by Tara Sim
“He still looks at you oddly.” When Danny raised his eyebrows, Colton scowled. “You’re being a hypocrite, you know. What about Castor?”
Danny’s face reddened. “Castor has nothing to do with it.”
“Castor?”
Harland had turned around, a puzzled look on his face.
“Does the name mean something to you?” Colton asked slowly.
“Well, sure.” Harland kicked at a pebble with his boot. “Castor’s the name of my father.”
With time swirling normally around Colton, the three of them were able to walk to Harland’s house near the edge of town, somewhere near the factory. They were quiet, and Harland must have sensed something amiss, his shoulders tense as he led them to his front door.
“Mind the step.” He ducked inside, heading to the back of the house. Danny and Colton hovered in the doorway by the kitchen.
It can’t be a coincidence, Danny thought. Castor isn’t a common name.
Unless his father is hundreds of years old, I doubt it’s the same Castor, Colton replied. But a little leap of impossible hope betrayed him all the same.
Harland returned carrying a large book. He let it fall onto the kitchen table with a thud.
“This is our family history,” he explained, opening the cover. Colton and Danny drew nearer, peering down at the spidery handwriting on the first page. The pages were yellowed with age, and the binding was coming loose. “It’s been kept for hundreds of years on my father’s side. There’ve been a lot of Castors down that line.”
He flipped the pages in the back until it came to the early 1800s. “There’s my father. There weren’t any Castors for about two generations, but … yes, there’s a great-great-great uncle named Castor, and”— he flipped through more pages—“a great-grandfather named Castor as well.”
Colton reached out to stop him. “May I … Is it all right if I look?”
“Of course. Just be careful, my dad’ll have a fit if anything happens to it.”
Colton felt Danny hovering at his shoulder as he slowly turned the pages back through history. He almost didn’t want to know what he would find. But then Danny’s hand was on his lower back, supporting him, and it gave him the strength to keep going.
When he stopped near the beginning of the book, a folded sheet of paper slipped out. Colton was reaching for it when he went still. His eyes focused on the spidery handwriting on the book’s page before him, on the one name that had meant so much to him—that still meant so much to him.
“Castor Thomas,” he whispered. “That’s him.”
Danny looked up. “It is?” He gaped at Harland, who shifted nervously on his feet.
There were dates above Castor’s name; his birth and death dates. Colton’s legs grew weak. He knew without a doubt that Castor was long gone, but seeing it here, on paper …
Danny pulled out a chair just in time for Colton to sit down hard. He ran his fingers over Castor’s name, over the dates.
Forty-nine, Danny told him.
“Forty-nine,” Colton said out loud. “He lived until he was forty-nine.”
Danny put a hand on his shoulder and pointed at a line attached to Castor’s name. “That’s not all.”
Colton followed his finger across the line, to the other side of the page. If he’d had a heart, it would have stopped.
Abigail Thomas, née Bell.
“He …” Colton moved his face closer to the page. But there it was in old ink, inscribed on even older paper. “He married her. Castor married my sister.”
Castor had always told him he would help take care of her. With him gone, Castor had made good on that promise. The date of their marriage was just two years after Colton’s death. And Abigail …
“How long?” Colton whispered, unable to do the math.
“Sixty-one,” Danny told him softly.
She’d lived sixty-one years. The sickness hadn’t gotten the better of her after all.
His eyes traveled past their names, to the ones attached to their marriage line. They’d had three children: Jacob, Eliza, and … Colton.
They were all right. They lived. They were happy.
Colton put his head on the book and tried to let it sink in. Danny kept his hand on his upper back, radiating sympathy through their bond.
“Is he all right?” Harland asked faintly. “Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s just … hard to explain.”
As Danny tried his best to fill Harland in, Colton forced himself to sit up. The sheet of paper that had fallen out of the book was lying on the floor. Written across the front were the words Beloved Brother.
Hands shaking, he picked up the sheet, old and delicate paper with a crumbled red wax seal that had been broken by a curious descendant. When he saw the first line, he has to suppress a shocked cry.
Abi had written this letter. Though they hadn’t been able to read or write, she must have found someone to take it down as she dictated, for the voice was surely hers.
My Dearest Colton,
Words cannot begin to describe the sorrow that haunts me to this day. Since those men came, since you died, Castor and I have not been the same. Mama and Papa have been quiet, so very quiet. The whole town is quiet.
I do not know how to process this grief, except to put it into words that you will never see. Some days, it feels as if the grief will kill me as well. The sickness comes and goes, but my heart keeps beating, none the weaker. You would be pleased to know that, at least.
Castor has asked for my hand. We know it is not the joyous moment it should be, but neither is it unwanted. There is simply no one else who understands this heartache. He has been close, so close, and he has confessed what you two were to each other. I am glad, Colton, that you had one another. I hope you can forgive me for having him now.
He says he wants to take care of me, to take me to London. We cannot stay in Enfield any longer, not with your grave stark and gleaming before us. It is too much for us to bear.
I decided yesterday to walk into the tower. It was admittedly late at night, and I should have been in bed, but Mama and Papa were asleep and did not hear me steal away. I went to the tower, because I wanted to feel some part of you again, wanted to hope that your spirit lingered in that horrible mechanism.
At first there was nothing, only the sounds of the clock, terrible and accusing. It felt so empty and airless, reeking of oil and copper. I wept for you. I thought that would be enough to provide me relief.
But as I turned back for the door, I saw … it would not be fair to say I saw you, but I did. Or, perhaps it was only an apparition made by grief, a kindness. A mercy. You were golden, fair and golden like a fey prince from Papa’s stories. You tilted your head and smiled, as if confused. You asked if you knew me.
I cried, my dear brother, to hear that question spoken from your lips. You did not know me, not as I knew you—or the boy you had been, the boy Castor and I had so loved.
I told you that I loved you. That I was sorry. Still, you did not understand. And so I said goodbye and fled back home, weeping until Castor had to come and calm me. I told him the horror of that forgetting, and then he cried, too.
We will go to London soon. I regret leaving you, but I must. I hope you can understand.
Maybe, in my secret heart, I still hope you will see these words one day, and remember how much and how fiercely you were loved.
Your sister,
Abi
Colton stared at the letter for some time, reading and rereading until he could conjure Abi’s voice from his waning memories. He had seen her, all those years ago, and not recognized her. His chest tightened with despair.
“Colton?”
Danny and Harland were watching him.
Carefully, Colton tucked the letter back into the book. Then he stood and looked at Harland, really looked at him. Of course, he had nothing of Castor in his appearance; too much time had thinned his blood. But he didn’t just come from Castor. He came from Abi
, too. Harland was part of his family.
“You’re my … nephew.”
Harland blinked a couple of times. “Uh?”
Danny told him about Castor and Abi, but by the end Harland still looked as if someone had stirred his brains with a mixing spoon. He kept looking between Colton and the book.
“So, my great-great-several times great-grandmother is your sister? Was your sister?”
Colton winced at the emphasized word. “Yes.”
“But that means—”
“That he died and became a clock spirit,” Danny said. “I told you, it’s hard to explain, but I think this can work in our favor.” He turned back to Colton, his green eyes shining with some of his old fervor. “Remember what Archer said? That there may be a way to make the towers indestructible by using more blood. Maybe we can use his blood to keep you alive after Zavier frees Aetas.”
Harland held up his hands. “Excuse me, what?”
“Oh,” Colton said, eyes widening. “Yes, because he’ll have some of my blood in him, since we’re related.”
“Did you say blood?”
“Maybe if we put it on your central cog,” Danny said.
“Or around the tower, do you think?”
“Oy!”
They both turned to Harland, who looked uneasy. “I don’t understand. You want to use my blood?”
The timepiece on his back warned him that two hours had passed. “Danny, we have to go.”
“I promise we’ll explain later,” Danny said. “And it would be better if you didn’t tell anyone else about this.”
“But—”
They ran from the house back to the edge of town. The mayor called after them, but they only lifted their hands in farewell and didn’t stop.
“Now what?” Danny panted. “Should we tell the others?”
“Yes. The more Zavier knows, the better our chances.” Colton grabbed Danny’s hand and they crashed into the barrier. Time spasmed again, but they made it through to the other side.
Edmund was waiting by the plane. “You’re ten minutes late.” He saw the looks on their faces. “Did something happen?”
“Something,” Danny agreed breathlessly. “Is Zavier back on the ship?”
“Yes. He’s just radioed that I’m to fly us to London.”
“London? Now?”
“He needs to get reports from his contacts about the Builders and such. While he’s doing that, you’re allowed to do as you please.” He jostled Danny’s uninjured shoulder. “Which means you ought to prepare for your homecoming.”
Danny stared at the same green door he’d known all his life. When he was little, he would beg his father to give him the key so he could be the one to unlock it, thinking it was an important ceremony only adults could do. Christopher would solemnly hand him the key, struggling to keep a straight face as Danny stretched up as high as he could on his tiptoes to reach the lock. Frustrated and unable to get to it, he’d have to give the key back to his father, who had grinned and ruffled his hair.
“You’ll get there, Ticker.”
The day he’d finally been able to unlock it on his own, Danny had been so proud of himself. Proud for something as simple as turning a key in a lock.
Today, he faced an even greater challenge. He was more than tall enough now; he could reach the lock, even reach up to the mantle above his head where his mother kept a spare key. His hand was poised to turn it, but he couldn’t make himself move.
Colton put his hands on his shoulders. “Are you worried?”
Danny swallowed. Anything could be behind that door: absence, blood, scorn. The fact that he even stood on his street, in London, was a miracle verging on possible hallucination. Perhaps, if he opened the door, the illusion would shatter.
“We shouldn’t be out in the open like this,” Colton reminded him.
Danny blinked and looked up. Somewhere far to the southwest, the Prometheus prowled the cloud-covered sky. Somewhere even closer, they had landed the plane in a private hangar owned by a woman who had tipped her hat at them. Zavier had multiple contacts throughout the city, products of his aunt and late uncle’s money and influence. Danny wondered if some of them were in the Mechanics Union.
“It’s getting late,” Edmund had told them when they got off the plane, “so feel free to stay the night. Zavier has loads of work to do.”
He had given them a radio, which Colton attached to his belt. Zavier would call them back in the morning after he’d heard from his contacts. Danny needed to use the time between now and then wisely.
Instead, he was standing on his front step like a fool. A scared fool.
A rumble sounded above their heads. The sky was a hazy purple, and scudding through the clouds was an army-issue airship, searching the skies for ships like the Prometheus and the Kalki.
“Come on,” Colton whispered, eyes fixed on the airship.
Danny nodded and turned the key. Just as it had the first time, the small gesture nonetheless felt momentous.
He crept into the dim hallway, Colton at his heels, and closed the door softly.
“I feel like a burglar in my own house,” he mumbled.
They walked through the kitchen, the sitting room, and went upstairs to check the bedrooms. Danny had the strangest sensation that he’d never left. Everything was the same: the faded green wallpaper with water stains near the floor, the telephone in the hall, the blankets on his bed. Maybe no one had lived here in all the time he’d been gone, and the house was simply waiting for his return to come back to life.
“My parents must still be at work,” Danny said, trying not to be disappointed. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
Even so, his head was full of nightmarish scenarios—his parents tied up and awaiting ransom, headlines of Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Hart dead in a tragic traffic accident, or simply deciding to leave London and their son behind.
“None of those things are true,” Colton said as Danny walked into the kitchen and turned on a gas lamp. “You shouldn’t think that way.”
“I can’t help it.” Danny put the kettle on to boil. “After all that’s happened, do you expect my mind to filled with innocent things?”
“I don’t think your mind has ever been innocent, Danny.”
Danny turned to glare, but stopped when he saw the small, sad smile on Colton’s face. Colton was trying so hard to keep strong, despite everything they’d just learned.
“It must have been a shock,” Danny said, carefully watching his reaction. “About Castor.”
Colton looked toward the ceiling, as if the genealogy lines were etched in the plaster and wood. “You could say that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Colton looked into the cold box and took out a packet of fish. Someone must have bought it that morning. He handed it to Danny before going to the pantry. “I’m glad, actually. I’ve spent all this time worrying, thinking the worst.”
“And you tell me not to worry,” Danny scoffed. “Hypocrite.”
“It’s a happy thought, though. Castor marrying my sister. Providing for her. Giving her children. Giving her a long life.”
Colton held a carrot in his hand, staring at it blankly. Danny walked over and took it from him.
“It hurts, though,” Danny said. “You can say it.”
It hurts, Colton thought instead, the words safer in his own mind.
Danny read his other thoughts, the what-ifs that had sprouted since they’d found out. Had Castor really loved Abi, or had he made his choice only out of obligation? Had Abi been happy? Had they forgotten him?
“They would never forget you,” Danny protested. “They named their child after you.”
Colton winced and looked away. It was a burden.
Danny touched his cheek, then turned back to prepare dinner, allowing Colton a few minutes to think.
Eventually, Colton came to help. Danny remembered Colton saying that he had helped Danny’s mother cook during the months he’d
been holed up here. He wondered if Colton remembered cooking for his sister and parents.
As the fish was frying, Danny peered out the window. He thought he saw a dark shape across the street, but it could have been the hedge.
“I’ll need to ring Cassie and tell her I’m back.” His stomach flipped with anticipation. She would either smack him with a wrench or kiss him. He wasn’t sure which would be worse.
He ate at the table while Colton sat beside him. But after enduring Colton’s stare for a while, he lowered his fork. “What?”
“I’ve noticed I can sort of taste what you’re eating. All these things I’ve tasted before. It’s odd. Like tasting a memory.”
Danny pushed his vegetables around, suddenly self-conscious. “This connection will never stop being bizarre.”
“Do you think it will stay this way when Aetas is released?”
Danny felt his face harden. Ever since they had taken down Meena’s tower, something had been shaken loose in him. That desperate hope he had clung to was being shed, revealing the vulnerable, inescapable truth underneath.
He had been so sure that Colton’s tower could be saved. But now …
“We can use Harland’s blood, and yours is already inside me,” Colton reminded him, sensing Danny’s thoughts. “It should be strong enough.”
“But what if it isn’t?”
“It will be. It has to be.”
A flash of pain jabbed Danny between the ribs as he reexperienced the bombing of Meena’s tower. Danny grunted and doubled over, breathless.
“Danny—”
“Shut up,” Danny said through gritted teeth. He swallowed the tears back. “Just don’t, all right?”
“I made a promise to you,” Colton whispered, touching his shoulder. “I’m going to do everything I can to keep it.”
Danny got up with a scrape of his chair legs and grabbed his plate, his dinner barely touched. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”
“Danny—”
He slammed his plate onto the counter and whirled around. “I said—!” He stopped short, mouth hanging open.
His father stood in the kitchen doorway.
The bag Christopher held slipped out of his hand and onto the floor. There were already tears on his face, slack with disbelief.
