The Hourglass Door (39 page)

“Abby. Please. Come sit down. You’re making me nervous.” Leo paused. “Or would you rather go home to wait?”

“No!” That would be even worse. There, I had no one who would understand. Here, at least I had Leo. And I had promised Dante I would wait for him.

I made my way back to the pool of light splashing down on the bar and sat next to Leo at the table.

“Dante’s been gone plenty of times and you’ve waited for him without complaint.”

“All those other times, I knew he’d come back to me.”

“And he will again this time.”

“But this time he has to deal with Zo.” I shook my head. “I only saw them together on the bank that one time, but it was scary how much stronger Zo was there. When he grabbed Dante by the wrist . . .”

“Dante can take care of himself.”

But I could hear the worry in his voice.

I offered him some aspirin for his headache, but he said it wasn’t that kind of pain. He said the only thing that would help was time.

“Has it ever been this bad before?” I asked quietly. Leo seemed to be feeling better, but I didn’t know how long it would take for him to fully recover.

“A few times,” Leo said. “Not for a long time, though. The last time the pain was this bad . . .” He shook his head.

“What happened then?”

“It was when I found Dante on the bank.”

I sat up, interested. Here was a story I hadn’t heard.

“I had gone to the bank. I was checking for newcomers. I never know when they’re going to show up, of course, but they usually arrive in the same place, so I make it a point to go there as often as I can—just in case.” Leo’s voice took on the cadence of a storyteller.

“One day—about a year or so ago—I found him. Fresh through the door. The air around him still seemed to echo with the chimes of time travel. I couldn’t believe it. When I approached him, his eyes were closed and I could hear him counting.”

I remembered Dante telling me about his journey through time and how he’d counted the steps into the future.

“I introduced myself and explained briefly about the bank and the river, about what he could expect from his new life. And then I brought him home.”

“Where he lived for a year before you let him come to school. Why so long?”

“Like anyone, it takes us time to acclimatize to new surroundings. Plus, I had to teach him the language, the customs. I had to arrange for his paperwork. Obtaining a driver’s license isn’t easy when you don’t exactly have a valid birth certificate.”

I smiled. “It sounds like a lot of work,” I said. “Why do you do it?”

“The gates of heaven have Saint Peter to help usher souls into their new life. I thought the door to hell should have someone too.”

“‘Saint’ Leo?”

He smiled faintly. “Something like that. I tell the newcomers that it’s easier all around if they think of this as a kind of afterlife. Their old life is dead and they are here in . . . well, it’s certainly not heaven. I like to think of it as a second chance—at life, at everything.” He shrugged. “I try to help them adjust. Help them follow the rules. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Eventually, I let them go, hoping they will find some happiness.”

I felt a knot of emotion rise up in my throat. “Thank you, Leo. Thank you for helping Dante.” I brushed away the tears at the edge of my eyes. “I hope someone was able to help you the same way you helped him.”

“You are kind, Abby. But I was the first one. And God willing, Dante will be the last.” He said it so softly I wondered if he’d meant to say it at all.

“Dante told me a little of what it was like for him,” I said carefully, trying to coax Leo into further conversation, not wanting to scare him into silence.

Leo shuddered, just a shifting of his shoulders, a tightening of his jaw, an unreadable expression on his face—a reflex of remembered pain.

“How long has it been for you?”

Glass fell over his eyes as he looked beyond me. “I was born in 1480. They closed the door behind me in 1500. I was only twenty years old then.”

I did the math in my head but something didn’t add up. “So, you’ve been here just a little longer than Dante?”

A ghost of a smile materialized. “Oh, no, I’ve been here much longer than Dante. He’s only been here a year or so.”

“But if you left in 1500 and came forward more than five hundred years—”

The smile hardened into flint. “I only came forward
one month.
”

For the first time since Dante had left, my body stilled. I looked again at Leo, this time with clear eyes. He was old, yes—a mane of white hair, weary lines around his faded blue eyes—but now I could also see the ageless quality he carried about him as well. “You don’t look like you’re still twenty,” I said.

“I’m not. I’ve aged a little over the years.”

I could barely form the words. “So you didn’t
skip
those years like Dante did—”

“I lived them.” Leo nodded. “All five hundred and nine of them.” He rubbed his wrist with his hand, chafing his faded chains that were so similar to Dante’s and yet so different. “I’ve learned much and forgotten more. I’ve traveled the world. Seen things I’d never thought were possible. I’ve watched empires rise and fall. Survived war. Enjoyed peace.” His eyes looked far away. “It’s been so long since I’ve told the true story of my life.”

“We’ve got time,” I said.

Leo smiled sadly. “It seems all I have anymore is time and my memories.”

“Tell
me
the story, then. You already know you can trust me.”

Leo looked at me strangely, his eyes at once soft and scared. “I know,
mia donna di luce.
”

I recognized the endearment and I wanted to ask him why he called me that, but I didn’t want to distract him from the story.

“I first saw the door in December 1500. It had never been opened yet, never been tried. I stood before the door and saw equal parts redemption and damnation.

“Redemption because if I did as they wished—if I tested the machine—they promised they’d protect my family and clear my name. Maybe I could still be the hero my mother thought I was.

“Damnation because I didn’t really believe it would work—I mean, a time machine? It was impossible. But if by some miracle I did survive the passage, if I did return alive, it would only be to face the friends I had named as traitors and betrayers. I had no illusions that I’d survive their revenge.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if all this still isn’t some part of my punishment.

“But I didn’t have much choice. War and anger and fear make people do horrible things. I know. I’ve done my fair share of them.

“But, Abby, when I first met him . . . I thought he was an angel sent from God Himself to save us. He had a way about him, a charisma that was undeniable. And his voice . . . he’d say something and you’d just
know
it was true because how could something as foul as a lie come out of a face that fair?

“I learned too late how many lies he told.

“He said he believed in our war, but that we were on the wrong side. He said if we were true patriots—true sons of Italy—we’d do everything we could to end the war and bring victory to the other side.

“And I believed him. I believed
in
him. And so I—and others—followed him. We swore a pact, a bond of secrecy, a conspiracy of brotherhood.

“We met in dark back rooms, talking, plotting, planning. But it seemed like all we did was talk. Some of us were getting restless, wondering when our leader would channel his passion into action.

“I was perhaps the most vocal—demanding action, frustrated by our useless, childish talk. One evening I let my feelings be known, haranguing him endlessly.

“He cut my words off with a sharp smile and an envelope. Inside the envelope, he said, was secret intelligence he had obtained at great peril to himself. Intelligence that pinpointed the army’s next major offensive, the next attack that would come.

“All he needed, he said, was a volunteer to deliver it to the other side.

“Of course, we all volunteered, but when his eyes never left mine, I knew he’d chosen me. When he handed me the envelope, I thought I’d die of pride.

“There have been many times over the years—many sleepless nights since—when I wished I
had
died that night. Then I might have spared myself and so many others . . .” His eyes flicked to me. “Other times . . . I think my fate is what I deserved.”

I remained still, absorbed in the story.

“It doesn’t matter of course, because I didn’t die. I delivered the message—it was easier than I thought it would be—and returned to my brothers-in-arms, convinced I’d be hailed as a hero. And within our group, I was. We celebrated wildly that night, confident we had done the right thing.

“But when the battle was over and the dead were counted, I realized the people who’d died were people I’d grown up with. Neighbors, cousins, friends. People my parents knew. Boys as young as my brother. Boys who should have been playing at war, instead of dying in one.

“I realized I had done this. I had delivered the message that had doomed a generation of innocents. Their blood was on my hands. It didn’t matter which side was right, or even which side
thought
it was right. The dead didn’t care.

“Afterwards, I went to my brothers-in-arms and told them I was done—finished. He warned me I’d be killed as a deserter if I was caught. I shrugged. He said I’d be labeled a coward. I wavered. He said he’d kill my brother if I betrayed our conspiracy. I stayed.

“My brother was on the cusp of manhood but still very much an innocent. He was a thinker, a planner, a dreamer. He had been spared the soldier’s life and I wanted more than anything to keep him safe, to protect him.

“So I stayed. I couldn’t tell anyone anything without betraying the group and essentially killing my brother. I was trapped.

“When the next note needed to be delivered, there was no discussion, no debate, no volunteers. It was my task to do. My burden to prove my devotion to the cause. My chance to save my brother.

“But this time—for better or worse—I was discovered.

“I’ll admit I felt a certain amount of relief, even as I knew the dire consequences facing me. I was prepared to die—I think I might have welcomed it—but it was not to be. I was offered a deal. A bribe. A way out.

“Reveal the names of my co-conspirators and the judge would be lenient with me. They wouldn’t kill me outright but would instead give me an opportunity to redeem myself by testing a new and strange machine they had built.

“Refuse and not only would they kill me, but they would destroy the honor of my family. My father was a well-respected member of the community and my mother . . . how could I let my mother suffer dishonor for my mistakes? And how hard could the test be? It seemed like such an innocuous request.

“So, to save my family, I agreed. I told them the names. I was given my instructions. One month, they said. They would send me one month into the future. And then, after that month had passed, they would open the door again. If I was still alive, they’d let me go and declare me a hero. I’d be exiled, of course. It wouldn’t do to have a supposedly dead war hero wandering around town. But if, after one month, I wasn’t alive, well, at least they had their names—a list of traitors on whom they could continue to test the machine.”

Leo stood up from the table and stumbled to the bar, pouring himself a glass of water.

My own mouth felt dry after listening to his story. “Then what happened?”

Leo drained his drink and pressed the empty glass against his forehead. “Then the time machine happened. Then five hundred years passed by.” He refilled his water glass. “Then I found Dante on the bank. The one person I thought I’d never see again. Especially not there. Not then.”

“You’d met him before?”

“You could say that.” Leo closed his eyes and turned away from me.

“Dante never mentioned it. When did you meet him?”

“The last time I saw Dante di Alessandro Casella was the day I headed off to war. I told him to listen to our parents and to behave himself at da Vinci’s studio.”

The truth of Leo’s words crashed over me, sending shivers through my body. I wondered if I was the one going crazy instead of Leo.

“Your parents?” My voice sounded faraway to my own ears, drowned out by the echo of Dante’s voice somehow telling me the other side of this same story:
My brother died in the war. He was a hero. I wanted to be just like him once.

Leo turned to face me again. “Dante may have told you his secrets, but he doesn’t know this one. This one is mine to tell.” His voice cracked. “Long ago, in my other life, I was named Orlando di Alessandro Casella.”

Chapter

27

You’re Dante’s . . . brother?” My thoughts stalled on this one fact. The more I thought about it, the larger it grew in my mind until it was all I could think about, all I could say. “Why haven’t you told him?”

“What good would it do? He believes the story that I died a hero in the war. Why would I want to take that away from him?” Leo looked down at his hands. “Why would I want him to know what I’ve done or to see what I’ve become?”