It was purple lightning. It was pale, red liquid. It was hard and metallic.

Dorothy chewed on her lip. That EM had come from inside Ash’s body when she’d stabbed him. It had brought her here, to 1913. She’d read the Professor’s instructions for how to put it inside her own body to form a circuit.

Her skin pricked. Could she do it?

Had she done it already?

Her skin buzzing, Dorothy crossed the room and picked up Roman’s dagger. It felt heavy in her hand, and warm, and she couldn’t help shuddering, remembering the last time she’d held this weapon, how she’d plunged it into Ash’s gut.

Dazed, as though she were walking through a dream, Dorothy moved across the room, and into the attached bathroom, where she flipped a switch. The lights buzzed to life, filling the room with a dull, artificial glow.

She lifted her head, considering herself in the mirror. Was she really going to do this? According to the Professor’s own journals, the ramifications for inserting the EM incorrectly were quite serious. Internal bleeding. Skin flayed from your body. Death.

She swallowed hard. But . . . but she knew that wouldn’t happen to her, right? Ash had seen her at Fort Hunter. She must’ve been successful.

Make a choice, she thought. Should be easy. Die jumping or die staying.

The memory caused the corner of her lip to twitch. This had been the thought that had gone through her head moments before she’d leaped out of an eighth-story window. She’d never been one to shy away from something because it was frightening. Why start now?

She lifted the edge of her black T-shirt, considering her pale white skin. She brought the blade to the space just below her ribs, cringing as the cool metal kissed her belly.

All she had to do was add a little pressure. A single prick . . .

She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. She added the slightest bit of pressure, making a shallow cut in her skin.

Pain rushed through her. Every nerve in her body flared, begging her to stop. It went against every instinct inside her to keep cutting, to move the dagger into the pain. The room tilted, and she felt like she might pass out. She had to stop . . . she had to . . .

She placed Roman’s knife on the bathroom counter, breathing hard. Blood dripped down her waist and pooled on the floor, scattering across the white porcelain.

Dorothy blinked down at it, trying to regain her strength. Dimly, she remembered hiding something here. What had it been? Chocolate? Her mother had never let her eat sweets, terrified she might ruin her figure. Perhaps a little sugar would help now.

Dorothy dropped to her knees and fumbled beneath the sink. She didn’t find chocolate, but something better: a small glass bottle. A smile broke out across her face. Gin.