Page 9 of Borrowed Time

“Or the future, depending on how you look at it.”

I lifted my shoulders. “Yes, I suppose it can go either way. But my father adjusted really well to living in my time, and he’s been happy. Anyway, that’s how Jeremiah knew my parents…for him,all this happened only a week ago or so. They escaped 1884 just a few days before Halloween.”

“Now I understand,” Seth said, and he brushed a hand against the blue silk waistcoat he wore.

I sent him a questioning look.

“These clothes,” he said. “Jeremiah had a trunk full of them, and he got them down out of the attic and brought them along when we came to the hotel. They belonged to your father. And those,” he added, pointing toward a trunk set against the wall opposite the bed, “are your mother’s. I suppose he went to fetch them when they both disappeared so it would look like they’d just packed up and left.”

That made sense. I had no idea what story Jeremiah had given his family — or his fellow citizens in Flagstaff — but I could see why he might have thought it a good idea to get my parents’ belongings out of sight as quickly as possible. And although she’d put on a little weight over the years, my mother and I were almost the same height, and I had to hope the clothes she’d left behind in the past would fit me well enough.

“That was smart of him,” I said, and Seth made a noncommittal sound.

“I suppose he was just doing his best to make the problem go away. But if they left town so recently, won’t people recognize the clothes when we wear them out and about?”

A problem I hadn’t considered until he’d brought it up. However, I thought we could figure out some way to explain the situation — that we’d bought the clothes in a secondhand shop or something.

If they even had anything like that in Flagstaff in the 1880s.

“Possibly,” I said. “But maybe not. I’m sure Jeremiah Wilcox will have some words of advice on that subject.”

Seth’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “Yes, he does seem to have a solution for almost every problem. Speaking of which, hewants to explain us away by telling everyone that we’re Prewitts come in search of their missing sister…that you and I are Eliza’s brother and sister, so people won’t question too much why we’re spending so much time together.”

On the surface, that sounded like a decent plan. Probably, the general population of Flagstaff wouldn’t have spared much thought for Robert Rowe, since to them, he’d only been visiting to scout for land.

But my mother — in her disguise as Eliza Prewitt — had lived at one of the boarding houses here, had taught their children. Her disappearance was the sort of thing that would have merited further investigation by her family.

And even though that would neatly explain to the Wilcoxes why Seth and I were of witch-kind, I didn’t much like the idea of having to pretend to be his sister. Things were strained as hell between us right now, sure, but I still didn’t think of him as anything close to a brother.

“I suppose that works as a cover story,” I said, doing my best to sound completely neutral.

“I suppose so,” Seth echoed. He reached for his glass of water and took a sip before replacing it on the bedside table. A pause, and he added, “I think the food did you some good. Your color is much better.”

Somehow, I refrained from reaching up to touch my cheek — as if doing so would have proved anything, since I couldn’t see myself. However, I also got the impression that Seth had made the comment because he wanted to change the subject.

It seemed he, too, wasn’t thrilled about having to pretend to be my brother, even if he wasn’t going to admit such a thing out loud.

And that made me just the tiniest bit relieved. We still had a lot to get past, but I had to hope he wouldn’t hate me forever for the lies I’d told.

Before I could speak, he went on, “And something about getting shot triggered your time-traveling gift?”

“That’s what I think must have happened,” I replied. “But that doesn’t really explain how we ended up here. My talent only allows me to move in time, not space.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “Mine does, though.”

I stared at him. Yes, of course I’d known he was a warlock, but I’d had no idea what his exact talent was.

“You can teleport?” I asked.

His brows drew together. “Is that what you call it in your time?”

“Yes.”

He let out a breath and said, “Then yes, I can teleport. I suppose in that moment of crisis, our powers somehow got twisted around each other and brought us here.” A pause, and then he added with a grim smile,

“I suppose the real trick now is to see whether we can do that again.”

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