Chapter Thirty

I have spent the last hour arguing with my dying grandmother, who wants me to travel back in time after she's gone. I shouldn't argue. I should just say "Yes, Nan, whatever you want, Nan." But I'd never patronize her by making a deathbed promise I can't keep.

"Fine," she says finally, slumping against the pillow. "Let me amend that. You will try to go back. Whether you can or can't may not be up to you. But you will try."

I throw up my hands. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"We'll work on that. I had a dream last night…" She trails off. "Let me think more on it. For now, you need to promise me that you will try to go back."

"To the nineteenth century? Where they don't even know what botulism is? Or penicillin?"

Her lips twitch. "Is that really your biggest concern?"

"Oh, I have a lot of concerns. It's freaking terrifying, Nan."

"And you loved it." She looks at me. "You found your place there. A place where you were challenged and happy, surrounded by people who made you happy, even when they had to be prodded to scrub their hands after dissecting corpses."

I say nothing, and she lets the silence stretch.

"I'd never leave Mom and Dad," I whisper. "Can you imagine? Mom loses you, and then I'm gone, too? Her only child?"

"They thought they lost you already, Mallory," she says softly. "The doctors believed you'd never wake up."

"So now we'll tell them that I want to leave forever?"

"They love you. They love you so much. They only want what you want, what makes you happy, whatever the cost to them." She pauses and looks at me. "May I speak to them?"

"No," I say. "I'm back where I should be, where I want to be, and I'm staying."

Nan is fading fast. There are lots of whispered discussions between Mom and the doctors, conversations I am not allowed to be part of. Conversations about hurrying the end along? I know Nan had considered medically assisted death, but when the end came, it came too fast for that.

Is it too late to do anything? Too late legally… but too late for mercy? I have no idea what the laws are here. I only know that I don't need to be part of those conversations to understand what they are about. And even as the little girl in me screams that I want every last moment with Nan, the adult agrees that if the end can come faster, while she's lucid and the pain is controlled, then that is the truest definition of mercy.

Nan and I talk when she's awake. She wants to know more about my life in 1869. She doesn't mention me leaving again. She just wants to know more, and if it gives her something to distract her in these final days—and gives us one last secret to share—then that is the greatest blessing I could ask for.

That evening, after Nan falls into a deep sleep, I head to the rental apartment, on Royal Circus. Standing at the window, looking out at the quiet circle, I remember when I'd last seen it, strolling here with Isla. We'd walked along the Water of Leith, the same route Florence King wandered the night Sir Alastair died. We'd bought hot pies, and we were heading home when I recognized the apartment I'd rented and stopped to show it to her.

I'm looking out, smiling as I imagine us standing right under this window. Then I realize I'm not alone and wheel to see Mom there.

"I didn't hear you come in," I say.

Without a word, she walks over and hugs me. Hugs me tight, and I fall into her embrace.

"I love you so much, Mal," she says, stroking my hair. "I want you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted."

I stiffen. "Did Nan say something?"

She doesn't answer. She just holds me even tighter, and I know my secret isn't a secret anymore. Does Mom believe it? It was one thing for Nan to accept it—the woman who claimed she didn't believe in the fair folk but also avoided stepping in mushroom rings. Convincing my defense-attorney mom? That'd be a whole other level, and I can't imagine how Nan would even try. But for now, Mom doesn't say a word. She just hugs me.

Death comes for Nan the next morning. When Mom and Dad hurry me into the room, I swear I see Death waiting by the curtains dancing in the breeze, and it's not the Grim Reaper with his scythe, but Death from the Sandman comics I devoured as a teen, gentle and kind and waiting patiently to lead my grandmother to the other side.

I expected to howl and rail at these final moments. But Nan is ready to go, and I am ready to let her go. Not ready to release her from my life—I'd never be ready for that—but ready to release her from her own.

I am calm enough to insist Mom be the first at her bedside, in case the end comes too quickly for us all to get a chance. Dad and I stay outside the room while Mom says her goodbyes. Then Dad joins Mom for a few moments.

When it's my turn, I ask my parents to stay, and they agree, just stepping aside to give Nan and me our moment together.

I say everything I've dreamed of saying since I thought I'd lost my chance. I share my most cherished memories of our time together. I tell her how important she was in my life and how much I love her, and how I regret being too busy with work to come over for more than a few days at a time.

"You came," she says. "That was all that mattered. Children grow up, and they start their own lives, as they should. But you called and you wrote and you came, and I never once wished for more."

I hug her. Then she takes my hand and squeezes with more vigor than I expect, startling me.

"I believe everyone has a place they are supposed to be," she says. "For me, it was here. I was born here, grew up here, met your grandfather here, and never left, and I counted myself lucky to have been born in exactly the right spot. Your mother's spot was across the ocean, and that hurt, but I was so happy she found it. Then I only had to wait for you to find yours. You thought you had, but it wasn't quite the right fit. You needed to find the place where you belonged, completely. A place where you could make a difference. You did. It just wasn't where anyone would have looked."

I go to speak, but her hand tightens on mine.

"You could be happy here, Mallory," she says. "And if you must be, then you will be. But your place is back there. You think it was some wild coincidence that landed you in that time, in that place. It wasn't. It was the universe correcting itself. You went to where you were supposed to be."

She reaches up for a hug, and I lean down into it, her frail arms going around me. "You will find your way back, Mallory. I've seen what you will do there, the life you will lead, and I could not be happier for you."

I hug her again and step to one side, nodding for my mom to come closer. We hold Nan's hands, with Dad coming up behind us, his hands on our shoulders. And, with a few final breaths, Nan quietly passes from this life.

The last twenty-four hours have been hell. Mom planned everything in advance, because that's my mother, but it doesn't keep there from being an endless list of things to be done—final arrangements, people to be notified, staff to be thanked—when all I want to do is find a quiet place and grieve. But then there will be a lull in the activity, and the grief is so overwhelming that I long for activity again.

Everything that can be done has been done. Mom being an only child means there isn't a cadre of relatives who need to fly in. Nan's family and friends all live locally, and the funeral will be in two days.

We're driving back to the apartment, heading down Princes Street, when Mom turns in to a parking lot.

"Let's grab something to eat."

I want to protest. It's midafternoon, and I couldn't eat even if it were mealtime. Yet I must always remember that, as much as I loved Nan, my mom has suffered the greatest loss, and if she wants to eat, we will eat.

Dad says nothing. He just gets out of the car—the passenger seat now—and takes her jacket from beside me, shakes it out and helps her into it.

Nan joked earlier about me needing to cross time to find a man worthy of me. The truth behind that joke is that it's not about me finding a "worthy" man, but finding one who might give me the sort of love, respect, and support I expect, based on my parents. They have set the bar so high that anything less is settling, and I've never settled in my life.

I lag behind to watch them, hand in hand, Dad carrying Mom's purse, as if even that would be too much of a burden for her right now.

We're on the south side of Princes Street, and I'm trying so hard not to think of all the times I've walked along here with Gray and Isla, Simon and Alice, even Annis, who dragged me there two weeks ago shopping, because Isla refused to go and I soon discovered why. Shopping with Annis was like going to a restaurant with that one friend who always sends something back. She'd—

I yank from the thought. None of that.

None of what? Memories? I've accepted that I really did pass through time, which means those aren't scenes from a dream. Am I going to box them up permanently? Hide them on a shelf in hopes I'll forget where I left them?

"I'd like to go up," Mom says.

I startle from my thoughts to realize she stopped. I follow her gaze up to see the Gothic splendor of the Scott Monument.

"Come," she says, taking a credit card from her pocket. "I'll buy tickets."

My knees lock. I look up, and I remember this past spring, Gray and me climbing the steps after dark, following our first visit to Queen Mab.

"Mallory?" Mom doesn't even look back, just waves, like I'm twelve again and dawdling. "We're going up."

My feet drag the whole way, first to get the tickets, and then climbing those steps. I hear the clang of them underfoot, and it's 1869, a warm June night—

None of that.

I steel myself and continue up while focusing on everything that screams twenty-first century. The honking cars. The trams rattling down the middle of the road. The tour buses, and the tourists, so many tourists.

Stay in this time. Don't let my mind wander. Don't remember. Don't break down.

When we reach the viewing platform, I stay by the steps, but Mom steers me to the railing. Then, as Dad moves up to my other side, Mom murmurs, "I know where you went."

I glance over sharply.

"Your nan told us everything, and she made us promise not to mention it until…" Her voice catches but she clears her throat. "Until she was gone. That was best anyway. I wanted to focus on her, and I also needed time to… process. I've been doing that, processing and investigating and trying to wrap my head around it."

"You don't need to," I say, my voice a little brusque. "It's over, and it's nothing we ever need to talk about."

"We never need to talk about something that had a profound effect on my daughter?"

"I'd rather not."

She's quiet. Dad reaches for my hand, squeezes it and holds it. We look out over the city.

After a moment, Mom says, "Every time we drive past this monument, you look up at it, and your face… It breaks my heart."

I stiffen. "We really don't need to discuss—"

"You came here, back then. Tell me about it."

I say nothing, just set my jaw, ignore the ache in my throat, and stare out.

"Mallory? Just… talk to me."

I shake my head. "Can we not do this? Please? You don't believe I actually traveled through time. Don't humor me. Please."

She lays her hand on mine, gripping the railing. "But I do believe. I have to."

Dad murmurs, "‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'"

My eyes fill at the Sherlock Holmes quote, but I manage to smile at him. "Pretty sure time travel is the very definition of impossible, Dad."

"Mmm, not according to some very intelligent people. People much smarter than me."

I lean against his shoulder, and before I can hold it back, I blurt, "I called Dr. Gray a consulting detective once, and now he's using it, and I feel like I owe Sir Arthur Conan Doyle a huge apology."

Dad's arm goes around me as he chuckles. "Consulting detective, huh?"

I tense as I realize what I said, and I want to pull it back, to pretend I was joking or frame it as a dream. But I let it sit there, and I listen to their breathing and try to analyze it, to tell whether they're holding back the obvious worry that their daughter seems to actually think she traveled through time.

As if reading my thoughts, Dad leans over and whispers, "We believe you, sweetheart," and my eyes fill with tears as I lean against his shoulder.

Mom's hand tightens on mine. "Now, tell me what happened up here?"

When I don't answer, she adds a soft "Please." Then, "We'd really like to know. Something happened up here…"

"Nothing bad," I say finally. "Not even anything big. Duncan—Dr. Gray, that's the—"

"The scientist you work for." Mom's lips twitch. "As a housemaid."

"World's worst housemaid. Well, no, I'm actually not too bad, thanks to parents who made me get work experience cleaning homes for seniors."

"Didn't I say you'd thank me someday?"

I roll my eyes.

"So you were out with Dr. Gray…" she prompts.

"We were passing here, and I said I've always wanted to come up here at night. So he brought me. It was late and quiet and…"

I gaze out and shrug, unable to find words. No, that's a lie. I can find them. Special. Magical. Enchanting. But those aren't the sort of words I ever use.

"It was nice," I say finally. "We talked about what the view was like in my time and then about…" My throat catches. "About me wanting to go home. That was tough for him, knowing I'd leave the moment I got the chance. He'd just gotten used to having me as an assistant, and yet he knew if I got the chance to go home, I'd snatch it. I said that didn't mean I wasn't happy there. I just… I had a life here, and maybe it would have been easier if…"

I take a deep breath. "Easier if I didn't have an amazing family I wanted to get back to."

Dad's arm tightens around my shoulders.

I continue, "Duncan said he'd never wish for me to have had a worse life."

"And then?" Dad prods.

"Well, and then someone yelled ‘Murder' below, which totally spoiled the mood."

Dad pulls me over to kiss the top of my head. "I'm sure it did."

We stand there, Mom's hand on mine as I lean against Dad. When I glance at Mom, she's watching me. She says nothing, though, and we just stand there, in peaceful silence, together.