“Don’t touch him,” I say, pushing Jack’s hand off Bram.
“Thieves of time,” Jack murmurs, almost to himself.
Archie’s frightened eyes find my gaze. “What is he talking—”
Jack cuts Archie off. “I have access to every medicine science has discovered. The best estheticians money can buy. And look at me.” Jack turns to the mirror. We all find our gaze traveling to his reflection. In the background of the mirror, our faces. All four of us. Jack, ancient. Archie, approaching middle age. Me and Bram, eternally seventeen. “Look at my forehead. The wrinkles. The lines of cruelty seared into my lips.” With a sharp fingernail, he traces a line above the curl of his top lip. “This appeared after I betrayed your cousin Brendan,” he says with his eyes on me. “I saw it appear with each passing night of guilt.”
“You?” I dare to say. “Guilt?I don’t believe it.”
He turns rapidly toward us, the mirror now reflecting the spotted skin of his bald scalp and neck. The hunch of his shoulders. “Believe it. Why do you think Brendan was readmitted to Harvard? Who do you think gave thegenerousdonation that convinced the school to take him back?”
“I—I didn’t know,” I stammer.
“Brendan didn’t know either,” Jack says curtly. “I certainly never told him. I didn’t do it for his gratitude. I did it to wipe the guiltfrom my face. But it never left. When I was young, I looked impish, mischievous. The boys found me attractive. I looked like trouble in the best way. Now I just look old.”
Bram steps forward. “What do you want, Jack?”
Jack smiles. “Isn’t it obvious? I want what you have. The only thing worth having. Eternal youth.”
“Eternal youth?” Archie gasps.
Jack cackles. “For that, I would give anything. My soul, even.”
“Do you still have a soul?” I ask.
Jack shrugs. “Don’t ask unanswerable questions. What I’m asking has an answer. How?”
Bram and I look to each other again. What do we do?
Jack raises his voice. “TELL ME HOW.”
“Jack, please.” Bram speaks softly. Carefully. “I’ll tell you everything, but let Oliver and Archie go. They have nothing to do with it.”
Jack’s face hardens. A merciless mask. “If Oliver has nothing to do with it, then why does he look just as he did when I last saw him over sixty years ago?”
Archie’s breathing quickens. He blinks too rapidly. Rubs his eyes. Like he’s hoping it’s all a hallucination. “Sixty— That was... Long before I was...”
Bram raises his arms up in supplication. “It was all me, Jack. Let them go and we can talk. I made Oliver this way. He knows nothing. Let him and Archie go and I’ll tell you everything.”
Jack’s lips curl. “I don’t think so.” He shifts the blade a little closer to Archie’s throat. “Archie here is the only one I can use to make you talk. I’m not sure my weapon has any power over you. Does it?”
“Jack, please,” I beg.
“Can you still die?” Jack asks. “Shall I slash one of you and find out?”
“NO!” Archie screeches.
Jack laughs. He’s enjoying this. “Life has been so boring for so long. My wife is ill. My children are waiting for me to die so they can take over the company. This is already making me feel like the young man I truly am again. And when you tell me your secret—”
Bram interrupts. “Even if I did tell you the secret, it’s too late to help you. The pages, they don’t make you young, I don’t think.”
“What pages?” Jack asks. “Is there some scientific formula written on them?”
“No, it’s not like that,” Bram explains.
“Then what is it like?” Jack bellows in frustration. “Do you realize how much humanity is suffering? How many people could benefit from whatever gave you this power?”
“It’s not power,” I say. “It’s a curse.” Jack looks at me curiously. His eyes tell me to go on. “I wouldn’t wish this upon my biggest enemy. I wouldn’t wish it upon you.”
