Dark Stars Danielle Rollins (pdf ebook reader TXT) 📖

that she thought of it, that she wouldn’t mind having a word with the man. She’d never met him, but he was supposed to be the most brilliant scientist who’d ever existed. He could explain these earthquakes that were going to end the world, for one thing, and whether they were, actually, caused by time travel and, if that was true, what were they supposed to even do about them now. She could ask him if there was any chance of saving Ash. And oh, he could explain those damn journal entries. Traveling through time without any EM . . .

She lifted her head, blinking into the darkness of her room.

Traveling through time without any EM.

Dorothy wasn’t sure what time it was, but the sky outside was already darkening, so it must be late. She’d left the lights in her bedroom off, too, and the only light that she could see came from Roman’s dagger. It sat on her bedside table, the teensy tiny bit of EM still clinging to the blade sparking and twitching in the darkness.

It was purple lightning. It was pale, red liquid. It was hard and metallic.

Dorothy chewed on her lip. That EM had come from inside Ash’s body when she’d stabbed him. It had brought her here, to 1913. She’d read the Professor’s instructions for how to put it inside her own body to form a circuit.

Her skin pricked. Could she do it?

Had she done it already?

Her skin buzzing, Dorothy crossed the room and picked up Roman’s dagger. It felt heavy in her hand, and warm, and she couldn’t help shuddering, remembering the last time she’d held this weapon, how she’d plunged it into Ash’s gut.

Dazed, as though she were walking through a dream, Dorothy moved across the room, and into the attached bathroom, where she flipped a switch. The lights buzzed to life, filling the room with a dull, artificial glow.

She lifted her head, considering herself in the mirror. Was she really going to do this? According to the Professor’s own journals, the ramifications for inserting the EM incorrectly were quite serious. Internal bleeding. Skin flayed from your body. Death.

She swallowed hard. But . . . but she knew that wouldn’t happen to her, right? Ash had seen her at Fort Hunter. She must’ve been successful.

Make a choice, she thought. Should be easy. Die jumping or die staying.

The memory caused the corner of her lip to twitch. This had been the thought that had gone through her head moments before she’d leaped out of an eighth-story window. She’d never been one to shy away from something because it was frightening. Why start now?

She lifted the edge of her black T-shirt, considering her pale white skin. She brought the blade to the space just below her ribs, cringing as the cool metal kissed her belly.

All she had to do was add a little pressure. A single prick . . .

She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. She added the slightest bit of pressure, making a shallow cut in her skin.

Pain rushed through her. Every nerve in her body flared, begging her to stop. It went against every instinct inside her to keep cutting, to move the dagger into the pain. The room tilted, and she felt like she might pass out. She had to stop . . . she had to . . .

She placed Roman’s knife on the bathroom counter, breathing hard. Blood dripped down her waist and pooled on the floor, scattering across the white porcelain.

Dorothy blinked down at it, trying to regain her strength. Dimly, she remembered hiding something here. What had it been? Chocolate? Her mother had never let her eat sweets, terrified she might ruin her figure. Perhaps a little sugar would help now.

Dorothy dropped to her knees and fumbled beneath the sink. She didn’t find chocolate, but something better: a small glass bottle. A smile broke out across her face. Gin.

“Thank the Lord in heaven,” she murmured, uncorking the bottle. She downed half in a single swallow. The liquor spread through her like medicine.

She stood and took up Roman’s knife for a second time. She gripped the handle tightly and sucked down a deep breath, willing herself to hold it steady.

Die jumping or die staying.

“Our world has no place for cowards,” she said out loud. Gritting her teeth, she pressed the blade to her open wound, sliding the remaining EM into her body.

26Ash

JUNE 10, 1913

A burst of light, too bright to look at directly.

Ash groaned and closed his eyes again. Much, much too bright. What was he thinking, opening his damn eyes like a fool? He was going to need to take this slow.

He focused on his breathing at first. In and out. His lungs pushed against his rib cage and something sharp and painful shot through his lower belly.

Well, he thought, grimacing. That was concerning.

Eyes first.

This time, he was careful. He opened his eyes enough to allow a needle-thin shard of light to hit his pupils, and then he stopped. When he was used to the light, he opened his lids a little more, and a little more after that. Eventually he was staring up at a ceiling.

Huh, he thought, blinking. It was quite an . . . ornate ceiling. The plaster was shaped like a starburst, radiating away from a light fixture at the center, the glass domed and cloudy, the actual light dim and flickering a bit. It was unlike anything he’d seen, either in his own time or in the future.

Which begged the question: What time was it, exactly?

He started to turn, and then thought better of it. There was quite a lot of pain humming through his body. He could place the primary source—the spot below his ribs where he’d been injured by a piece of his old time machine—but the ache he felt now seemed so much bigger than what he was used to. He’d need to go slow, then, just like with opening his eyes.

Head first, he thought, with a groan. He turned to the left and squinted. He was in a