Exhaling, slowly, she moved out from behind the bed—

The boy from the parking garage stood in the middle of the room, his back to her. From her position on the floor, Dorothy could make out the beaten leather of his jacket and the smooth fabric of his trousers, but nothing else. His hair was dark, much darker than Ash’s, and he seemed to be wearing it in braids.

Getting no more information from the boy, Dorothy allowed her eyes to tick off other people in the room. Eliza was crouching behind a chair, and from beneath the bathroom door Dorothy saw the tips of boots that, if she had to guess, she would say belonged to Donovan. Mac and Regan were nowhere to be seen.

Movement caught her eye. She looked up and saw that the boy had turned, and now he was looking at her.

Only it wasn’t a boy at all—it was Zora.

Dorothy’s eyes fell closed. Of course. Professor Walker was Zora’s father. Zora had helped build the time machine. She would know how to fly it.

When she opened her eyes again, Zora was staring at her.

“Duck,” she said calmly.

Before Dorothy could react, the floor in front of her exploded. She crawled backward, swearing. There was another crack of a bullet—this one whizzing past her face—and then Dorothy saw Mac crawl out from behind the other side of the bed, trying to make it to the door. He was feet away when Zora flew at him, slamming him to the ground. Mac coughed, hard, and tried to push himself up, but Zora was still on his back, one arm braced against his neck and the base of his skull. Mac threw his head back, his skull connecting with her face. Zora grunted, a spray of blood flying from her mouth.

“Start running, you idiot!” she snarled. She still had an arm angled across Mac’s back.

Dorothy leaped to her feet—

Eliza was instantly on her. She curled an arm around Dorothy’s neck and tried to drag her backward, but Dorothy hurled herself to the side, sending Eliza rolling across the bed and crashing into the opposite wall. She was seeing stars, and her arms and legs felt like jelly, but she made herself push up to hands and knees, blinking. She needed weapons. She needed—

Oh God. The EM.

Dorothy crawled for the bathroom, ignoring the gunshots crisscrossing over her head. She threw the door open, and Donovan let out a surprised yelp!

“How are you doing?” she said, nodding at him. Before he could react, she’d thrown the door beneath the sink open and snatched the EM and Roman’s dagger. To Donovan, she added, “Have a pleasant evening.”

Zora was suddenly behind her, gripping her arm and dragging her to her feet. “Let’s go,” she said, “or do you expect me to hold off your enemies forever?”