Page 24 of The Book of Lost Hours

On the day between their usual visits, she sifted through memories in search of a dress that nobody would miss.

A dress that would clue him in that this was a special evening.

She also needed to find something she could use to carry around both her book of memories and the poetry Ernest had given her.

She found both in the memory of an old playwright and his wife from the 1920s on the night their home was burned to the ground by a group of angry men, upset by the content of the writer’s latest play.

The dress was a deep blue gown, like the night sky, hung with silver beads that glittered like stars.

For the books, she opted for function over beauty, taking a brown leather messenger bag from the floor of the writer’s study just as the flames began to build.

The next day, she changed her clothes inside another memory, borrowing the vanity of a ballerina backstage at a performance, feeling giddy.

Ernest was meeting her in just under an hour.

She returned to the time space, so distracted that she nearly walked right out in front of an oncoming timekeeper.

At the last moment, she ducked into a different row out of sight.

He was Russian, wearing a brown uniform and tossing a lighter up and down in the air in front of him.

At the sight of the lighter, Lisavet hesitated.

She looked down the row in the direction of where she was meant to meet Ernest. There was still time, she told herself, then set off after the Russian timekeeper.

He had begun whistling to himself, so nonchalant about the destruction he was about to bring that it made Lisavet’s stomach turn.

He chose his book quickly, almost without looking for it.

She watched him light the pages, still whistling that infuriating tune.

Before the flames had even fully caught, he dropped the book on the ground and moved away.

Lisavet waited the requisite number of seconds for him to be far enough and then she moved in.

Barely any of the book had burned by the time she reached it.

She smiled to herself, basking in his foolishness.

The smile was still on her lips when suddenly somebody grabbed her by her hair.

She screamed, the sound stifled by a large hand covering her mouth.

Her assailant jerked her backward and an arm latched around her middle.

He slammed her into the ground so hard it knocked the wind out of her lungs.

The Russian who had shot at her before loomed over her, eyes flashing with vengeful malice.

Between terrified breaths, Lisavet realized that she had walked right into a trap.

“We’ve been looking for you,” the man said in broken English. “Where is your American friend this time, German bitch?”

Lisavet tried to free herself, struggling against him. He struck her hard across the face, snapping her head to one side.

“Where is he? Who set you up to this? Who are you working for?”

“Nobody,” Lisavet gasped. “Nobody, I’m not…”

He hit her again and this time she saw stars. “Do not lie! You are an American spy, eh?”

“No! I…”

“You think you can interfere with our work?” He clasped one hand around her throat, squeezing the air from her lungs. “Well, I will teach you how we do things in my country. Consider this a warning to the American. When we catch a rat, we kill it.”

Lisavet grappled with his arm, fighting for air, but he was too strong.

In a panicked attempt to free herself, she drove her knee up as hard as she could.

She heard him grunt in pain, felt his grip loosen.

Air rushed into her lungs. She drew an aching mouthful and struck again, this time driving her fist into his windpipe.

He let out a howl of pain. Her other hand found the book on the floor, and she swung it hard, delivering a blow to his nose that sent blood spraying.

Suddenly the full weight of the timekeeper’s body fell into her.

His grip on her neck released. Lisavet struggled to free herself from the weight of him.

There was blood on his face and on her hands and he wasn’t moving.

She felt faint. What if she had killed him?

Panic made breathing even harder. But then she noticed the timekeeper’s chest rising and falling.

He made a small noise, already beginning to stir.

She needed to move. She made it to her bag and dragged it around the corner before collapsing onto the floor in a shaking heap.

Blood on her hands and on the night blue dress, tender bruises blooming on her cheek.

At some point she heard the timekeeper begin to move.

Heard him drag himself to his feet and stumble a few times, cursing and shouting in Russian.

She held her breath until she heard his footsteps fade off in the opposite direction.

The minute Lisavet heard him go, she began sobbing uncontrollably. This was where Ernest found her ten minutes later.

“Lisavet?”

She didn’t look up. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

“Lisavet?” He came closer, kneeling in front of her. “Are you okay? Look at me.” He put a hand on her head until she glanced up. His eyes widened at the sight of the bruises. “Oh my god. What happened to you? Who did this?”

Lisavet started to say something but ended up crying harder instead. Ernest lowered himself the rest of the way to the ground. He put his arms around her, pulling her into him.

“It was the Russian timekeeper who shot you,” she said through shaky breaths. “He thinks I’m some kind of spy. That I’m working with you, I guess.”

Ernest cursed under his breath and tightened his grip. She basked in the feeling of being held by him, in spite of the circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long bout of silence.

“It isn’t your fault.”

“No, it is. If I hadn’t been following you in the first place, he never would have seen you the first time. I wouldn’t have gotten shot. Things wouldn’t have escalated between the American and Russian timekeepers, and he wouldn’t have targeted you again.”

Lisavet pulled away to look at him. “Things have escalated? What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing, just… tensions are higher. Things were fine before, just a little awkward given everything going on in the real world. Then I got shot and things got hostile. My boss… well, it doesn’t matter. It’s just a mess. And it’s my fault. I should have left you alone.”

Lisavet immediately shook her head. “No, I… I’m glad you didn’t. I mean, I’m not glad you got shot, or that things are tense now, I just mean… well, I’m glad I know you.”

Ernest held her gaze, his lips parting in mild surprise.

She thought she saw a glimmer of emotion cross his face but then he shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be. I’ve done nothing but cause you trouble.

Before me, nobody even knew you were here.

You were safe, and now…” He reached up and ran his thumb over one of the bruises.

Gently. As if he might break her. “I should have never come after you. If I could change it… well, selfishly, I don’t even know if I would.

For what it’s worth, I’m glad I know you too. ”

Lisavet’s heart skipped a beat. They held perfectly still, looking at each other, his hand on her cheek. The air between them seemed to pulse. He pulled away, clearing his throat. To give him something to do, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

“For the blood,” he said.

Lisavet took it gratefully. His initials were embroidered on the handkerchief, EGD.

“That’s a pretty dress by the way,” Ernest said. “Where did it come from?”

Lisavet looked down at the dress, stained with the timekeeper’s blood. “Oh. I got it from a memory of a burning house. It was supposed to be for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“I was going to take you somewhere special.”

“Oh.” Ernest looked down at his own clothes, a cable-knit sweater and a pair of trousers. “Could have warned me. I would have dressed better.”

“You look perfect. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What do you mean? We can still go.”

“No. No, we can’t. It’s ruined now.”

“Why would it be ruined?”

Lisavet let out a huff of frustration. “Because. I had a plan, and it didn’t involve me crying on your shoulder for thirty minutes first.”

“Then let me take you somewhere.”

“What?”

“Yes. Actually, that’s a wonderful idea.” He stood up, pulling her to her feet after him.

“Let me take you someplace for once. A memory that I choose this time.”

“Where?”

Ernest thought for a moment. He smiled and took both of her hands in his. “You’ll see. I have an idea.”

He stooped to pick up her messenger bag, sliding it over his shoulder, and began walking.

They were in the American section before they stopped.

Lisavet watched him as he picked over the volumes on the shelves, his brow creased.

That crease meant something different for him than it did for Azrael.

Over the months she had learned to recognize such nuances of Ernest’s face.

The delicate, almost feminine curve of his cheekbones.

The way his jaw, strong and angular, ground together when he was contemplating something.

He pulled a book from the shelf and held it up to show her. Lisavet took his outstretched hand, placing her other palm on the volume. Ernest whispered as the air began to shift.

“This is one of my favorite memories.”

The world around them was replaced with another.

The first thing Lisavet noticed was the music, which burst from the stage, filling every ounce of space.

Tables lined a dance floor, and a bartender was serving cocktails to glamorously dressed guests.

The sound of a saxophone blared through the air as glittering couples spun past them.