and futures created by McGee’s dabbling. He smashed reality and replaced it without most people noticing. It’s possible he changed things-thousands might have ceased to exist, and thousands more been dragged into existence, though there’s no way of telling.”
“But how could he do that and not change the whole world?” Trix asked. “If he changes Boston…”
“They’re alternate paths, and in the other Bostons the worlds beyond are subtly different, too,” the old woman said. “But only insofar as they’re affected by Boston. He split this city into three new worlds, but Boston is the heart of the change. Its differences seep into the wider world. He made it one of the most important cities ever, and most Bostonians don’t even know.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jim muttered. He stopped at traffic signals and glanced back over his shoulder, and Trix expected to see his weary cynicism souring his face. But he looked excited and hopeful, the emotions sheltered but definitely there. She knew him well enough to see that.
“You think Jenny and Holly have slipped through to one of these other worlds?” Trix asked.
“Our world, but an alternate path,” Veronica said. “And yes, that is what happened.”
“How?” Trix asked. “Why? In that bookshop? How come no one saw, or raised the alarm? Why them? What happened to them, do they know, will they… Will they be scared?”
Veronica turned in her seat, shifting sideways so that she could look comfortably at Trix. Jim glanced nervously at her, as if expecting her to do something terrible or unexpected. But the woman simply remained there, staring at Trix as something changed in her eyes. She’s seeking, Trix thought, unsure where the idea came from. But it seemed to fit. Veronica was in the car with them, but part of her was elsewhere as well.
“Trix, you were cold and wet and alone,” she said. “You tried to grab the branch, but it was slippery, wet from the rain and slick with moss. You tried for a long time, kicking against the current. Kicking against the depths pulling you down.”
Trix suddenly felt very cold. She gasped, shock stealing her breath.
“Every time you grabbed the branch you held on tighter, but when you tried to pull yourself out, it always slipped away. Because you weren’t grasping tighter, you were holding on weaker. You were fading. You knew it, but you refused to panic.” She leaned toward Trix, almost kneeling on the front seat now. “Am I right, Trix?”
“Yes,” Trix tried to say, but it came out as little more than a breath.
“How old were you?”
“Seven. My grandparents told me not to go too close to the river. We were on vacation in Baxter State Park in Maine. They were in the cabin getting dinner, and I… I went for a walk.”
“Too close to the river,” Veronica said.
“Yeah.” Trix remembered seeing the branch above her for the last time, shattered into a hundred slivers as she slipped below the water and sunlight glancing from the surface rippled her vision. Something grabbed her then and dragged her away, her limbs trailing through plants and weeds growing across the riverbed, though she could not grab hold of anything. She remembered wondering why, with hands so small and strong, nothing would let her hold on. And then after that things were dark and lost, until the sun prized her eyelids apart and her grandfather was crying above her.
“In the other Bostons… I don’t know if you drowned in that river at the age of seven, or died at a later age in an entirely separate incident. But in both of the other Bostons, you no longer exist.”
“Three years ago,” Trix said. “I had a bad car crash.” A chill went through her, raising goosebumps on her arms. For an instant too short to be measured she felt totally, utterly alone, little more than the memory of a name in the cool vastness of space. Then Jim adjusted the mirror again so he could see her, and his kind eyes brought her back.
“You died there, Trix,” Veronica said. “But here you live. And that makes you one of a handful.” She turned back to Jim. “You, too.”
“Jim?” Trix asked.
“Meningitis when I was six,” he said. “My mother always told a story about me fading away and then coming back again. I died, she told me. They brought me back.”
“And so they did,” Veronica said. “But in those other Bostons, death caught up with you, either that day or some other. You’re both Uniques. Most people exist across realities, but not you. And that gives you a certain freedom that those people don’t have.”
“What freedom?” Trix asked.
“To dream. You’re missing over there, but perhaps when you sleep, you know those other worlds.”
“The paintings,” Trix said, and she saw Jim’s gentle nod. The cityscapes that haunted them both were more real than they could have imagined.
“We’re here,” Veronica said, gesturing through the windshield. “Third house along. Come inside, and I’ll show you.”
Jim pulled up to the curb and put the car in park, killing the engine. “Just tell me,” he said. “Please, just tell me.”
“It is possible that you’ll see them again,” Veronica said. “That’s what you want to know, isn’t it? But much will depend on what the two of you do next.”
Standing at the front door, feeling Jim slip his hand into hers while Veronica fumbled with a set of keys, Trix had a very definite image in her mind of what to expect in an Oracle’s home. There would be walls lined with books and framed maps, both old and new. There would be a wealth of artifacts from Boston’s past-many of them rare, some perhaps believed lost to antiquity. There would be dark, shadow-clogged rooms with high-backed leather chairs, a liquor cabinet, perhaps, and the carpets would be worn by generations of honored footsteps. Perhaps the place would be slightly run-down, in need of a spring cleaning, but the accumulated dust would be a sign of just how crammed the building was with evidence of a wonderful history. An Oracle was a human as well, and there would be a kitchen and dining area with a well-stocked fridge and pantry. And upstairs, perhaps she slept in a four-poster bed, her window open to the night so that she could hear the pained requests and sad wishes of those in the city who believed.
But as Veronica pushed the door open, Trix realized quickly that her preconceptions were about to be shot down.
The hallway was light and airy, the stairwell rising above them to an atrium window on the third floor. Moonlight flooded in, silvering the walls and dark wooden staircases. The floor was light oak and the furnishings spare: a phone table, a chair, a coatrack with a lone umbrella propped in the stand.
“Please, come in,” Veronica said. “Hang your coats. The rack’s by a radiator so they’ll dry.”
“Where are we going?” Jim asked.
Veronica closed the door behind them and smiled gently at Trix. “There’s a room upstairs,” she said. “I’ll lead you. It’s where Thomas McGee tried to cast his abominable spells, and where he probably died.”
“Probably?”
“It was his library. His study. This whole house.” She waved one hand to indicate the building around them, taking in all the rooms whose doors they could see and others they could not. “He could have used any room, but he chose that one. And every time I even walk by the closed door, I know why.”
“You sound afraid,” Trix said.
“The room… fascinates me,” she said softly, and then without further explanation she started up the staircase.
Jim followed without even sparing Trix a glance. He thinks he’s close, she thought. He must be terrified that she’s lied, or is mad, but he can’t ignore the idea that every second takes us one step closer to getting them back.
Trix climbed the stairs after Jim, and soon Veronica stood on the landing outside a closed door. She was pale, and the effect was not simply moonlight on her skin. The gentle artificial light emphasized the bags beneath her eyes, and the skin hanging on to her jawline seemed to defy gravity’s best efforts. Her eyes were wide, and there was a sheen of perspiration across her brow. “You don’t have to-” Trix began, but Veronica quickly cut her off, harsh and berating.
“Of course I do!” She reached out and opened the door. “There’s a small anteroom, then another doorway. An attempt at privacy, put in by Thomas McGee, I suspect. Just… just look for now. Look and see, and you’ll believe me. You might not understand… but you’ll believe. Then come to the living room downstairs, because I have something to give you.”
