all of this, that he believed it. You have to believe it, he told himself.
And that was the truth. He didn’t have anything else.
Facing Veronica, he glanced to his right, away from Trix, assuming she was doing the same thing. The floral wallpaper was faded, and there were water stains along the seams. He focused on the flowers and those seams.
“Still without turning your head, try to look farther back, into the very edge of your vision,” Veronica said. “Your eyes will feel the strain. They may moisten or burn.”
Just as she predicted, Jim’s eyes hurt. He narrowed them slightly, fighting the urge to close them or to look forward.
“Keep them open. Force yourself,” Veronica said. “You may feel dizzy-”
Jim had to shift his feet to maintain his balance.
“-and your vision will start to blur eventually.”
“Start?” Trix said. “It’s blurry as hell.”
“Good,” Veronica said, her voice barely a whisper, coating the room like dust. “That’s very good.”
Good? Jim thought. This is bullshit. And what is that? Is she chuckling?
“Concentrate on the blur. There will be two or three variations on what you see, one laid on top of the other, shifting, out of focus.”
Jim’s eyes were tearing up badly now, but he did think he could see two different variations on the wall to his right, slightly out of sync with each other. One of them had the faded floral paper and water-stained seams, but the other… the other blurred version of the wall was just as charred as the far side of the room, where Veronica stood.
“I see them,” Trix said, startling him.
Jim’s heart began to thunder in his chest. His eyes burned. He wanted to look away. But he couldn’t, because this was real. Oh, God, Jenny, it’s real. I’m coming to get you-you and our baby girl. Just hold on.
“Jim, do you see them, too? The variations?” Veronica demanded.
As she spoke, he noticed the third. At first it had been difficult to see, because in that variation the walls were equally scorched. “Yes,” he said, hating how small and alone his voice sounded.
Trix squeezed his hand, reminding him that he was not alone after all.
“What now?” Jim asked.
“You’ve got to separate them visually. Shift your vision to follow only one of the variations that you know is not the image you should be seeing. Then begin to turn, slowly.”
Jim and Trix both obeyed, still clasping hands, turning together.
“Let your eyes relax slightly. Continue focusing on your peripheral vision, but not so painfully. Uniques can see all three variations, and this should work elsewhere as well, but it will be simpler here. The parallels are more unsettled here than anywhere else in the city. You’ll be able to see such places clearly after this-places where the Bostons don’t quite match up. Holly is a Unique. You can teach her, as I’m teaching you. In such places, you’ll be able to bring Jenny back with you.”
“But the void you talked about,” Trix said. “The In-Between. People get trapped there.”
“You’re Uniques,” Veronica said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. “You can guide her through.”
As she spoke, Jim and Trix continued to turn. When he’d made it three-quarters of the way around, he could see a badly blurred Veronica in his peripheral vision… but there was only one of her. She existed in only one of the variations his strained vision could see.
Veronica grinned, talking again, wishing them luck, cautioning them not to forget to deliver her letters, reminding them that the fate of the city might well be at stake… but by then Jim found it difficult to focus on her voice. She seemed to be fading. He kept turning until he and Trix had rotated 360 degrees. The strain on his eyes was great, though he had allowed himself to focus on only one variation of the room around him, with the exception of the distraction of seeing Veronica.
“Do we stop now?” Trix asked.
Jim paused, feeling Trix do the same. They waited for a reply, but none came.
“Veronica?” Jim said. “I need to close my eyes a second.”
Still no reply.
Jim ground his teeth together. The need to close his eyes made him grip Trix’s hand tighter. Tears began to slide down his face.
“What do we do?” Trix asked him, and from the groan in her voice he knew she was having the same difficulty.
“Veronica?” Jim asked again, but the room felt empty now, except for Trix beside him. He squeezed her hand. “Fuck it.” Closing his eyes, he held his free hand over them for a minute. Then he swore again and dropped his hand, blinking.
“Jim, look,” Trix said.
He forced himself to focus, wiping the moisture from his eyes. For a second, the room seemed to spin around him. What the hell had happened? The lights were off, the only light coming from behind them. But even in the dim illumination that slipped through the partially open door-which had been closed just moments ago-he saw that the floor and the walls beside them were charred black from fire. The metal light fixture above was twisted and blackened from heat.
“How the hell…,” Jim began, trying to make sense of it.
Somehow they had traded places with Veronica. They were on the scorched side of the room, though they had only turned in a circle where they stood.
“It’s backward,” Trix said.
Jim retreated toward the door, hitting the lightswitch beside it. The far side of the room was bathed in light from the single intact fixture. On the floor, practically melted into the wood, was half of a desk chair. Jim saw immediately that something was different about it, though it took him a moment to realize precisely what: it was the opposite half of the chair he’d seen before. The missing half.
He turned back to the door. It was narrower than the one on the other side of the room, and he knew where it led. Beside the door, against the wall, was the same writing desk, but now it had been reduced to a charred ruin, the front of it eaten away by fire and the rest blasted black.
“We’re here,” Trix said quietly.
Jim glanced at her and saw fear and wonder filling her gaze in equal measure. He knew she must see the same in him.
Thomas McGee’s spell had gone badly awry. It had scorched the room, scouring the interior with some kind of ritual magic, an enchanted fire that had spared the rest of the house. McGee had vanished. Incinerated? Perhaps. But the room had been just as splintered as the city. In the original Boston, one half of the room had been ravaged and the other remained pristine, as though it had been snapped into place moments after the damage had been done. But in this parallel Boston, the damage was reversed, the opposite side of the room having sustained the fire damage.
Here, the other side of the room-where Veronica had been standing inside the door-was abandoned, the wallpaper badly peeling. Boxes were stacked in both of those far corners, but otherwise the room had been abandoned in this world, just as it had been in their own. Whoever owned this house had left this place alone, perhaps driven by some urge they did not understand.
“Which one are we in?” Trix asked.
“Which what?” Jim said, and then he got it. “Which Boston, you mean?” Trix nodded. “Damn good question.”
Jim led the way, pushing the narrow door fully open and stepping into the small bedroom he had entered once before, in another city, in another world. Other than the fact that it still contained a bed, the room was entirely different. The walls were a bright yellow, with hand-painted flowers stretching in a curving line across three of them. The bed had a modern brass frame, with a wooden box at the foot and a handmade lace spread. The photos tucked around the frame of the mirror suggested an older girl or young woman, and the clothes that hung from the open closet door reinforced that impression.
“Shit,” Trix said.
