Twisted Fates
Contents ( 127)
- Contents
- Part One
- 1
- Dorothy
- 2
- Ash
- 3
- Dorothy
- 4
- Ash
- 5
- Dorothy
- 6
- Ash
- 7
- Dorothy
- 8
- Ash
- 9
- Dorothy
- 10
- Ash
- 11
- Dorothy
- 12
- Ash
- 13
- Dorothy
- Part Two
- 14
- Ash
- 15
- Dorothy
- 16
- Ash
- 17
- Dorothy
- 18
- Ash
- 19
- Dorothy
- 20
- Ash
- 21
- Dorothy
- 22
- Ash
- 23
- Dorothy
- 24
- Ash
- 25
- Dorothy
- 26
- Ash
- 27
- Dorothy
- 28
- Ash
- 29
- Dorothy
- 30
- Ash
- 31
- Dorothy
- 32
- Ash
- 33
- Dorothy
- 34
- Ash
- 35
- Dorothy
- 36
- Ash
- 37
- Dorothy
- 38
- Ash
- Part Three
- 39
- Dorothy
- 40
- Ash
- 41
- Dorothy
- 42
- Ash
- 43
- Dorothy
- 44
- Ash
- 45
- Dorothy
- 46
- Ash
- 47
- Dorothy
- 48
- Ash
- 49
- Dorothy
- 50
- Ash
- 51
- Dorothy
- 52
- Ash
- 53
- Dorothy
- 54
- Ash
- 55
- Dorothy
- 56
- Ash
- 57
- Dorothy
- Part Four
- 58
- Dorothy
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Danielle Rollins
- Back Ad
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Part One
1. Dorothy
2. Ash
3. Dorothy
4. Ash
5. Dorothy
6. Ash
7. Dorothy
8. Ash
9. Dorothy
10. Ash
11. Dorothy
12. Ash
13. Dorothy
Part Two
14. Ash
15. Dorothy
16. Ash
17. Dorothy
18. Ash
19. Dorothy
20. Ash
21. Dorothy
22. Ash
23. Dorothy
24. Ash
25. Dorothy
26. Ash
27. Dorothy
28. Ash
29. Dorothy
30. Ash
31. Dorothy
32. Ash
33. Dorothy
34. Ash
35. Dorothy
36. Ash
37. Dorothy
38. Ash
Part Three
39. Dorothy
40. Ash
41. Dorothy
42. Ash
43. Dorothy
44. Ash
45. Dorothy
46. Ash
47. Dorothy
48. Ash
49. Dorothy
50. Ash
51. Dorothy
52. Ash
53. Dorothy
54. Ash
55. Dorothy
56. Ash
57. Dorothy
Part Four
58. Dorothy
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Danielle Rollins
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
Part One
Once confined to fantasy and science fiction, time travel is now simply an engineering problem.
—Michio Kaku
1
Dorothy
MARCH 18, 1990, BOSTON
Dorothy sat in the passenger seat of a red Dodge Daytona, fingers tapping her crossed legs. Roman had driven, and now he was leaning against the driver’s side door, staring out at the dark city streets beyond the windshield.
The inside of the car wasn’t particularly pleasant. The air felt stale and smelled of old french fries and gasoline. They hadn’t bothered turning on the heat, and a chill crept in through the windows, making the hair on Dorothy’s arms stand up.
Oh, and the radio didn’t work. If they wanted music, they had to play the tape currently stuck in the deck, a single of Paula Abdul’s “Cold Hearted.” They’d already listened to it at least fifty times over the last few days.
“He’s a coldhearted snake,” Dorothy thought, playing the song in her head. And she must’ve started humming because Roman shot her an irritated look.
She glanced at the clock on the dashboard as the red numbers flicked from 1:18 to 1:19 a.m.
She looked up at the rearview mirror, studying the street reflected behind her. There’d been a Saint Patrick’s Day party in an apartment building a few yards back, but most of the guests had trickled out by now. The door had stayed closed for the last twenty minutes. Now the street was empty, a slick of rain glistening on the pavement.
Her heart started beating faster. She inhaled long and slow, nose twitching at the smell of french fries.
“It’s time,” she said, reaching for the door.
Roman cut his eyes at her. “Fix your mustache first.”
Dorothy twisted the mirror so she could see her face. The wax mustache perched above her upper lip was part of her disguise, but the damn thing wouldn’t stay put.
She pressed it down, grimacing as the glue took hold. The skin above her lip itched. “Better?”
“You’re too pretty to pass for a man,” Roman said, studying her.