Cautiously, like he thought it might contain something poisonous, the bartender opened the envelope, one eyebrow raising, appreciatively, as he counted the bills inside. Nothing made friends like good, hard cash. He slipped the envelope into his pocket and turned around to pour Ash a beer.

“Keep ’em coming,” Ash said.

LOG ENTRY—AUGUST 27, 1899

16:24 HOURS

JUST OUTSIDE COLORADO SPRINGS

I have to write quickly, so this will be a rather short entry. Nikola Tesla has just run back to the house in the hopes of finding a bottle of bourbon, and I don’t want to be scribbling away in a notebook upon his return.

He’s a bit paranoid, Nikola . . . I don’t want to give him reason to be suspicious.

I’m currently sitting on a wooden stool inside of his experimental station outside Colorado Springs. The main workspace is little more than a monstrous barn, dominated by the largest Tesla coil I’ve ever seen. There’s other equipment, too. Generators and light bulbs, among other things, but very little in terms of what you’d call “creature comforts.” I asked Nikola when he broke for meals or, indeed, what he actually ate, and he looked at me like I actually was a martian.

That’s the other thing. He doesn’t believe me about time travel. In fact, he seems far more comfortable with the idea that I’m some sort of extraterrestrial.

This, I believe, is my fault. I landed a bit too close to the workshop and, as such, Nikola saw my ship. Successful air travel isn’t achieved until 1903, remember, so it’s four years too early for me to go whizzing about in a flying machine. There’s that and, of course, the fact that my ship is a bit advanced-looking for the turn of the nineteenth century. In any case, the jump to “alien” isn’t totally out of nowhere.

Damn it, I think that’s him outside now. I should really put this away before I’m caught—

7

Dorothy

The spotlights switched off, leaving Dorothy blinking into spotty darkness. For a moment she heard only the plastic click of buttons, the dying whir of motors.

And then Roman, snickering. “Revel? Really? I’m afraid you’re beginning to show your age.”

Dorothy rubbed her eyes. “People don’t say revel anymore?”

“Not for the last hundred years or so, no.” Roman came out from behind the camera equipment, carrying the duffel bag containing their stolen artwork.

He placed it on the cart that already held the king’s lost jewels and removed the Vermeer, tilting his head to study it.

He sounded awed as he said, “Just think, we’re the first people in over two hundred years to see this painting in person.”

Dorothy allowed her eyes to flick to the painting. It really was amazing. Not just the art, but all the beautiful things they were allowed to see, all the incredible places they were able to visit. Sometimes, they went back to a specific time or place out of necessity, and other times it was merely because one of them had wanted to see it.