"Someone is messing with us," said Ava uncomfortably. She and Abe leaned against the pickup outside the little house and examined the note she'd found. With the Parisian address. It was maddening that as soon as she finally had a real plan, someone had come right under her nose to steal the only thing she needed to see it through: the addresses in those bottles.

Abe held the paper up to the sky and squinted at it. "You think it might be a trap?" he asked.

Ava laughed. "Why would someone go to so much trouble to lay a trap for either of us?" she cried. "Made a lot of enemies farming, have you? I guess advertising is pretty cutthroat," she added wryly, referring to the job she'd so recently abandoned.

Abe scowled. "Oh, I don't know," he replied, "it might have something to do with the fact that you're the last in a line of time-travelers who's out to repair your family's heirloom time machine, which was mysteriously broken and hidden for God knows what disturbing reason. You're right, that seems completely insignificant to me."