Dark Stars Danielle Rollins (pdf ebook reader TXT) 📖

Almost instantly, someone grabbed her from behind.

LOG ENTRY—SEPTEMBER 22, 2074

22:07 HOURS

THE WORKSHOP

I’ve only just returned to my present timeline, and I’m currently alone in my workshop, where I might finally let myself ruminate on all that I have seen.

Getting back wasn’t nearly as difficult as I imagined it might be. Once I made my way back to the Cascadia subduction zone, I felt that same tug, just below my naval, where I’d injected the EM. A current, Tesla had called it. I found that I could resist by tensing the muscles in my body. But if I let myself go loose—not just physically, but mentally as well—the world sort of floated away and I was able to . . .

Well, following Tesla’s river metaphor, I suppose that drift is the best word I can come up with to describe the sensation. It felt almost exactly like lying in the water and allowing the current to pull you along.

I was lucky. The current of time took me right back to where I’d left. Navigating to a specific point in history or to a new point in history or the future is completely outside of my realm of abilities right now.

This new mode of travel will require quite a bit more research before it is as capable as the standard form of time travel.

I shall experiment further in the morning.

For now—sleep.

15

Dorothy was dragged into the darkness, one arm wrapped around her torso, holding her own arms to her side, while the other gripped her face, a hand pressed against her mouth to keep her from screaming. Fear roared up inside of her, blotting out everything else.

Had Mac found her? Or one of the Cirkus Freaks? Or . . .

Oh God, was it Regan Rose?

She felt like her legs might go out beneath her. She couldn’t face torture again. She couldn’t. She gathered what remained of her strength and tried to twist out of the grip—

A voice hissed in her ear. “Knock it off, will you?”

She froze.

That voice. She knew that voice.

Her captor dragged her down the docks and around a corner before, finally, releasing his grip. Dorothy whirled around, squinting in the dim light. It took a long moment for the familiar features to separate from the shadows.

Pale skin and a tangle of dark hair. Cleft chin. Wicked smile.

“Roman.” Dorothy threw her arms around her old friend, hugging him hard. He stiffened beneath her embrace—they’d never been the hugging type—but she couldn’t help it. Just a few days ago (Two? Three?) she’d watched him die. She’d cried for him, grieved him, and now he was here, breathing and moving and talking like none of that had happened.

Because it hadn’t happened. Not yet.

“God, you’re bad at this,” Roman said, patting her once on the back before pulling away.

“What do you mean?” Dorothy brushed a tear from her cheek, trying to pretend she was just scratching an itch. Roman lifted an eyebrow. He seemed to be trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

“Come on. You are clearly here from the future, and you’re hardly keeping a low profile.” He dragged a hand back through his hair, sighing. “Are you trying to get caught? Is that part of whatever plan you’ve come up with?”

Dorothy’s mouth felt very dry. “How did you—”

“How did I know? You’re kidding, right? The Dorothy from this timeline was just outside of my room, dressed in a completely different outfit, listening at my door.”

Dorothy felt her cheeks grow warm, remembering how he’d caught her listening outside his door less than a week ago. And she’d thought she was being sneaky . . .

“I was following you,” Roman continued, dark eyes narrowing. “Or, at least, I was trying to. Before I could catch up, I found future you out here making googly eyes at your ex-boyfriend.” He flapped a hand at her, nose wrinkling. “Not exactly what I would call keeping a low profile.”

“I was hardly making googly eyes,” Dorothy muttered.

“And then there’s the way you attacked me just now, and how you’re looking at me like I’m Lazarus risen from the dead.” Roman made an attempt at his normally charming smile, but he wasn’t quite able to pull it off. There was a troubled look in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “So, then. Have I died? Is that why you seem so happy to see me?”

Oh, he was good. Dorothy hadn’t been expecting him to come out and ask so boldly. She opened her mouth but found that she couldn’t come up with the words to answer him.

Should she tell him the truth? According to the note he’d left for her, he’d already seen his own death, so he knew it was coming. Her fingers twitched as she pictured him lying in the dirt, eyes wide and unseeing.

“As a matter of fact . . . don’t.” Roman had been studying her very carefully and now his eyes narrowed. “I think I can live without knowing whatever is happening inside your head to make your face look like that. Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

The night was moonless and blurred at the edges. The distant sound of a motor cut through the air and then faded into nothing. Milky, gray fog clung to the surface of the water, making Dorothy feel like she was floating on a cloud.

Roman led her down the docks and around to the back of the Fairmont. “When are you from?” he asked when they reached the back door.

“A few days from now,” Dorothy said. Wind picked at her hair as Roman opened the door and ushered her inside. She counted the days back in her head and said, “Six, I think?”

“Six days,” Roman murmured, and Dorothy knew he was wondering what could’ve happened in less than a week that was so terrible it had sent her traveling back in time to fix it. He flashed a cautious, nervy smile. “So, I suppose it’s not going to be a very good week, is it?”

“Don’t be silly, it’s