CHAPTER TWO
Sixteenth century Hertz was delighted to see me. I was delighted, too. I hadn’t been here more than an hour, my Lostie was (relatively) safe and sound, and I wouldn’t be saddle sore in the morning. I nagged the smith into giving me back all but one of the coins I’d paid him
(“But you bought her!”
“No, I rented her. Like I told you. Now you can sell her again.”
“But—“
“Trust me.”)
took my Lostie by the hand, gave Hi-yo Silver a good-bye pat, and set off for the entry window.
My Lostie (real name: Jenny Watkins) told me a now-familiar tale: minding her own business. Realized she didn’t feel well. Saw something bright. Next thing she knew, her phone couldn’t get wi-fi and AroundMe didn’t work. Everyone looked weird. Everyone talked weird. Etcetera.
“I know it sounds crazy—“
“Not to me.” I got a watery smile for that one. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you back in no time.” Probably.
This was often the most stressful part of each ordeal. We were seconds from making our escape, but it could take a few minutes to spot the window. Or an hour. And of course the more time it took, the higher our risk of discovery. It was like playing Beat the Clock, except if you lost, you risked being messily murdered. If we had to linger much longer, I was going to get her to stand beneath the willow with me. The fronds were so thick we’d be difficult to see from the road, and the locals didn’t care for the salix alba in their midst.
Today, like everything with this particular Lostie, it was easy. I spotted the shimmering squiggle after about thirty seconds. Squinting at it made me dizzy and nauseated, because the edge of the transfer window looked exactly like my migraine aura, and the aura always meant hours of pain were on the way. I walked straight toward it, tugging my Los—tugging Sarah with me.
“Time to wake up time to wake up,” she chanted behind me, which was (I’ll be frank) off-putting. “Timetowakeup oh God pleaseletmewake—huh?”
That ‘huh?’ because we were back in the lab. Which in its own way was probably just as startling to poor Sarah, but at least...
“Oh thank God!” She was staring down at her phone with wide eyes. “My feed’s back!”
...she knew she was back in the present.
“Ta-dah! Or something.” I waved at the assembled techs. “Hi, guys.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Sarah screamed, because that’s what recently-returned Losties do.
“She’s all yours,” I told them, and left, because that’s what I do.