
Zinnia raised her eyebrows. Now? Now Margaret was concerned about the time?
A man emerged from the back of the shop. He was shirtless and flecked with dabs of paint. He had shiny dark hair, pulled back in a ponytail. His face and his sly grin were devilishly handsome. He looked about fifty, perhaps, but with youthful eyes and a lean, muscular physique that took Zinnia’s breath away.
Margaret tugged at Zinnia’s elbow. “Come on,” she said. “It’s time to get home before things get all tangled up.”
“Not so fast,” Zinnia said. Her eyes didn’t want the rest of her to leave just yet. Not before they’d all been introduced properly.
The candy-store owner said, “This is my cousin, Piero. Piero, these are the two angels who found my brooch! Aren’t they wonderful? I adore them both.”
Piero came around the counter and strode toward the women, his flashing dark-brown eyes locked on Zinnia’s.
“Yes, yes,” Piero said, turning his face toward his cousin. “This one,” he said of Zinnia. With his Italian accent, it sounded like this-ah one-ah. “She does have the face of an angel.” He took Zinnia’s hand and kissed it. “You have shown great kindness toward my family. Now, let us return the favor.”
“Uh, we have to get going now,” Margaret said.
“Nonsense!” Piero grabbed Margaret’s hand and kissed it as well. “Another angel. You, my little one, have the curls of a cherub.”
Margaret giggled. “Really? I’m an angel? A cherub?”
“Yes, yes,” he said in his charming way. “Come with me. Come to the back. It’s where I paint, in my studio. We will have wine and food.”
The woman laughed. “Oh, Piero. You always come on so
strong!”
“There is only time for the strong,” Piero said. “No time for the weak.” He said to Zinnia, “Never mind my cousin, Francesca. She’s a good woman, but she’s not so much fun.”
Francesca swatted him playfully. “I can be fun!”
Piero grinned. “Then lock the front door and put up the sign. Be done for the day. Let us relax and have wine. We have much to celebrate.”
Zinnia said, “Oh? Is it a special occasion?”
He kept grinning. “It’s the occasion of two beautiful angels coming into our humble candy store. Come, come.” He tugged at their hands.
Zinnia and Margaret looked at each other. Now would have been the right time for one of them to be the responsible, grown-up one and insist they return to City Hall and their own time immediately.
Neither said a word as they followed their new friend Piero into the back room for his promised hospitality.
Chapter 21
Approximately nine hours and several bottles of wine after entering 1955, Margaret and Zinnia started making their way back home.
When they arrived at the City Hall building, it was very difficult to see their surroundings, as the safety lighting along the perimeter wasn’t working.
Zinnia squinted up at the light fixtures, trying to see if the lamps were lit but covered in the same moth-like insects that had been plaguing the present-day City Hall. There didn’t appear to be any insects. The lamps were simply not switched on, which made sense, given the building wasn’t yet occupied.
As for the other creatures that had been reported in both the present-day and Angelo Wakeful’s log book, the witches hadn’t seen anything unusual. Not even a large rat, let alone a raccoon-sized rodent. According to the “locals,” Francesca and Piero, nothing inexplicable had been happening lately. Nothing but one small thing. Why was the building called City Hall when Wisteria was barely a town? Shouldn’t it have been called Town Hall? The two witches had laughed at the question and agreed that people would probably be asking that question for years into the future, at least until the town grew enough to be called a city.
The two Italian-Americans had been so much fun to share wine and food with. Zinnia missed them already. But she couldn’t be distracted by emotions. She and Margaret had to get back to the third floor and through the elevator to their own time.
Margaret was stumbling around like a drunken fool. For that matter, so was Zinnia. They both forgot about the dirt pile on the walkway, and both fell into it, face first. They got themselves extracted, still carrying on like drunken fools, and managed to find their way in the dark to the fire exit. They found it locked.
“Oh, no,” gasped Margaret. “We’re locked out.”
Zinnia pushed her friend aside and used simple telekinesis to push open the door from the other side.
Margaret squealed. “You did magic,” she whisper-yelled. “You broke the rules!”
Zinnia clamped her hand over Margaret’s mouth. “Woman, control yourself before I wrap you from head to toe in something sound-dampening, like insulation, or another pile of dirt.”
Margaret mumbled through Zinnia’s hand that she would behave.
“It was just a little magic on the door handle,” Zinnia said. “It was absolutely necessary, and I promise I won’t do any more.”
“That’s too bad, because we could use some light.”
“Hang on. I’ve got that covered.” Once inside the stairwell, Zinnia took out her cell phone and turned it on. There was no cell phone service here, but she could use the flashlight app to generate light. Considering they were in 1955, it might have been less dangerous to be caught using magic than using a modern phone, but Zinnia was still concerned about sparks and the flammability of this world.
They stumbled all the way up to the third floor, which was no small feat considering the amount of wine they’d had. A witch’s regenerative powers did typically include the liver, as well as the processing of non-magical toxins, including alcohol, but there was a funny quirk that happened under the right circumstances. When a witch was enjoying her alcoholic beverage, the regeneration power switched itself off.
The third floor appeared to be the way they’d left it, except much darker. Margaret stubbed her toe on the metal lunchbox and cursed it. Literally.
“That’s probably why the tomato soup was hot,” Zinnia said. “It’s because you cursed it just now, in the past.”
“I might be drunk, but I’m pretty good at understanding time travel when I’m doing it.” Margaret paused and then mused, “That is a phrase I never expected to hear myself say.”
Zinnia aimed the light downward and carefully moved the lunchbox back to where it had been.
“No, wait. That doesn’t work out,” Margaret said, shaking her head. “We were already here, and the soup was already hot. Before now.”
“That’s what I thought, but check this out.” Zinnia picked up a corded power tool and blew across it at Margaret.
Margaret said, “You need to plug it in, dummy. Blowing on tools doesn’t do anything, not even with your booze breath.”
Zinnia sighed. “There was no dust. This place hasn’t gotten dusty yet.” She waved her hands around to indicate the whole space. “There must be a stasis field in here. I think it rolled back in time when we went outside the building. Or maybe just now, when we came in through the fire exit instead of the elevator.”
“Stop talking,” Margaret said. “I thought I could handle time travel math, but my brain is going to explode.”
“We wouldn’t want that.” Zinnia led the way to the elevator.
Once there, they encountered a problem they should have anticipated. Because the building wasn’t finished yet, the electricity wasn’t running to the elevator. Pressing the call button did nothing but make the mechanism emit a tiny click. A flame of panic ignited in Zinnia’s belly. Were they trapped? This was what she’d feared could happen. Her worst fear. And it was happening. She kept pressing the call button, kept making the tiny clicks as the panic rose inside her.
“Oh, well,” Margaret said with what sounded like fake disappointment. “I guess we’ll have to stay here forever. You can go ahead and have Piero. I liked the sound of his friend, Enzo.” She walked away from the elevator, back toward the stairwell again. “I guess we’ll just have to live out our days right here, and hope that everyone back home carries on without us.”
“Not so fast.”
Zinnia used the light from her phone to search the area surrounding the elevator. Something dark caught her eye. Could it be? She thrust her fingertip at it. Yes. The dark hole appeared to be a keyhole.
She pulled the key from her purse. With a hand that was unsteady due to both nerves and wine, she gently slid the key in. She gave it a turn.
The elevator let out a cheerful ding that resounded through the empty floor. The doors opened in a rectangular patch of impossible brightness. The interior walls of the elevator came into view.
“Oh, good,” Margaret said flatly. She sounded more than a little disappointed. “It worked. Time to go home to our regular lives.”
Zinnia put her foot in the door again while she grabbed the key.
Margaret trudged forward like a robot.
Zinnia linked her arm through Margaret’s. It seemed like an adventure-y thing to do, plus Margaret was having some difficulties staying upright. They both stepped into the elevator. Zinnia pressed the button for the ground floor. Margaret slumped into the corner with a resigned sigh.
In no time at all, the doors opened.
They were back. The building hummed around them with activity.
A man in a rumpled suit stood on the other side of the doors. It was Karl Kormac, the manager of the Wisteria Permits Department. His eyebrows shot up above his yellow computer-glare glasses when he saw who was in the elevator.
“There you two are,” Karl said, taking off his glasses to better glare at them. “Why are you an hour late for work?”
Marga
ret straightened up. “It’s not what you think,” she said, followed by a hiccup.
Karl glowered as he looked them up and down. “It’s not what I think? I think you’ve been having a wild party. Look at yourselves.”
They did. He had a point about them being filthy.
Karl continued stating the obvious. “You’re both covered in dirt, and you smell like a winery.” He took a step back and waved for them to exit the elevator. “Don’t bother trying to explain yourselves. I don’t even want to know. I’m heading upstairs for a department-heads meeting on the fifth floor. Get yourselves cleaned up and sobered up by the time I get back.”
“A meeting for department heads?” Zinnia asked. “Shouldn’t I be at this meeting?”
He fixed her with a serious look. “Zinnia Riddle, do you want to be at this meeting which starts in five minutes?”
“Not really.”
“Didn’t think so.” He gave them one more sour look as he stepped into the elevator, put his yellow-lensed glasses back on, and pressed a button.
The elevator doors closed.
Margaret and Zinnia looked at each other.
“We have temporal jetlag,” Zinnia said.
“Oh? How does that work?”
“I don’t know. I just made it up.”
“Temporal jetlag,” Margaret repeated. “It’s making my head ache.”
“That was the wine,” Zinnia said. She quickly did the math. “If time passed at the same rate, we should have gotten back here at three or four in the morning. We’ve lost five or six hours.”
“I guess this answers your theory about the time not matching up.”
“It also might explain why the cleaning lady watched herself clean.” Zinnia frowned and rubbed her chin. “Except she didn’t say anything about a trip to 1955.” Zinnia realized how dirty her hands were and stopped rubbing her chin.
Margaret said, “If that portal thing is kicking out stray monsters willy-nilly, it might be kicking out time wave-y-waves.”
“You mean temporal aftershocks?”
Margaret sighed. “Fine. You can name all the things.”
Wisteria Wrinkle Page 15
