She pulled her hood low over her face and did her best to blend in with the crowd as she made her way to the center of the room. Luckily, no one seemed to be paying any attention to her.

The Freaks had surrounded the Black Crow, the last time machine in existence. Dorothy watched as one of them separated from the crowd and then turned to face the others, arms lifted overhead in triumph. The crowd cheered.

Dorothy pushed her hood back, just a little. It was Eliza.

Eliza was beautiful, if predators could be beautiful, with eyes like ice, heavy brows, and skin so pale it was nearly white. Dorothy covered her own face with one hand as Eliza strolled past her, climbing up the time machine’s short, retractable staircase and into the cockpit.

And now, Dorothy felt a grin touch her lips. She couldn’t actually be attempting what Dorothy thought she was attempting. . . .

A hush fell over the crowd as Eliza began fumbling with the dials on the control panel. The time machine made a wheezing sort of noise and lurched forward. A plume of smoke erupted from the tail pipe.

The crowd groaned.

Beneath her hood, Dorothy pressed her lips together, stifling a laugh. This was their plan? To try to fly the time machine themselves? Fools. It had taken her the better part of a year to learn, and that was with Roman at her side, slapping her wrist whenever she reached for the wrong lever and pointing out the finer details of the clouds in the anil so that she’d know when to exit. Mac was an idiot if he thought anyone here would manage to so much as get the time machine off the ground.

Eliza remained in the cockpit for several minutes longer. Dorothy couldn’t see what she was doing, but she heard swearing and, soon after, Eliza stomped back into the parking garage, slamming the time machine door behind her.

“It’s impossible!” she shouted, as boos and hisses erupted from the crowd. “There’s some sort of . . . of secret trick to it! I can’t even get the key to turn!”

Try turning it the other way, Dorothy thought, smirking. It was such a small thing, but it had been something that confused her, too, how the key needed to be turned toward her instead of away. Roman told her it had been a little trick of the Professor’s, designed to slow down anyone who might want to take the time machine without permission. There were dozens of similar fail-safes worked into the machine’s design. Dorothy wasn’t even sure she knew them all.

Things couldn’t be going well, if the Cirkus couldn’t even figure out how to turn on the damn thing.

“How hard can this be?” growled a familiar voice, and a cold chill wormed up Dorothy’s spine. She turned.