In the labyrinth, Ah-Puch had told me Ren was the key. This must have been what he meant!
“We can go back in time, too!” Brooks said.
Marco grunted and muttered something under his breath I didn’t catch.
“How many strands will we need, Itzamna?” Ren was breathless.
“To make a rope strong enough for a round trip?” he said. “At least two.”
Ren gave a half-hearted smile. “I already lost one thread, and Zip said there’s only so much time magic to go around. I don’t know how many more are in the watch.” Ren held her wrist up to my glasses for Itzamna to see. “Do you?”
“Does it matter?” Hondo said, pacing. “We just have to make it work with however much we have.”
Itzamna took a shuddering breath. “Even under the best circumstances, time travel is not easy. It’s not like going through a gateway. It requires precision. Perfectly executed precision. And failure can spell disaster.”
“I’m in!” Hondo said with renewed energy.
Everyone else nodded and raised their hands—everyone except Marco, whose shifty eyes told me he was weighing the risks and rewards. “Wait,” he said. “Any chance I—we could get stuck in 1987?”
“A very good chance,” Itzamna said. “But that isn’t the only risk. You could get devoured. But even worse, you could disrupt the time continuum. You could do something in 1987 that would have consequences today. Dire consequences.”
“Like what?” Ren asked.
“No idea,” the god said. “Just avoid all people.”
Marco stuffed his fists into his pockets. “Even if we could get there, how do you plan to rescue the gods and get them back across thirty-plus years without anyone noticing?”
“One step at a time,” I said, not wanting to lose the momentum and hope we were building. “What do we have to do?” I asked Itzamna.
The god said, “To ensure the most precise landing, you will need to return to where time began.”
“The Old World,” Hondo, Brooks, and I said at the same time.
The images I’d seen in the labyrinth flew at me. Were they clues?
Time. Evil. Deception.
“We can totally do this, guys,” Ren said, nodding vigorously.
“No human has ever done it successfully,” Itzamna said.
“Well, no human ever succeeded in finding K’iin, either,” I reminded the god.
“You’re a godborn,” Itzamna retorted.
“Exactly,” I said with a smile.
Marco continued to scowl. “Time travel. You guys are serious.”
Ignoring him, Itzamna said, “Someone on the 1987 crew will need to stay connected to the present at all times. ALL times. Losing the connection will result in you being imprisoned in the past.”
“And…?” Brooks asked like she knew there was more, because there is always more.
“How do we stay connected?” Hondo asked.
“That’s the darker, more terrible piece that must be put into place,” Itzamna said.
“Yeah,” Marco said. “How to get the gods back!”
I braced myself. “Tell us, Itzamna.”
“You’ll need a shadow crosser.”
Shadow crosser.
I heard those two words and knew instantly they couldn’t equal anything good.
“The shadow crosser is the anchor,” Itzamna went on. “Someone powerful enough to hold the time thread to ensure the travelers come back.”
“I’ll do it,” Hondo said without hesitation. In that moment, I swear my uncle looked like he was made of only grit and granite.
“You are merely human,” Itzamna said flatly. “You possess neither the physical nor the mental strength that this will require.”
Hondo didn’t even flinch. “I can do it. I won’t let you guys down.” I knew he was planning to use the warrior mask Quinn had given him.
Brooks’s face fell as she grabbed Hondo’s hand and looked him in the eye. “I know how brave you are, Hondo, and you always have our backs, but maybe this time…” She hesitated. “Maybe Marco should be the anchor.”
“Except I didn’t volunteer,” Marco said, looking insulted.
I could tell Brooks’s words hurt my uncle, but she didn’t know about his secret weapon or how much he loved Quinn. And you can’t buy that kind of reliability.
“Hondo can do it,” I said. “There’s no one else I trust to bring us back.”
“Uh, no offense, dude,” Marco said to me, “but I’m the strongest one here. Not that I want the job or anything.”
Itzamna said, “It isn’t a matter of just holding the time thread—it’s a matter of crossing into the shadows between this time and the next. It is a perilous place filled with anger and fear and darkness. No one, not even a god, would want to travel there.”
“Then how did you guys time-travel?” I asked.
“We employed shadow crossers—usually magicians,” Itzamna said, like it was no big deal. “But they knew the risks. They understood that their minds would never be the same afterward.”
“Why would they do it?” Brooks said, looking horrified.
“Riches. Fame. Glory for their legacies and families,” Itzamna said. “They always believed they would be the exception and not the rule.”
“That’s awful!” Ren scowled. “How could the gods be so mean?”
“How can humans be so mean?” Itzamna said. “In our world, there is both light and dark, good and evil in everyone.”
“I’m not evil,” Ren argued.
“You haven’t yet had to be,” the god said quietly.
Hondo came closer. “Listen, I fought through the twins’ poison. That was dark and worse than any nightmare,” he said. “I don’t talk about it, because why give power to the memory, but it’s what led me to meditation and mindfulness. Maybe it was also training for this exact moment.”
Marco nodded slowly and stared at my uncle with total respect.
“It will feel like your skin is slowly being picked off your bones,” Itzamna said, dragging out each word dramatically. “Your body, mind, and spirit will be tormented in ways you cannot imagine.”
Hondo crossed his arms over his chest, indicating his decision was final.
“I’ll be your wingman,” Marco said to Hondo, and for the first time, I liked the guy. For once, he wasn’t trying to protect himself or get out of doing anything. He saw how important it was to my uncle to do this part of the quest, and Marco had faith in him, without even knowing him. That counted for a lot.
“How do we know how many threads are left in the watch?” Ren asked Itzamna.
“You must draw them out,” he said. “But it will take more than your own strength.”
Ren twisted her mouth, thinking. “We’ll use the godborn connection,” she said. “It will generate more power.”
Just then, a black SUV with tinted windows came down the gravel road that led to the house.
“That must be your mom,” Hondo said to me as the car pulled into the driveway. I tugged off Itzamna’s shades and, with Fuego’s help, hurried over. Mom jumped out of the car and threw her arms around me, clinging so tight I thought she might snap my ribs. Rosie leaped out after her, her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. I patted my dog’s neck with one hand while I hugged my mom with the other. We stayed like that for a few more seconds—a few more seconds in which the sky was a beautiful blue, the world was turning as it should, and nothing could touch us. Not even the truth of what had already happened and what still lay ahead.