18. 18

On the morning of the reverse Manhattanhenge, I woke in the dark before dawn. Mom's early flight gave us just enough time to cruise west to east, facing the rising sun, for the best view of the solar event before turning around and heading out through the Lincoln Tunnel toward New Jersey and the Newark airport.

I wanted her gone, but I wanted her to stay. Relief seasoned with regret. When would we do this again?

Poppy and Berron were the only ones I could convince to come along. Everyone else wanted their beauty sleep. Even Jester didn't bother to get out of his plush dog bed when I hauled myself up. He just lifted his head, blinked sleepily, and then followed me with only his eyes as I got ready.

Downstairs, Poppy—not an early morning person—drank from an oversized coffee mug.

Mom's suitcase sat by the door, as if it was patiently waiting for the rest of us to get it together.

"Where's Mom?" I said.

Poppy gestured toward the door. "Walking with Berron."

"Walking? In the dark?" I went to the window and peered out. In a city that was never truly dark unless the power went out, the street lights cast pools of glowing gold on the pavement. "Why?"

Poppy shrugged and absentmindedly patted her hair, which was still sticking out in all directions. "Perhaps they found an interest in common."

"What would that be?"

"You, obviously."

I went to the coffee machine and poured my own, refusing to look at Poppy.

"You're secretly pleased they get along," Poppy said.

I drank even though the black coffee was too hot and burned my mouth.

"You need to talk to him."

"About what?"

She gave me a look. Wrapped in a thick, pink robe, with her hair in disarray, it was like being pointedly stared at by a giant ruffly-feathered bird. "About your feelings."

"What feelings?" I scoffed.

Sweat pinpricked on the back of my neck.

"Oh, I know you tell everyone you're too tough for feelings." She launched into an imitation of my voice. "‘Men are like Oreos,' you say, ‘They're good, but you can't plan your life around them'—"

"Hey, now—"

"But somewhere in that sandwich-padded vault known as your heart, there's a picture of his face right next to Jester's."

"It's too early in the morning to get mushy," I said.

"Lie to yourself if you want," she said, lifting the mug and taking another sip. "But if I had a chance like that, I'd take it. Even if I was afraid it would break my heart in the long run."

A key hit the front door lock, loud in the relative quiet of early morning.

Mom and Berron came through the door all smiles, bundled up in warm clothing against the autumn cold.

"Where've you two been?" I said.

"Berron wanted to show me Central Park in the early morning," Mom said, patting his arm.

"I thought it wasn't open till six."

"No one noticed us," Berron said.

"Funny how that works," I said. "Mom, you ready?"

Mom bustled around, making sure she had everything, and also straightening the couch pillows one last time. "I'm ready!"

Poppy went upstairs to get dressed, then joined us again, looking more awake but not quite fully awake. She yawned. "Let's go see the rising sun thingy."

We went outside, where our breath steamed into the dark. I unlocked Victorine's behemoth black SUV and everyone climbed in: Mom in the front, Poppy and Berron in the passenger row; Berron to the outside since he'd have to be dropped off before we left Manhattan for New Jersey.

I'd read that the best view of the reverse Manhattanhenge was on 41st Street at 5th Avenue, so the plan was to cruise around for a few minutes, then turn east on 41st in time to catch the sun rising in perfect alignment with the city grid. We'd ride down 41st toward the East River, then double back, dropping Berron near the Hudson River walking path. Then we'd take the Lincoln Tunnel over to New Jersey and see Mom safely off on her flight.

Watching the dashboard clock, I took us around Central Park first, past Strawberry Fields and up to the North Woods. We passed Victorine's street and the street for the LWW while going south through the Upper East Side.

The sky began to color.

The timing was right. I continued south on 5th Avenue. We reached the New York Public Library, which faced 41st Street.

"Goodbye, Patience and Fortitude!" Mom waved at the stone library lions. "See you soon!"

We made the turn.

The sun burst into brightness above the edge of the city horizon, a blinding orange slice sliding between the far buildings.

"Ooh," Poppy said. "Very majestic."

It was beautiful—but my stomach did an uncomfortable flip, and my ears felt as if a sudden change in air pressure had occurred.

"Zelda, you okay?" Berron asked.

"Fine," I said, wanting to enjoy the rare sight but also wanting to turn down the next crossing and stop looking at it altogether. I didn't make sense even to myself.

When we finally reached the end of 41st and had to turn north, past the United Nations building, I tried to breathe in relief. Instead, my breath caught like I had a stitch, and as we doubled back to head for the Lincoln Tunnel, I felt like the sun, in the rear-view mirror, was actually crawling up my scalp.

It was so distracting I hit the brakes too hard at a stoplight, throwing everyone forward. "Sorry!" I said. I took my hands off the wheel and shook them out. Get it together, Zelda. "Where do you want me to drop you?" I asked Berron.

"Anywhere after 10th Avenue. I'll walk from there," he said.

The rise in traffic noise felt too much. Too loud. The rising sun too bright. Was this what a migraine felt like? I'd never had one before.

The SUV glided through the city blocks. When we passed 10th Avenue, I pulled over.

Berron jumped out and turned back. "Have a safe flight. I hope we get to see you again soon."

Traffic stopped behind us and cars began to honk enthusiastically.

Mom threw open her door and grabbed Berron in an impromptu hug. "It was wonderful to meet you."

"Mom, we have to go—"

"All right, all right, Zelda, don't get your underwear in a twist." She got back in and waved cheerfully out the window.

Berron grinned and waved back.

We pulled away and quickly outdistanced Berron, even with his long stride.

I joined the arteries of traffic that fed into the Lincoln Tunnel. As we crept forward, walls of brick rose on both sides of the road. Although the tunnel was lit on the inside, from the outside it looked like a black hole. Police cars were stationed on either side of the final approach.

"Do tunnels bother you?" Poppy asked.

"Bother me?"

"You know—the small space, all that repetitive white tile. The feeling of the whole city pressing down on your head, and then all that water once you're actually underneath the Hudson…"

"No, tunnels didn't bother me. Not until you decided to help me out with a really unpleasant description."

"Oops! Sorry," Poppy said.

The car entered the tunnel. Natural morning light gave way to sickly, eye-searing fluorescence. White tile whipped by. The buildings overhead pressed down; we had only a short distance before the tunnel began the actual river crossing.

I'd be fine once we were out in the air again.

I glanced over at Mom.

Mom looked… green. The fluorescent lights?

"Mom, are you okay?" She had that look on her face, the one you never want to see on the face of an aging parent: trying to look stoic for the sake of your kid, even if your kid is a grown adult. "Mom? Talk to me."

Her small form was slipping down in the plush passenger's seat. "I don't feel very well…" Her head rolled unsteadily from side to side, like she couldn't hold it up.

"Poppy, I think something's wrong with—"

But Poppy cried out and clutched her head.

"Poppy?"

Mom's head dropped to her shoulder. Her eyes closed.

"Mom!"

Poppy slumped to the side, her seatbelt stretching as she crumpled sideways onto the bench.

I took one hand off the wheel and shook Mom by the shoulder. "Mom, wake up! Mom!" I turned and grabbed Poppy's knee. "Poppy!"

I needed to turn the car around. I needed to get help. But the tunnel traffic was one way and there was absolutely no way to stop or turn.

Trapped. No way out but through.

My teeth ground against each other as I rode the bumper of the car in front of me.

Had going into the tunnel somehow made both of them sick? Were they food-poisoned? Why not me? What was happening?

"Berron," I said, fumbling for my phone one-handed, dialing. "Come on, pick up." One eye on the road, one eye on my mother and Poppy, stricken in their seats.

"Yeah?" Berron said. His voice crackled and sounded far away. Hopefully the signal boosters in the tunnel would keep us connected.

"Something's happened to Mom and Poppy. We were driving into the tunnel and everything was fine, but then Mom looked sick and Poppy cried out and now they're unconscious and I can't even turn around in this godforsaken tunnel!"

"Unconscious? Like passed out?"

"Yes!"

"Where did it happen?"

"In the tunnel!"

"No—where in the tunnel? How far?"

"I don't know, not far? Why does that—"

Not far into the tunnel.

Not far to the river.

To the barrier, which kept the Gentry and the Blessed from leaving the island of Manhattan—and now my mother, and my friend.

"It's the barrier," I said. "It was when we hit the river. They both dropped like sacks of potatoes." I shook Mom again. No good. "Why is this happening? Are they hurt?"

"They'll be okay, I promise. Others have tried to escape over the years—it didn't work, but they weren't permanently harmed by it."

"You never told me that!"

"You never asked!"

"What do I do?"

"Keep driving. The tunnel's only a minute or two more. Then you can exit and turn around. They should be fine once you cross over again. Maybe a little dizzy."

"Like your sister? In Battery Park?"

"Yes."

Looking at my helpless passengers made me want to lower my window and throw up. Instead, I gripped the steering wheel harder.

"Zelda?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll be waiting for you at the tunnel exit."

I couldn't say anything, only blink hard to clear my eyes.

"Do you want me to hang up and let you drive?"

"No, just—" I swallowed. Even Berron's reassurance couldn't stop the horror of seeing Mom and Poppy unresponsive. "Stay with me. Please."

"I'm here. I'm running. I'll be right there when you're out."

More white tile. More hospital fluorescent light. Then, in the distance—a faint orange glow.

The arch of the tunnel exit.

The cars ahead of me sped up.

"Come on, New Jersey," I said, mashing the accelerator.

Never thought I'd be happy to see New Jersey. Brick walls and exposed stone to my right. Industrial buildings to my left. Open sky above, rapidly brightening. Following the signs, trying to picture the swirl of highways that would take me fastest around and back into the tunnel, back to Manhattan. Exiting through another short tunnel, back into daylight. New Jersey proper, with rocky hillsides and apartments and office buildings.

One U-turn and I'd be eastbound.

Done. Then we were flashing past colorful paintings under an overpass. And finally—finally!—a triple archway into the tunnel.

We were in.

"I'm coming," I said to Berron.

"Already there," he said.

Mom's head rolled. I tried to steady her, but there was no fighting the motion of the car. I glanced back at Poppy, who was sprawled out like an overgrown child on a long road trip.

More white tile. I hated the sight of it. I wanted to lean on the horn and go faster, faster, shoot out of that tunnel like a ball from a pinball chute. Thank God it was still early and the traffic hadn't jammed.

Just when it seemed the tunnel might go on forever, possibly under Manhattan and then under the Atlantic Ocean itself, all the way to Poppy's birthplace, the rising sun glared in the distance.

Mom stirred.

The last yards flew by and we were out. Back in Manhattan with its glorious congestion and scaffolding.

"I'm almost to you," I said to Berron.

I didn't realize how hard I was shaking until I tried to pull the SUV into the right lane. "Mom? Wake up, we're here." I sounded like the parent. "We're back. Can you hear me?"

Poppy groaned in the back seat. "What in the bloody hell…?"

"It's okay," I said, "you're all right. You passed out but you're all right. We're back in Manhattan."

"Zelda?" Mom said, weakly.

"I'm right here, Mom."

She touched a hand to her forehead. "Is this the airport?"

"You got dizzy and we had to come back. Do you feel okay?"

"I feel like my head's full of bees."

"What happened?" Poppy said. "Why did we—"

"The barrier," I said.

"But why?"

"I don't know." I spotted Berron and pulled over.

He pulled open the passenger door and slid into the third row, leaving Poppy her space to recover. "You ladies scared me," he said, leaning over to peer at Poppy and Mom in turn. "Do we need a hospital? I think the nearest one is—"

"I don't need a hospital, I need an airplane," Mom said.

"Mom, you passed out. I'm not putting you on a plane."

"I'll be fine. I got a little dizzy, that's all."

"You can't leave—that's what I'm trying to tell you. If I take you back through that tunnel, you'll pass out all over again."

"Why would it happen again?"

"You know how I told you that the Gentry and the Blessed can't leave Manhattan? Because of the spell Grandma helped put in place to keep the peace?"

"Yes…"

I shrugged, as if to say, there you have it.

"But I don't want to stay in New York! I want to go home, Zelda. No offense," she added, politeness coming back online as she became more and more with it.

"You can't. Not now. Not until we figure out what's going on."

"Oh, no," Poppy said. In the rear-view mirror, her eyes widened. "What if it wasn't just us?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if it's all the witches?"

Everyone got quiet. I pictured witches on trains, buses; in taxis; passing out with no one to ferry them back. Or, God forbid, what if they were driving? "Get ahold of Azure," I said. "Start a phone chain or something."

Poppy pulled out her phone and began frantically texting.

Meanwhile, my mother was muttering to herself. "Can't stay here. Even the sunrise isn't normal."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, just look at it! You said it's supposed to be in perfect alignment with the street grid. But there it is, drifting off to the north!"

I slowed to a stop at the next light. "No, it's still in alignment, we're just coming at it from a different angle because we're not on the same street."

"Not there," Mom said. She leaned over and pointed toward the driver's side window. "There."

I turned. Saw a second orange-gold glow.

And the too bright, too loud, came back with a vengeance, honking horns hitting my eyes with waves of pain. Everything jangled—the sound of traffic, the sunlight hitting the Midtown windows—until suddenly the jangling resolved into something lighter, harmonic, musical.

Bells.