Everybody goggled as the portal’s colours folded in on themselves. Lydia glanced around—noting the dropped jaws and panic in the eyes of her companions—and felt her intestines twist.
Jack was gone.
The wind dying down, they all found their feet, herself clinging to the back of a sofa. She waited a couple of seconds before letting go, insides roiling.
It couldn’t be. How was she supposed to do it without him? He may have been an idiot, but he was also a magnet for the absurd and catastrophic, which made him perfect for her aims—in helping resolve those situations, she could become her mask and earn the city’s acclaim.
Only, she couldn’t do any of that on her own. She needed him.
Purely for those reasons, she told herself, and nothing to do with emotional attachments. Without his usefulness, she wouldn’t be caught dead with that loser.
The thought didn’t make it hurt any less.
Rooney backed away, having clung to the HARDON itself, and put his hands on his head.
“Well,” he said, “that’s interesting.”
Next to her, something odd occurred. Hannah—who had hung on next to her—suddenly snarled, her face filling with a deep crimson.
“Interesting?” she spat. “Jack gets sucked into some crazy inter-dimensional portal, and you think it’s interesting? Bring him back!”
Lydia watched as the Sidhe shook his head, licking his lips.
“It doesn’t work like that, unfortunately,” he said. “If it did, I’d summon the me from yesterday and tell him not to answer the phone.”
“Wouldn’t that cause a paradox?” piped the Doppelganger woman—Amanda—in a small voice.
“Probably.”
“Please don’t say that,” said Dr. Wen, approaching from his place by Jack’s desk. “We’ve made so much progress already! Soon enough, I’ll finally be able to adventure across—”
“Your adventure doesn’t matter!” screamed Hannah. “Get me my friend back, and do it now!”
Rubbing his pate, Dr. Wen sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid to say that such groundbreaking technology will always require sacrifices. My own assistant, Violet, perished in—”
“No-one gives a fuck about your assistant! Make another of those stupid time portals and bring. Him. Back!”
“I can’t.” Dr. Wen cleared his throat, eyes downcast. “Violet was the one who designed the runic circuits. I’m afraid we’ll need to rely on our friends in the MSG.”
“I’m no’ your friend,” said Elizabeth, glaring at him.
“It’s not happening,” said Rooney.
“Why?!” said Hannah. “He’s your friend too, right?”
Lydia blanched; she’d never seen Hannah actually get angry. With the seething breaths, flying spittle, and crimson overtaking monochrome, she looked like something from a horror story. Though Lydia could face most things without fear, the sight of her like this gave her pause.
“That’s why I came,” said Rooney, sucking his teeth. “I was so excited—time travel, a hitherto unknown technology, right under my nose! But we’re toying with things we don’t understand. This is far beyond our ken, and continuing will only serve to damage—AUGH!”
Hannah leaped at him, grabbing his long hair and dragging him across the floor. She hauled him up.
Then slammed his head into the wood of the HARDON.
Crack.
Lydia couldn’t tell if that was the noise of the wood or the Faerie’s skull, but she nodded in approval.
“Wait—”
Crack.
“Who gives a fuck if we destroy the world?” She slammed his head again. The impact shattered one of the glass panels, this tinkling as it fell.
“It’s not the same world without him!”
Crack.
She pulled his head back—Rooney’s eyes had glazed over, blood plastering his hair to his head—and yelled.
Elizabeth looped her arms beneath Hannah’s shoulders, dragging the girl away. “He’s had enough.”
Lydia glared at Rooney as he whimpered and clutched his wounded skull. She should probably say something. “You will help us fix the machine, and you will help us bring Jack back, consequences be damned.”
Looking up, Rooney met her gaze with equal vitriol. “I don’t recall ever taking orders from you, magus.”
“Rooney.” Lizzie growled, still holding the struggling Hannah. “Do as ye’re told.”
He struggled to his feet, giving a solemn nod before looking away.
Lydia eyed Dr. Wen, who almost jumped out of his skin. Maybe her eyes had taken some kind of edge she hadn’t noticed. It might make a good default setting.
“Do you know where the thing took him?”
The scientist clapped his hands together with a broad grin. “Well, you see…”
Everybody stared at him in anticipation, a silent drum roll sounding off between them.
He glanced between them, almost amused.
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
***
Jack yelled as he thumped into the ground.
He rolled across grass, his skin flaring as it scraped along the dirt. When he finally stopped, he sat up, disoriented—it was dark.
Not a darkness of night in the city, nor a darkness of the countryside, but pitch black. Like being in a room with no windows. Or the heart of those who call Jaffa Cakes biscuits.
Whirling around, he tried to find some source of light, but all he succeeded in noticing was the chill invading his bones. It smelled of grass and dung. His teeth chattered. He wrapped his arms around himself, eyes wide as he searched for the horizon.
Attire aside—jeans and a t-shirt—he just wasn’t suited for the cold. After getting off the streets, he’d developed a strong aversion to it—though that may have just been Lizzie’s “training”, which involved an empty meat locker and a rather frantic pack of wolves.
In any case, he needed to find civilisation. Once there, he’d hopefully be able to find his way home. Or at least stay warm.
But mostly, he wanted that pizza. If he could go back and beg Lydia’s benevolence, he’d do it without second thought. Instead, he begged the universe to stop screwing with him.
Something bumped his shoulder.
He yelped, recoiling as he tried to make out the dark silhouette of the creature that attacked him. It was a lump of black, huge and menacing and shifting as if in challenge.
Taking a step back, Jack reached for his waist.
“Moo?”
Oh. It was a cow.
Groaning, he palmed his face. “Come on. What’s next, the system starts giving me BS points?”
“You shouldn’t mention that,” said Razor. “You’ll jinx us into being abandoned for three years.”
He sighed heavily. Glancing down at his waist, he found Razor innocuously strapped there as if she’d never left.
You know there’s more chapters on other sites, right? And how the hell did you even come with me?
“Our souls are bonded. I strapped myself to you just before you fell.”
Of course you did.
“I don’t like your tone. Would you rather be stuck in the distant past, alone and unarmed? I know you’d rather have Lydia here—especially given you’d be alone where nobody can tell—but I should think you’d still be grateful.”
A growl bubbled in his throat. I would not rather have Lydia here.
“Then there’s no problem, is there?”
“Moo?”
“Shut up!” Jack glowered at the cow for a second, despite being unable to see it, and chewed on his sword’s words. Much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was obvious.
He was stuck in the past.
His stomach felt empty, like a ravine had opened up in its bottom, swallowing its contents. Was it better this way? They’d be free of him dragging them down, and they’d never have to see his stupid face again.
Wait.
Was that a light in the distance?
***
“Nothing,” said Dr. Wen, slamming Jack’s laptop shut with a huff. Lydia and Hannah stood over his shoulders, Hannah’s colouring having returned to normal as she calmed down—relatively, at least.
Her breaths still seethed, and she looked on the verge of tears. Lydia squeezed her shoulder. She understood the feeling; she almost wanted to cry herself. But she was a Blackwell, and the strongest Magus in Blackpool, so she refused to show weakness.
“History doesn’t seem to have changed at all,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Perhaps it’s something subtle.”
A mumbling noise came from the HARDON, where the MSG took rubbings of the circuits with paper and charcoal Rooney had brought with him. His face was still bloodied.
“Excuse me?” said Lydia.
“She said ‘maybe it’s a time loop’,” said Elizabeth.
Dr. Wen slapped the desk. “Of course! That would make sense… but it’s its own problem.”
“What do you mean?” said Hannah, clenching her fist hard enough to draw blood.
“Time loops are supposed to stay constant,” said Rooney, not turning from his work. “If we were to break it, the consequences could be catastrophic.”
Lydia clicked her tongue. “We have already had this conversation, yes?”
He swallowed, evidently remembering Hannah’s righteous rage. Served him right.
She rounded the desk and approached, looking over his shoulder at the rubbings, paying no mind to how he tensed. The shapes, oddly geometric, meant nothing to her. Runes were another of the things she had deemed unworthy of her time, since she had skilled minions ready to use them. She’d thought them boring, to current detriment. But she could learn. She had a doctorate in Theoretical Magic, and the principles were the same—how hard could it be?
Now she thought about it, she’d let several people get away with calling her Ms. Blackwell. The next would be beheaded. Or perhaps just stomped on.
She hoped it was Jack who made the mistake.
Watching the trio work, she made up her mind.
“Show me how to help,” she said.
***
Jack followed the light for hours, his bones rattling against the chill. He crossed several fields, some full of crops, the others of grazing animals. But with farms should come farmhouses, right?
So why didn’t he find any?
In the pitch darkness, he ran into several fences, even getting tangled up in one made of a strange kind of twine. Razor made quick work of it, but complained that she ‘wasn’t a pair of bolt cutters’. She shut up when he threatened to use her to shear a flock of sheep they happened to pass.
Eventually, the light grew stronger, and he saw a village in the distance. It was just a small grouping of wooden buildings with thatched roofs, lit by lanterns. The agrarian smell became something more similar. Wood and oil burning, plus the unmistakable stench of humanity.
He picked up his pace, grinning. Before him was a wide path beaten into the dirt, so he walked along it until coming to a cottage. This was made of stacked stones, with a clay roof and shuttered windows and smoke rising from the chimney.
In front of the house sat a man in a rocking chair. He nodded at Jack, and Jack nodded back, prompting the man to rise and approach him.
A little older than Jack, maybe, with a weathered face and unruly hair falling to his shoulders. He was clean-shaven, with simple cloth garments that laced in the front. His trouser legs were tattered above hefty boots. Dirt stained his face, and he was well-built, probably through extensive labour. A farmer, he figured.
“Alright?” said Jack, coming to a stop. There was no garden, or fence—just a house in a field. His stomach fluttered. “Speak thee English?”
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” said the man, coming level with Jack. He was at least half a foot shorter.
“Yes, then.”
“You should know, I can translate your interactions. Would you still rather not have me?”
He sputtered, drawing an askew glance from the farmer. Why didn’t you tell me that?
“You never asked.”
Resisting the urge to scream, he turned his attention back to the man before him.
“So,” said the man, “those are some very strange garments you’re wearing. Be you man, or beast?”
“Man?” said Jack.
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“Man.”
“Prove it.”
His eyes widened. The man had hands on his hips, eying Jack with a discerning gaze. He was deadly serious.
Jack sighed. “Fine…” Reaching down, he made to undo his jeans’ zip.
“Not like that, you fool!” The farmer wrinkled his nose, covering his eyes. “Prove to me you ain’t a devil!”
“How am I supposed to do that?” said Jack, shrugging.
“It’s a simple test, really.” The man gestured at the road ahead, where Jack noticed several pinpricks of light leading toward the village.
“Okay, so what is it?”
“See those candles?”
“Yeah.”
“Jump over them.”
He blinked. “You’re taking the piss, right?”
