“The Black Crow,” Dorothy exhaled, relieved to have the time machine in her possession once more. Roman had built it using Professor Walker’s own schematics, and it was perfect, made in the exact image of another time machine, the Dark Star.

Dorothy wasn’t sure how close a model it was. She’d seen the real Dark Star once, a year ago, but this was the only time machine she’d ever flown, and the one that she’d spent the most time in. It felt like a small piece of home to her.

She climbed out of the boat and came to stand next to Zora on the dock, already itching to climb into the cockpit, to feel the cold leather of the pilot’s seat envelop her, to experience that strangely thrilling drop in her stomach when the time machine lifted from the black water and became airborne. Her fingers twitched.

“I can try to get my father’s pages back from that maniac,” Zora said. “And you . . . well, Willis told me you had a plan.”

She turned to her with a raised eyebrow, as though to say please have a plan. Dorothy hated to disappoint her.

“I have . . . the beginning of a plan,” she admitted.

“That’s not terribly comforting,” Zora muttered, turning back to the boat. After a moment, her hand shot out, fingers curling around Dorothy’s arm. She pinned her in place with her dark eyes, silent for a few seconds before saying, “Find him. Bring him home.” She swallowed, and Dorothy saw a flash of pain on her face, gone a moment later. Her voice was choked as she added, “Promise me.”

It wasn’t a promise Dorothy could make. She had no idea what was going to happen when she climbed inside that time machine, no idea what had happened to lead her to the moment when she’d lured Ash out to the anil and thrust Roman’s dagger into his chest.

And yet, she found herself saying, “I promise.”

The anil appeared in the distance. In the darkness it was like a thick gathering of swirling clouds, or the beginnings of a tornado. Lightning flashed deep inside the tunnel, its faint reflection bouncing off the water.

Dorothy brought the Black Crow to the mouth of the tunnel and set the ship to hover. She’d never been spooked by the anil before. She felt more at home in the crack in space than she ever had wandering the country with her mother, pulling cons. She knew exactly who she was inside that tunnel.

She was Dorothy Densmore, con artist.

But she was also Quinn Fox, assassin, cannibal, time traveler.

She was a monster. But she could be a hero, too.

She ran a hand back through her white hair and found that it was damp with sweat. She glanced at the EM gauge. Full capacity.