Two of you? Dorothy straightened, her interest piqued. She thought of the boy she’d seen climb into the time machine, the one wearing Ash’s jacket, the one who’d been able to fly the Black Crow.

Ash, she thought again. She waited for the other voice, the one telling her that this was impossible, that Mac would’ve recognized Ash, even if he’d somehow managed to get past the other Freaks, Mac would have seen his face and known.

This time, that voice was silent. She’d kept her true identity hidden for a year, after all. Ash could’ve figured out how to do it for a few minutes.

She could feel herself leaning forward, almost as though she could drag the answers from Mac using physical force. She had to work very hard to keep her voice casual, as she said, “Who do you think I’m working with?”

“That kid who stole my time machine.” Mac yanked a chair away from the desk in the corner and pulled it across the room. He sat, resting his elbows on his knees. “The two of you were working together, right?”

Dorothy was quiet for a moment, her tongue lightly tracing the backs of her teeth. It wasn’t so crazy to think that boy was Ash. There were only so many people in the world who knew how to fly the time machine. Roman was dead and she was, well, she was sitting right here. So who did that leave?

Willis knew how to fly it. She’d seen him do it once, back at Fort Hunter. But Willis was quite a bit larger than the boy she’d seen.

She swallowed and said, all innocence, “Someone stole your time machine?”

Mac sniffed. “You’re going to want to watch your tone.”

Dorothy knew he meant it as a threat (that bag still hovered at the edge of her eyesight) and yet a smile parted her lips. “I’m afraid I can’t think of a thing to help you,” she said. “My apologies.”

A shadow passed over Mac’s face. He swallowed and said, through clenched teeth, “Search her.”

Eliza practically leaped at the chance. She crossed the room in two long strides, and then her hands were running over Dorothy’s cloak, digging into her pockets.

You won’t find anything, Dorothy thought, smug, mere seconds before Eliza withdrew her hand, something white pressed between her fingertips.

“What’s this, little Fox?” Eliza asked. She opened her hand, revealing a folded stack of loose pages.

Dorothy felt her stomach plummet. The Professor’s journal pages. She’d foolishly left them tucked up her sleeve instead of storing them with everything else she hadn’t wanted Mac and the others to discover. And now Eliza had them and there was nothing she could do to keep her from reading them, from learning what had arguably been the Professor’s greatest discovery.