Dark Stars by Danielle Rollins (most read books of all time .txt) 📗

But now . . .

She’d joined the Black Cirkus because she’d honestly believed in their message. The past is our right! It had been the question that had plagued her ever since she traveled a hundred years into the future and found the world very, very different from what she expected.

What sort of problem couldn’t be solved with time travel?

It turns out, only one.

When Dorothy finally fell asleep, she dreamed up a world of perfect dark. There were no stars to illuminate the ghostly white tree trunks, no distant oil lamps flickering through the black like fireflies, no far-off buzz of electricity, no moon.

And then a light cut through the darkness like a knife, revealing that the sky was dark as oil and the city was gone. In its place, a single jagged structure rose from the waters, covered in layers of craggy black rock and ash.

It was the Fairmont, only it no longer had a roof, and a gaping hole had opened up in the middle of its walls. It had been beautiful, once. Now, it was only a ruin of burnt bricks, broken glass—

Dorothy awoke, gasping, memories of the terrible future still flickering through her head.

That was what awaited her if she didn’t stop Mac. That blackened, burned-up city. It was getting harder and harder to tell herself that there was an alternative to Roman’s plan. Mac wouldn’t stop, and now that he had the entire city on his side, it was seeming less and less likely that he would fail. She was going to have to destroy the remaining EM.

All of it.

Cursing under her breath, she crawled out of bed. She wouldn’t sleep again after that.

She needed a drink.

The city was black as pitch. The dock rocked beneath Dorothy’s feet, following the gentle rise and fall of the waves.

She wouldn’t go to the Dead Rabbit, she decided. There was too much of a chance of being recognized by some Cirkus Freak out for a late drink. Instead, she hurried deeper into the heart of the city, toward Dante’s. She was only a few doors down when she heard voices.

“You’re wrong, anyway . . . went through an anil . . . a time machine . . . survived . . .”

Ash, Dorothy thought, grinning. It was only now, hearing his voice, that she realized she’d hoped she would find him here, that it was the reason she’d chosen Dante’s out of the dozens of bars in the city.

She took a step closer—

“True,” said a second voice. Zora.

Dorothy stopped hard, her grin faltering. She wished she knew whether Zora would be happy to see her, but, if Ash was already aware of her role in his death, she had little doubt that Zora would be, too.

Don’t think of her, she told herself. Think of Ash.

The fog was thick, but Dorothy’s eyesight was beginning to adjust. She could make out the shape of Ash kneeling on the edge of the dock, his body barely more than an outline in the darkness. Zora appeared to be hovering over him, helping him up, but Dorothy could see little else. She took a step forward, intending to call out to them—

“But she was holding the container of exotic matter,” Zora was saying. “And her hair turned white. All of us got white streaks in our hair after we fell through the anil without a vessel. But your hair isn’t white.”

White hair.

They were talking about her, Dorothy realized. She closed her mouth, no longer sure whether she wanted to make her presence known. Not before she heard what they had to say.

“It’s not?” Ash was frowning, trying to pull his hair far enough away from his scalp to see it.

Zora said, “Nope, dirt blond, as usual.”

“Hey!”

Zora barely seemed to hear him. “Okay, say you did travel back in time,” she was saying. “Somehow. How did you end up in the exact time that Dorothy and Roman went back to?”

Dorothy thought back, attempting to work through the timeline in her head. She and Roman had just gone back to get medical supplies. Ash had followed them, surprising them all by showing up in the past, the first time he’d traveled without an anil. It seemed that he’d only just returned.

Ash, sighing, said, “I don’t know.”

Something moved through the trees, drawing Dorothy’s attention. She narrowed her eyes, but now the shape was still. Listening, she thought she could hear a motor, low and rumbling. The fog was heavy enough that she couldn’t see the boat, though.

She glanced back at Zora and Ash. They were still talking, and they didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss. It would be dangerous for someone to overhear this conversation. She opened her mouth to warn them—

Ash lifted his hand. “We shouldn’t be talking about this out here.”

Dorothy’s heartbeat sped up. She looked back at the trees and could see, instantly, that he was too late. The shape was moving again, a boat separating from the shadows, drawing up alongside the dock.

And now, finally, Ash and Zora seemed to notice that they weren’t alone. Ash reached for his gun, but, at that same moment, a shape leaped out of the boat and grabbed him, wrenching his arm behind his back. His gun slipped from his fingers, clattering as it hit the dock. Useless.

Dorothy felt every muscle in her body draw tight. This was how Mac must’ve captured Ash and gotten him back to the hotel, she realized, this ambush.

She reached into her cloak, fingers brushing against Roman’s dagger. Every muscle in her body wanted to race forward and help them, but she knew how this ended. Ash would be captured. Zora would be fine. If she showed herself now, she could be hurt or captured herself. And that would help no one.

“Easy now,” came Eliza’s cool voice. She knelt to pick Ash’s gun up off the dock and pointed it at his temple.

Dorothy’s hand was clenched so tightly around her dagger that her fingers ached.

“We haven’t been introduced,” Eliza said. “My name is Eliza. And that there is