Another Place—or Time
Chapter Twenty
ANOTHER PLACE—OR TIME
Leo
L eo stood in the center of the High House courtyard just as he had moments before the lightning struck.
Well, not quite exactly as he had. There were some minor differences.
For one, it was no longer storming. The sky was perfectly clear, the air was dry and slightly chilly, and the wind that had nearly knocked him over moments earlier had calmed to a gentle autumn breeze.
For another, it was no longer night. The sun was almost directly overhead, in fact.
Leo pinched his left forearm. He didn’t know if it would provide a definitive answer as to whether he was sleeping or not, but it was what people always seemed to do in books in these situations.
“Ow!” he said. Nope, likely not sleeping.
Perhaps dead, then? It seemed possible. The last thing he remembered was being struck by lightning, after all.
Although he wasn’t struck directly. It was the watch that had been struck. It was there on the ground in front of him, its glass casing cracked and blackened, with branches of burnt grass stretching out beneath it in all directions.
All of the objects were there, in fact, exactly where he’d left them, and the magimeter and his journal as well. At least there was that. Whatever was going on, he’d be able to write it down.
Leo reached in his breast pocket for his fountain pen, but it wasn’t there.
Perhaps he truly was dead then, and this was hell. What could be worse than experiencing some kind of magical event with no way to properly record his observations?
Leo gathered the objects together and returned them to his satchel for safekeeping. The first order of business was finding a pen. If he could write down what was happening, perhaps he could make some sense of it.
Leo crossed the courtyard towards the library entrance. He glanced back at the Norminster Yew—that was strange. The iron fence Groundskeeper Tomasar had erected around the base was missing. Not knocked over in the storm, missing entirely.
An observation worth noting, definitely, once he had his pen.
The library was empty, which wasn’t entirely unexpected. The entirety of the student body had been within the dining hall and was likely still there, although it was strange that no one was out cleaning up after the storm.
Not that there was anything to clean up. The only evidence the storm had come at all had been the lightning burns on the grass.
In fact, the ground hadn’t even been wet, had it? The objects were, but the journal was dry.
Oh, all the observations and nothing to write them with! Torment. Genuine torment.
Leo braced himself for the library’s customary greeting—a smack to the head from one of its many tomes—but it didn’t come.
“In a good mood today, are you?” he asked.
The library did not reply.
All the better. Perhaps he could use this space unbruised, for once.
He spotted a pen lying on an empty table. It was one of the college’s standard issue models, nothing that would be missed.
Finally.
He took a seat at one of the tables meant for studying, placing the bag on its surface where the objects within it rattled and clanged.
He flipped open his notebook and—
The lights went out.
“That’s more like it,” said Leo to the library. “Nice to see you too.”
It was no matter. Although it was too dark within this particular part of the library to write, he could just move to one of the tables near the windows. It was a bright and sunny day, after all.
But when he gathered his things again and stood, his stomach growled. He’d skipped dinner that night during his preparations. He had a notion of going to the dining hall instead. Now that the library had noticed him once more, he’d be better off elsewhere.
And there was something a bit too quiet about this place that was unnerving, if he was being honest.
Of course, the greatest risk was running into Professor Idris. If Idris had already checked his supply closet, he’d be furious with Leo. But that would be true regardless of when Leo ran into him, so he might as well get it over with.
As Leo left the library, something caught his eye in the hallway. It was the statue of the phoenix near the entrance. It was wrong, somehow, but it took Leo a minute to realize what it was.
It had two wings.
Leo had first come to the college six years ago as a fresher. That same year, the statue had been broken, leaving one of its wings shattered on the floor. Dean Whittaker had been distraught, but no one came forward to take credit for the damage. It was all anyone talked about for the better part of a week.
Was it possible? Could he have gone back in time?
And if he had, where was everyone else?
He needed to take some measurements and record his observations quickly, but as his stomach growled even more, he knew he’d be better off if he ate while doing so.
He hurried down the corridor to the dining hall. The ‘lectrics flashed as he went by—another odd occurrence.
As Leo had somewhat suspected, the dining hall was not boarded up for the storm or filled with students. The doors were open as if it were an ordinary lunchtime, but there was no one in sight.
The tables were full of food on plates: some half-eaten, others untouched, and some just crumbs. It was as if everyone had vanished at exactly the same moment, leaving things exactly as they were.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Leo found an untouched plate with one of the college’s more palatable meals: creamy pasta with mushrooms in a wine-based sauce that suited his sophisticated Gallic tastes, still warm. It could have used more salt, but then, most things could. It was perfect fuel for research.
Leo opened the journal and flipped to his last entry, but as he turned the pages, he noticed something odd.
There were pages missing. Several of them. Crudely torn out, too.
Leo would never have torn pages in that manner. If he’d had to remove pages, he would have employed a ruler and a knife.
But the journal hadn’t left his sight. How could that possibly be?
A question for later. First, he must write.
Friday? Day 5? of Autumn Term
Entry 2
What has transpired since my last entry only hours ago is so bizarre that I cannot begin to describe it. Except, of course, that I must, as it is my duty as a researcher. I will record all occurrences, no matter how incongruous, as authentically as I can in the hopes that I may find some manner of explanation hidden between the lines, for none is likely to be apparent to me within them.
As I held the magimeter to the watch, I felt a strange thrum of ‘lectricity as if there was great potential between them, and I was serving as a conduit to bridge their divide. Unnerved by it, I placed the watch on the ground and hurried to record the reading in these pages before the rain soaked through them. Then, as had happened quite recently in the laboratory, a great bolt of ‘lectricity came, but this time, I was not directly struck. It happened too quickly for me to confirm, but based on the incredible sound and shockwave which sent me flying backwards, I believe it to have been a lightning bolt from the storm.
When I reopened my eyes, which to me felt as though it occurred the very next moment, I observed that it was daylight, with no signs of the storm at all. The objects were with me, as were the magimeter and the journal (obviously), but I was left without my ink pen.
I entered the library in search of a writing implement, but I did not receive my usual greeting. However, after I located what I sought and prepared to write, the lights went out. While this is a common occurrence, the strange disturbances in ‘lectrical flow have been observed again in the corridor and even now in the dining hall—
The ‘lectrics had flashed twice more since he began writing. After he was done, he ought to go check the panel.
—but this is not the strangest thing that has happened.
No, the strangest thing would have to be the statue of the phoenix, which seems to have grown its wing back. Or the missing fence around the Norminster Yew. Or perhaps it is the peculiar absence of any other people, despite the seeming appearance of there having been people in this very dining room only moments before, judging by the state of the meals.
Or perhaps it is the state in which I’ve found this journal, with pages torn—
Leo’s eyes caught some sort of motion further down the page. It looked like the spreading of an inkblot, although it made little sense as the pen he held was not leaking.
No, not a blot. Letters.
Letters written in a different hand were appearing on the page.
Leo was so startled he nearly threw the journal across the room. His pulse raced as he read each word as it was written.
Leo? Is that you? Are you alright?
Someone else was writing in his journal at the same exact time.
Impossible. Improbable.
Magic.
Leo fought the urge to record it; it was there on the page already, so it was hardly necessary.
It’s Ceri. Are you there?
Leo’s heart stopped. Well, it didn’t stop, but it certainly skipped a beat or two.
Oh Gods, not her. Had Ceri read—no, no, no, no. Oh Gods, she did. She must have.
The sickening realization hit him all at once. Ceri had found his journal, which somehow still existed in the world he came from and in which he very clearly no longer was, and she had read it.
She had been the one to tear out the pages.
He flipped through frantically, piecing together from the pages that remained which entries were missing.
All of the ones that had mentioned her.
No, not all of them. But the ones where he’d…confessed. Where he’d written too much, where he’d had to redact some of his thoughts for the sake of posterity.
Those were the entries that were missing.
This seems silly, and perhaps I have it all wrong, but it seemed like you were writing just a moment ago. I guess I’ll keep trying; maybe there’s some kind of delay? I found your journal in the courtyard. I saw the flash of lightning and thought it struck you, but you were nowhere to be found. The only thing that was there was the journal.
Leo could not breathe as she wrote. What could he possibly say to her?
I lied to the others and said I found nothing. I wanted to—
The writing paused. The only sound in the room was the relentless beating of Leo’s pulse in his ear.
—look it over first. I thought there might be things you wouldn’t want everyone to know. Private things. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve removed a few pages that felt—
Another pause. Another terrifying pause. What was she thinking? What had she thought of what she read? Did she expect it? Was she angry? Shocked? Disgusted? She’d removed the pages — that was kind of her. Or maybe it was due to her own humiliation. Maybe he had been entirely too obvious. Maybe she thought she’d spare him, and herself, the embarrassment.
—personal.
Yet another long pause. Waiting was absolutely torture. When he’d nearly given up and brought his pen to paper again, to write something , Gods know what, she finally continued:
Were those things true? What you wrote about me? Assuming it was about me. Assuming I’m LBB. Did you mean it?
Leo wanted to crawl under the table and never come out. He wanted to walk back outside and juggle his objects until lightning struck him dead. His ears felt as though they were going to burst into flames. What could he say?
What could he possibly say?
Yes, hello, Ceri. I’m alright.
Great start. Really great.
Positively inspired.