"Well, obviously, you'll go to Paris, then," said Charlie irritably when they told him what happened. "Both of you," he added with a significant look at his son. Abe opened his mouth to object, but Charlie wouldn't hear it. "I'll be fine without you, doctor. Her on the other hand--she needs to stay alive."
Ava rolled her eyes. "You might be able to send him on assignments," she snapped, "but I don't work for you, okay? I want the watch. You know it's mine. The bottles are gone; the plans are screwed. So hand it over."
Charlie chuckled. "Fine," he said, annoyingly amused. "Have it." He tossed the golden pocket watch across the room, and it landed on the cushion beside her with a soft thud. He stared at her expectantly, tapping his foot and enjoying her hesitation. "Got big plans for it, do you?" he sneered. "Going to wind it up some more and get my dead plants to flicker on the walls?"
38. The Missing Notes.
"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."
37. Carnations.
Ava scoured every inch of the old house, which didn't take long. The attic was still as bare as ever, although the strange electric feeling in the air was even more distinct--as though it'd been charging. The living room was still dusty and littered with empty lanterns. The only real difference was the missing bottles. That, and the telephone, which had also disappeared.
She went out the back door, not sure what she was hoping to find. Any sign, perhaps, of the thief who'd taken their clues away.
The pile of flaming orange carnations spilling out of a pot directly beyond the back stoop answered her hope exactly.
It looked so intentional, it may as well have been a delivery of get-well flowers--from someone who knew the tussled blooms were her favorite. They even left a card tucked neatly on top.
She looked around, but there was no signs of anyone in the wide open field beyond.
She opened the card nervously. There was no message of good health or salutations written inside it; no name or greeting. Instead, there was only an address, scrawled in awkward, childish writing: 13 Rue le Norte, 75016, Paris, France.
36. A Different Piece.
Ava wasted no time in going up to the front door, weak as she felt--she had to find those bottles. Who could have come so recently? The place had been abandoned for years.
She realized Abe wasn't next to her anymore. He'd stopped at the edge of the lawn. "Come on," she urged, impatient to investigate.
Abe shook his head. "I can't go in there," he said firmly. "It's dangerous for us non-time-moving folk. You go ahead," he added. "I'll wait here."
Ava rolled her eyes. "It's not a timepiece," she said. "It's just a creepy old house at the end of a long road!"
But Abe stood his ground. "It mightn't be a timepiece like the other one, but it is certainly something--something dangerous. For me, anyway."
She threw up her hands in defeat. "Whatever!" she said. "We don't have time for this. I'll be right back."
35. The Ward.
The view outside the old woman's window was the best in the city. The tower sparkled at night, and the boats drifted cozily during the day. On fall mornings like this, the cool light was simply sublime.
Marie always enjoyed the chance to soak in the vista when she brought up the coffee and fruit. "Bonjour, madame," she said cheerfully, but did not receive a response from her ward. She rarely did.
So she arranged the cappuccino, berries, and yogurt on the tray, then went to open the window and let in some fresh air. "Mademoiselle," the lady whispered fearfully, and Marie was at her side in an instant. "Mademoiselle, je suis très désolée, très désolée! C'est ma faute!" Her eyes welled with tears as she begged Marie's forgiveness for some imagined slight.
Marie stroked her hair as she always did during these fits. "No, Madam Coulise, you have nothing to be sorry for," she insisted. "Tout est bien! It is alright." Madam Coulise took a deep, shaky breath, and leaned into the arms of the kind nurse.
But she repeated her apologies, in sporadic whispers, for the remainder of her meal.