volley.
Valentina smiled, a tired and sad smile. “I know that your back will get up no matter what I say about that boy. But maybe in a few months or years you’ll realize I’m not just trying to be a snob. I want to help you.” She went back to the ladder to the outside. “I have mixed feelings on marriage, but I do believe that were things different, did we not lead these lives, I would marry Archie. In a heartbeat.”
She sounded sincere, her face softening and her voice dropping, and looked so happy at the prospect that for a moment I felt almost guilty about what I was going to do. Almost. It seemed Valentina could be your best friend one minute and then in the next instant be as cold and hard as the brass that kept the
“So, when you worked with the Brotherhood,” I said, deliberately pulling down a stack of blue cloth–covered boys’ adventure novels and trying to act casual, “did you use this ship for traveling and battles with eldritch creatures and things?”
Valentina laughed softly. “It’s not as exciting as you’d think. A lot of chasing, a lot of frustration and dead ends. A lot of time cooped up with musty books, learning the lore. The only exciting part was combat training. I liked that.”
“But some excitement in the field, surely? It sounds a lot better than the Academy,” I said. If Valentina wanted to talk about the Brotherhood, I was happy to encourage her.
Valentina went over to a map of the world painted on the wall, in the spaces between the bookshelves and curio cabinets, and traced her fingers over it. “Oh, yes,” she said. “It’s a wondrous life. If you have the strength for it.”
While she wasn’t looking, I grabbed a few books from the section of the library filled with handwritten volumes and shoved them under my coat. They were what I had come for—the diaries of the Brotherhood members, whose knowledge was compiled into the vast Iron Codex, the go-to guide for fighting things like the Fae. Hundreds of diaries, like Archie’s and like mine, collected into a single volume. That volume was watched over by the Brotherhood. These were the next likeliest place to look for the knowledge I needed—about both the Brotherhood and the nightmare clock, if it existed at all outside of the sort of fear-tinged whisper it had caused in my father.
“Thank you,” I said loudly to Valentina, holding up the adventure novels. “This should keep me.”
“Good,” Valentina said. “Let’s run along, then. I’ve got a busy day.” We got as far as the ladder to the lower deck before she turned, blocking my way like a little blond fireplug. “Are you going to give them back?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” I said, heartbeat picking up to a frenetic pace. Just because Archie was a bad liar and not as perceptive as he liked to think when it came to me didn’t mean I should have assumed the same of Valentina. She was sharp. “The dress and shoes? You said they were for me to keep.”
“Don’t insult both of us,” Valentina said. She reached out and undid the buttons on my jacket. The books slid to the floor, making soft plops on the carpet.
“Now what?” I said, refusing to drop my eyes.
“You want to tell me why you’re poking in my father’s journals, for a start?” Valentina said, folding her arms.
I bent down and picked up a book, brushing off the cover. “Nobody will tell me what I need to know,” I said bluntly, passing it back to her. “And when nobody will help me, I’m used to helping myself.” I raised my chin, refusing to be cowed.
“Helping yourself to other people’s things, more like it,” Valentina said. She put the books back where they belonged and then gestured to one of the chairs in the reading nook. “Sit.”
I did, knowing that anything else would just rile her more and make her more likely to report what I’d done to Archie. “My father lied to me,” I said. “I asked him a simple question and he wouldn’t tell me the truth, so what am I supposed to do besides find the answers on my own?”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have lied if you’d asked me,” Valentina said. “Ever think of that?” She sat and folded her hands. “What did he lie to you about?”
“The nightmare clock,” I said plainly. “I asked him what it was and he said he didn’t know. That was a lie.”
I got the same reaction from Valentina that I had from Archie. She twitched, but the freezing of her expression and the stiffening of her posture were identical to Archie’s. “Where did you …,” she started.
“I had a bad dream,” I said, and left it at that.
Valentina sighed. “Yes, he lied. But I don’t blame him for not wanting to give you crazy ideas,” she said. “Not at all.”
“You both know what it is,” I insisted. “What is so horrible that you have to keep it from me?” I sat up straighter. “I’m not a little kid. I can handle the hard truth.”
Valentina sighed, then ran her hands over her face. “Only the Brotherhood is supposed to know—at least, as far as the Iron Land goes.”
She traced lines on the fine inlaid wood of the table between us. “Imagine that Thorn and the Iron Land and the Mists—all of them—are spokes in a wheel, and in the center of the wheel …” She sighed. “This is just a theory, mind, and it has a lot of holes. But some people believe that at the center of the wheel is a place that isn’t entirely whole—an in-between place. A place made of dreams, which no Gate or magic can access—only the people who have the abilities to make dreams real, the ability to travel between the other worlds that have Gates and such.”
“People with the Weird?” I guessed.
Valentina was far from maintaining her usual composure. She looked strained, as if every word were being drawn from her under duress. Her pretty round face crumpled with frown lines, making her look a lot less angelic. “Yes, people with the Weird,” she continued quietly. “In this dream place, these same people believe that there exists a machine, a machine that can grind the fabric of space and time and remake it—can permit time travel, cross-world travel, the ability to transport things, or people, from one place to another, in time as well as space. Can spin the spokes on that wheel so that they rest in any order the clock chooses. It’s a clock that measures off dreams, and nightmares, and everything else. Anything you imagine, it can be. It’s different for everyone who sees it. So the Brotherhood scholars believe.” She leaned back and sighed. “Of course, a lot of the same people who believe the nightmare clock is real believe the Great Old Ones will return to the Iron Land from the stars and that you can summon the dead to do your bidding with Erlkin rituals, so, you know, for them, time travel and transporting yourself across the vast dimensions of space must not seem so far-fetched.” She waved a hand in a circle. “Crazy as bedbugs in a burning mattress, most likely.”
“But it does exist,” I said, excited. My dreams weren’t just madness and poison. Somewhere out there, the dream figure was seeing me—dreaming of me? I wasn’t sure—while I dreamed of him. He was reaching out to me, trying to save his small slice of world from what had happened when the Gates ruptured as I was trying to save mine. Those figures outside his dome would scare me, as they’d clearly scared him. I didn’t know why he couldn’t fight them off, but I thought of how helpless I’d be in the jaws of a Fae like Tremaine. Perhaps it was the same for the dream figure. And he had in his possession a device I was going to use to send myself to the moment when this had all gone wrong, and stop it from happening.
“Of course not,” Valentina said, much too quickly. “At least, not in my opinion, it doesn’t. I mean, the Gates are real. Tesla made them, and the Erlkin built theirs, and the Fae enchanted their
She was a better liar than my father, but the way she practically ran back to the house and slammed the door behind her told me that if Valentina didn’t believe that the nightmare clock actually existed, she at least worried that it might.
9
