Part XXI

Oliver sat in the lecture hall eyes gazing forward toward the professor as the man gesticulated and scribbled notes on the board, his own pencil resting against his cheek as he nodded in contemplation. Yet for all appearances he was only half-listening to the lecture, only partially focused on his surroundings. It wasn't a particularly difficult concept the professor was explaining and Oliver had more pressing things to think about. He and Madoka had started the preliminary research for the Worcestershire case and even when away from the work he was mentally sorting the information he'd read.

He was so preoccupied in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear the voice. Noll, came the quiet tug.

Gene would know—should have known—he would be in class, but he could detect worry in the voice in his head. He would have ignored him if he'd thought Gene was only calling because he wanted a distraction, but the urgency in his voice made him reach back to connect their thoughts.

What is it? Oliver glanced at the professor and lowered his hand, pencil poised over his notepad as if to take notes.

Mai had another nightmare but she won't talk to me. Can you call her?

I'm in class. Noll heard the other students around him chuckle as the professor cracked a joke, but he couldn't make out any of the lecture now that Gene was in his head. Is it that urgent?

I just want to know if it's another one... another one of those. Gene sounded impatient. They'd had this conversation a few days ago. Gene was convinced Mai had had recurring dreams of the faceless man, that there was a meaning behind it and wanted to get to the bottom of it. Oliver, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. Mai had brushed off the dream as brought on by stress and he trusted her instincts. If she didn't think it meant anything, he would believe her. But it didn't sit well with him that Gene thought it was important when Mai didn't. Whose instincts should he trust?

I'll call her after class, Oliver thought, doing the mental calculation in his head. He had a few hours break after this lecture; Japan being eight hours ahead meant he probably had an hour before Mai went to bed. He knew she would be studying for her exams and didn't want to distract her, but it had been a few days since they'd last spoke and he did want to hear her voice.

Okay. He felt Gene breathe a sigh of relief. That's good.

Wait, what do you mean she won't talk to you? Oliver suddenly thought, frowning as the meaning behind Gene's words sank in. Did you try calling her and she didn't pick up? You know she's busy with exams this week—

No, Gene interrupted sullenly. I asked her about it and she said she just said didn't want to talk about it.

Oliver closed his eyes, a sinking feeling setting into his stomach. This shift, slight as it may appear. First saying it meant nothing, that it was just stress—and now that she didn't want to discuss it. She always did this, without fail, when she was trying to keep something from him to prevent him from worrying. If she still thought it was a dream brought on by stress she would have reiterated that to Gene, would have dug in her heels and insisted the same. But now, to say she didn't want to talk about it—it didn't sit well with him. Or was he reading too much into it?

You see what I mean? But she'll talk to you, Noll.

He couldn't stop the immediate feeling of jealousy that sprang up as he realised he and Gene had been thinking the same thing. He'd once thought he knew Mai better, understood her better than anyone—but she wore her heart on her sleeve and Gene was just as perceptive as he, if not more so when it came to emotional cues.

It doesn't matter, Gene said quickly, sensing his thoughts. The point is she'll talk to you, Noll.

Will she, though? He couldn't help but scoff. How many times do you think Mai sensed something, dreamed something, saw something—and didn't tell me?

You've both come a long way since those days, Noll, you know that—

What about what happened with Madoka? Oliver shot back. He could feel Gene faltering, feel his hesitation. And don't tell me this concerns my future, because Mai's precognitive dreams—or yours, for that matter—are never that straightforward. Just because Mai dreamed I was absent in the first half doesn't mean it has anything to do with the second. And the part that frightens her is the faceless man, not—

But it does. Believe me. Gene's voice was just a whisper. Not this again, Noll, he pleaded. Call her. Talk to her. If anyone can figure out what's going on, it's you. And if I need to come back to England—

You said you had things that needed to be done in Japan. Remember?

But this is more important than that. Gene's voice was close to breaking. If Mai won't talk about it, it's because she'll try to face it on her own. Right?

His brother was right; he was always right about these things.

So we just need to make sure she doesn't. Gene sighed. I'm sorry. I've probably disrupted you long enough. And I'm exhausted. I'd better go.

Gene, wait—

But Gene was already gone, the space in his mind empty.

"—With that, we'll continue our discussions on the hippocampal formation next week, including the role of the dentate gyrus in the formation of episodic memories. Please read chapters twelve and thirteen of the text beforehand so you're well prepared," the professor was saying.

Oliver gathered his books and papers slowly, mulling over what Gene had said. It could be that they were both making something out of nothing. He trusted Mai's instincts. But he trusted Gene's too—which put him at this conundrum again. Gene thought the dream was a vision; Mai said she didn't. And he trusted Mai, trusted her to be honest with him, trusted her to tell him the truth. So who was right, and who was wrong? And how could he possibly know, or even choose?

He was the last student to leave the desks and make his way to the door, but the professor called out to him before he made it to the hall.

"Oliver, a moment—if you please," the man waved him over with a smile. "I wanted to tell you, I was very impressed with your assignments. You missed quite a lot of time but you've evidently kept up with your studies. Well done."

"Thank you, sir."

"Not that it was much of a surprise. Dr Englebert speaks so highly of you, we'd expect nothing less." He beamed at him. "I hope you'll take him up on his offer to lead some discussions on his introductory classes. It's clear to me you're a natural leader. It would be a shame to let your talents go to waste."

"Go to waste, sir?" He couldn't help but ask, somehow knowing where this was leading. "I'm sorry, I don't follow."

"Ah—" the professor floundered for only a moment before continuing on. "It's simply that we're aware of Dr Davis' tendencies. No harm in having extracurricular…hobbies, shall we say, but it would be better if he could focus instead on his true calling. I just wouldn't want you to be… distracted, if you know what I mean. Nothing wrong with interests outside your field, of course," he added hurriedly. "It's just sometimes I think Dr Davis is more passionate about chasing the unexplainable than he is with law. And it is our duty to pass our passions on to the next generation. If you understand what I mean."

Oliver tipped his head, forcing a tight smile to reach his lips. "Yes, sir. I appreciate your concern. I'll be sure to take your advice into consideration. If you'll excuse me—I'll be late for my next class."

"Yes, my apologies. I didn't mean to keep you. See you next week."

Oliver left the lecture hall and walked briskly through the corridors, irritated at the delay. While he had no class to rush off to, time was of the essence if he wanted to speak to Mai before she went to sleep that night. Stepping outside the building into the brisk spring air, he pulled his mobile from his pocket and dialled her number, but the line went straight to voicemail. Frowning, he tried again, just in case, but the same thing happened. Mai's phone was definitely off. This time, he let the message run through and waited patiently for the recording.

"It's me. Just wanted to—hear how you are. That's all." He cleared his throat. "I know you're busy this week. Just call me when you have time."

He slipped the phone back in his pocket and walked slowly toward the library. Around him, older students walked by, talking and laughing with each other, all but ignoring him as they brushed past. A cool breeze swept between the buildings, funnelled between the stones and pushing at his back, pushing him forward.

At the library he went straight to the third floor and found a secluded desk behind some old reference bookshelves where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed. Taking out his notebook, he stared at his notes for the Pullman case in Worcestershire, but he couldn't focus.

The last time he had spoken to Mai had been when she answered the phone at SPR the other day, but they'd hardly spoken as he'd needed to speak to Lin about the case. Lin also had no recollection of this case, which led Oliver to believe it was quite likely it hadn't been brought before BSPR during their last pass through this time. He'd meant to tell Mai he'd call her later, but the words hadn't come quickly enough before she'd put him through.

She hadn't sounded annoyed when he'd asked for Lin instead, but he knew her better than that. Granted, he would be too, if she rang his house and asked to speak to anyone else. But the miscommunication irritated him, even more so that he couldn't set the record straight. After that day he'd called again later and left a message, only to find a voicemail on his own mobile when he'd gotten out of class that afternoon. The distance between them was unusual, after being together for so long—he was so used to her presence by his side, so used to communicating without words. So used to her understanding him.

Oliver sighed and rubbed his temples with his fingers. It was no use dwelling on it; it was what it was. He knew he needed to focus on this case, but if it wasn't Mai preoccupying his thoughts his mind immediately went to the discrepancies in this timeline. This case, happening this time but not before. The fire at Mai's apartment. The djinn.

He took his phone out of his pocket again and stared at the screen, contemplating calling his brother. But Gene had said he was exhausted and would have likely gone to sleep right after their conversation. And it wasn't fair to wake him when he didn't even know what he wanted to say. Rubbing his forehead with his hand, he scrolled down and dialled another number. There was only one way to actually focus on this case and that was to actually work on it. Reviewing his notes wasn't going to get anywhere.

"Noll, what a surprise!" Madoka's sing-song voice came through the phone. "And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Have you called Judith Pullman yet?" He kept his voice low, though he knew there wasn't anyone within earshot on the deserted floor. "I was wondering if you thought it might be pertinent to speak with her parents. If they're still alive, of course." He frowned, the last thought only coming to him just then and he tapped his pencil on the desk.

"No, I haven't spoken with her yet. She wasn't at the White Lion when I rang earlier, but I've asked she call me back. I was thinking the same thing, it would be good to know if they've witnessed the same things, if she claims it's been going on as long as she can remember."

"And if they share her scepticism."

"Exactly." He could hear Madoka grinning. "My thoughts exactly. But I hope you're not getting distracted with this when you should be focusing on your studies. Are you done with classes for the day?"

"More or less."

"Now, Noll, you shouldn't skip class. What will Martin say—"

"That I'm picking up bad habits from Gene. But don't worry, I won't."

"If you say so. If I don't hear from her in the next hour or so I'll probably try my luck at calling back, see if I can catch her before the evening rush. When are you coming back to BSPR?"

"I can come this afternoon to give you my notes. There was quite a lot on microfilm about the White Lion and I'd like to give it to you sooner rather than later."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll either be in my office or downstairs in the archives if you can't find me. See you then."

Oliver frowned as the phone disconnected and he dropped his hand. If she was going through the archives, no doubt about it—that meant Madoka wasn't working on the Pullman case at all and was still looking into Martin's supposed 'idea' of precognition and time travel. On one hand, he wished Martin had never brought it up. But on the other, he was extremely curious to see what Madoka would find.

...

It was late afternoon by the time Oliver made it to BSPR, the sky already tinged with sunset behind the buildings. Miss Langley was at the reception desk again, but she was chatting on her phone and didn't stop him, only giving him an exuberant wave as he passed.

As suspected, Madoka wasn't in her office, so he went back down the stairs to the second floor. The second floor was the so-called archives where each room which was packed with filing cabinets, bookshelves, and a couple desks squeezed in between with some old computers. There were a couple part-time clerks—perhaps even only one at this stage, a university student who entered material into a database one or two days a week. Oliver went from one room to another, finding each of them empty.

Madoka was in the last room at the end of the hall, a room with mostly unsorted records that were being filed, entered into the database or discarded. She was sitting at one of the computers but was flipping through a paper file, running her fingers down each page as she perused the documents.

"Oh, Noll. You're here," she said, looking up. "You got here faster than I thought you would."

"It's almost five o'clock."

"Really? Bloody hell." Madoka put the file down and rubbed her face with her hands. "I swear, this floor must be on an alternate dimension where time just disappears. This happens to me every time."

Oliver walked over to the narrow table where different folders were left out, eyes scanning the materials she'd gotten out of the cabinets. Some of it looked familiar, but most of it didn't. "What are you looking for?"

Madoka sighed. "To be honest, I don't really know. I still don't know exactly what Martin's thinking. But I swear there was a bit of correspondence, a letter from a colleague or a potential client, or maybe an old article—something in these cabinets which might have put me on the right track, but I can't find it. Who knows. Maybe someone threw it out already. It probably looked like nothing."

He couldn't stop the frown from forming on his face. BSPR hadn't had anything he could find even remotely related to time travel, not when he'd searched years in the future. But he knew how good Madoka's memory was. If she'd seen something even only in passing she would remember it, years and years down the track.

She turned to look at him and gave him a big grin, lifting her eyebrows suggestively. "Unless you can illuminate this for me. I might remember what I'm looking for if you can tell me just what Martin's thinking, or what happened in Japan to set him down this track.."

"This again." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. "I told you. Nothing—"

"Yes, yes, nothing happened." She waved her hand. "It would be much easier if you just came out and said it, whatever it is. After all you as good as told me something happened the last time we discussed this. So you can't fault me for trying. I keep trying to ask Martin, as well, but he's been even more evasive than you."

"I don't see why you're making something out of nothing." But he was wondering why Madoka was so certain and if there was anything he would be able to do to dissuade her.

"Come now, Noll, you can't blame me for being suspicious," she laughed. "First Martin sends me an email saying he can't wait to discuss and get started on a new project. That essentially time travel could be nothing more than just precognition and anyone claiming such a thing would obviously be discounted by the scientific community, but it could be something that we should look into. Then when I talk to him he's so tight-lipped and vague it sounds like he doesn't know what he's even thinking."

Oliver didn't say anything but Madoka wasn't done anyway. "Both you and I know Martin better than that. He's not the absent-minded professor, no matter how much we like to tease him about it," she continued. "The only reason Martin wouldn't tell me the specifics was because he changed his mind. I'm guessing it's because you—or Luella, even—asked him not to. I haven't resorted to asking Luella yet, but give me enough time and I will."

Oliver averted his gaze, considering his options. He had known Madoka was not one to be discouraged and this was evidence enough. If she pushed Martin long enough, he would eventually let something slip. And if she went to Luella—well, Luella would resist, naturally, but Madoka would no doubt weasel out the truth in some way or another. If anyone did, he wanted to be the one to tell her—at least then he would know what she knew and have some semblance of damage control. But he couldn't tell her yet. All he could do was try to stop her from asking Martin and Luella.

"Gene didn't want you to know," he finally conceded, keeping his voice soft with the privileged information. "He asked Martin not to tell you."

Madoka gazed at him for a long time, eyes searching. "Did Gene see a future so real he thought it was more than a vision? Is that it? What did he see?" She rested her head in her hands. "Did he think I wouldn't believe him?"

Oliver shook his head. He wanted to tell her—if anyone in England knew, he wanted it to be Madoka, but he wouldn't go back on his word to his brother. Not yet. "I'm sorry," was all he said instead.

After what seemed like a long time Madoka sighed and leaned back in her chair. "No, thank you. I'll stop asking Martin. It makes sense, now." She smiled and shook her head. "Why Martin would let him stay in Japan, the office, everything." She tipped her head, considering him. "Why you ran off to see him so suddenly in the first place."

Oliver didn't say anything and she sighed again, shrugging as if finally acquiescing to let the subject drop. "At least Lin is there with him and I don't have to worry."

As if that would stop her. Oliver's arms had been crossed over his chest and he let them drop, straightening. "Did you want to go over my notes?" He checked his watch. "I've only got a little bit of time before I have to go home."

Madoka grinned. "Then we'd better get started."

...

It was nearly dark when Oliver arrived home that evening. A biting wind had picked up and cut through the afternoon turning it into a blustery evening. Pushing open the door and stepping inside the warm house, he could see the light was on in the kitchen and the smell of dinner already in the oven. His lips twitched in a smile. Luella would be sitting at the kitchen table, grading papers or preparing lesson plans.

"Welcome home, Noll," she called from the other room. He followed the sound and as expected she sat at the kitchen table, her work spread out before her with rows of papers in neat stacks.

"Have a good day?" She didn't wait for him to answer but rose and hurried across the room, picking up an envelope. "This came for you. Well—you and Gene."

He took the letter from her, turning it over in his hands, not surprised at the return address. L & S Nilson. 135 Chapel Street. New Haven, Connecticut. USA.

Luella was looking at him expectantly and he nodded but made no move to open the letter. "The Nilsons." He explained, unnecessarily. He knew she would have looked at the return address.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, hesitated and pressed her lips together again. "You'll keep me in the loop?" she finally asked. There were other unspoken questions evident in her eyes, but this was the only one she would allow to voice. "I understand if you don't want to tell Martin. But… please tell me. Just… how things are going with them."

"Of course, Mum."

Her shoulders dropped in relief and she squeezed his arm. Turning back to the table, her voice a little too forced, she sighed in mock exasperation. "Martin should be home soon. I'd better get this cleaned up and set the table for tea."

"I can do that."

"That's alright, dear, you probably have homework you'd rather do?" She winked at him, this time a genuine smile on her lips. "I don't mind. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

Once upstairs and in his room, he shut the door behind him and dropped his school bag on the bed. Turning on the desk lamp, he then picked up the envelope again and examined it under the light. Turning it over again in his hands, he ran his fingers along the front, tracing their address with his fingertips. A nervous energy emanated from the writing, where she'd held the envelope open to put the letter inside, seal and affix the stamp. Nervous, but excited—and happy. Their grandmother, Satoko, had written the letter.

Taking a deep breath, he deftly ripped the envelope open along the side, sliding out the letter and unfolding it under the light. His biological grandmother was happy, so very happy as she wrote this letter. The paper nearly glowed with emotion, the neat cursive script radiating with joy. Sitting down together with her husband, discovering their son had left behind two sons after his death who had in turn found them, even when they'd never known of their existence. Their grandsons.

They were so grateful Ichirou and Kazuya—"Eugene" and "Oliver"—had looked for them, had been curious enough to want to know about their father and to contact his grandparents. So grateful they'd phoned on that particular evening, and hadn't left it at that—had emailed, as well, genuine and heartfelt emails she'd printed and read and reread at coffeeshops or slow afternoons at the gallery or while waiting at the clinic. Had they returned from their travels in Japan? Were they settling back into their lives in England? And how were their parents, Martin and Luella? Lukas had a conference in London in August and they were planning on coming together so that they might meet them face to face. Satoko mentioned it in such a roundabout, casual way, it was obvious she was desperate to meet them but trying just as hard not to seem as such. Finally, she sent their love, hoping all was well with them, eager to receive their next correspondence.

Oliver folded up the paper and slid it back into the envelope, tapping it once against the desk in thought before slipping it behind some books, hidden from view. Gene would be pleased. He knew Gene had been corresponding with the Nilsons, but receiving a letter was that much more intimate and heartfelt. If there had been any question they were serious about meeting them it was now gone.

Setting his books on his desk, Oliver sank into his chair and opened the text to his required reading, but he stared instead at Mai's pencil case, resting beneath the desk lamp. He couldn't help but wonder if Gene had contacted the Nilsons on the other timeline. It was impossible, wasn't it? Otherwise he still would have received this letter, even though Gene had never come home to receive it. Yet Gene had found the New Haven Register article before he'd caught up with him in Japan, so there was no reason to think he couldn't have found it last time. Except—what was different? That he had met Mai? How could meeting Mai in this timeline account for Gene going to the library and finding that article, if he hadn't before?

Oliver sighed and rested his forehead in his hands. He was doing it again. There was no use tormenting himself, going round and round asking questions no one could ever know the answer to. He would never know—never could—what had happened and what didn't, therefore it was a moot question and had no bearing on the present. That other timeline doesn't exist anymore, he reminded himself.

Or does it?

If we still remember it, does it still exist?

He must have stared at the same paragraph on the page for some time before the words began to register, rereading the text until it had his complete concentration. Tapping his pencil against the desk with one hand and turning the pages with the other, he fell into the rhythm of reading.

He could not have said how much time passed as he read, all other thoughts forgotten, until a sound from downstairs alerted him and he jerked up his head with a start. Glancing toward the clock, he was surprised to see over an hour had passed. He frowned, realising he was quite hungry, and rose to his feet.

He was halfway down the stairs when Martin and Luella's voices became audible. He frowned. Luella's voice was raised, and even though he could not quite make out the words the cadence and timbre made it obvious they were arguing. Slowing, he stopped a few paces behind the door.

"I'm sorry it's so late, okay? I'll make sure I call next time. Won't happen again."

He heard her exhale, the promise seeming to placate her. Oliver glanced at the clock in the hall—it was nearly seven thirty. No wonder Luella was upset.

"I'm sorry too," he heard her say. "I should have called you, too. I just wanted the three of us to have dinner tonight, together. It seems like the three of us are swamped with work since we went on holiday, we hardly spend time together outside of mealtimes." Luella sighed again. "At least Noll seems like usual, holed up in his room or at the library with his coursework."

"Madoka said they're making great progress on the new case," Martin said. Oliver inched forward but something stopped him just before entering the room and he hovered behind the doorway.

"New case?" Luella repeated. He could hear the frown in her voice. "Martin, you didn't tell me—"

"Surely, I must've," Martin laughed, but the sound was a bit forced. He sounded nervous. "It's one of the cases Stevens reviewed, but since he's out on another case Madoka said she'd take it on. It seems to be a pretty standard haunting, a hotel in Worcestershire—"

"Worcestershire?" Luella interrupted. "Martin, what are you thinking, sending Noll out on a case with Madoka? And so far away? The last thing Noll needs—"

"It's just the thing he needs." This time Martin did not back down. "Can you imagine how stifling it must be for him to come back here? He's an adult, Lu. The rest of the world may not realise it but the least we can do is give him the freedom and responsibilities he's earned—"

"But he's already behind on his coursework, you shouldn't burden him with even more work. He's not going to turn it down." Luella's voice cracked and wavered. While before she was angry, now she sounded close to tears. "I know he wants to do it. He's too much like you, Martin."

"Lu, please—"

"Being an adult has nothing to do with it." He heard her sniff. "Noll's lived another life that I—we—don't remember. But his body is only sixteen. Even if he has memories years into the future, that doesn't change the fact he's only an adolescent now! He should be able to come home at the end of the day, unburdened by it all. But he seems more tired than ever. I can't do anything for him, Martin, and especially not if you send him away on a case to Worcestershire."

"There, there," Martin said softly, and from the muffled sound he could tell Martin had taken her into his arms. "That's not true. You provide a safe place for him here. How can you say that's nothing? For him and for us. Because I've always felt the same."

Still standing awkwardly in the hallway, Oliver turned his head away, considering his options. He couldn't walk in on his parents now, and with that he turned and retraced his steps silently up the stairs, up to his bedroom door. Closing it audibly, knowing the sound would carry downstairs, he hurried down the stairs, trying to thump his feet a little bit, the way Gene might. The deception worked: as he rounded the door from the hall into the kitchen, Martin was pouring water into glasses and Luella was taking a pan of roast vegetables out of the oven.

"Sorry, I lost track of time," Oliver said, glancing between his parents. Martin looked tired and Luella had composed herself, but her eyes were tinged with red.

"That's all right, darling, I was just about to call you down."

"I was the one who got home late." Martin said. "You must be starving."

Both his parents were smiling, but he could see the strained tension of their earlier argument on their features. He now wondered why he had tried to feign ignorance over what he had witnessed. He didn't know. It wasn't like him, either. After all, the words couldn't be unheard and there was no point in pretending he hadn't.

It was after they had eaten and when he had returned to his room that Oliver's thoughts wandered back to what Luella had said. Even if he has memories years into the future his body is only sixteen.

Why that statement returned to him, and why it suddenly struck a chord, he didn't know. But Oliver suddenly had the feeling that everything had clicked into place. Everything he'd been struggling with now seemed perfectly clear. There were some things they would never know the answers to, but they didn't need to. Gene wanted to remember what had happened before, during, and after the accident and the subsequent shift in time, but none of that mattered.

Everything in this timeline had been set in motion by one single, simple event: the fact that he had turned time in the first place. That was the original cause, the drop in the lake of which all rippling effects moved outwards. They knew this, so why search for other deviations? This was the most important one.

Oliver closed his textbook and folded his hands together, leaning forward in thought. No. He—they—had already known this; Lin's grandmother had said as much. The rift in time had started the chain of events which led to the disturbance in the spiritual plane and whatever happened to Thibault Bertin's djinn in the Moroccan desert. Depending on how many degrees of separation lay between the two events, whoever—or whatever—had consumed the djinn could have been aware of the events from the very beginning. Perhaps there was none—perhaps it was a direct correlation. No matter how unlikely it seemed, he couldn't discount the possibility.

He remembered Mai's sobbing, the way she clutched at him as she awoke from her nightmare. A recurring nightmare, a nightmare in which he was absent from her future. Gene's insistence that he was in danger. He frowned, closing his eyes and dropping his head in his hands. What had Lin said about the disturbance in the spiritual plane? As if something had passed through. Was it impossible to think that something had followed them here? Could a spirit had followed Gene out of that in-between land between living and dead to find them here? And why? What did it want?

Pinching his nose, Oliver shook his head. It wasn't difficult to imagine what. The spirit at the Yoshimi Inn which had tried to possess him had him right on the mark. He wasn't oblivious to the fact he contained a lot of psychic power within him. It would be like looking in the mirror and claiming he was ugly—it was simply not something he could deny.

Frowning, he picked up his mobile and thought for a moment about calling Lin. Then he dropped it back on the desk and closed his eyes. It wasn't fair to wake Lin up in the middle of the night, either. What he really needed was time. He just needed some time to think.

When he opened them again, he was certain of two things. First of all, the only way he would get any closer to understanding anything would be to move forward with the current events and see where they took him. That meant the Pullman case, here in England, and Gene's case in Etajima in Japan. It was only by seeing how these events unfolded, events which had not transpired the last time around, that would bring him any closer to understanding this so-called butterfly effect.

And second: he needed to talk to Madoka.

...

It was after Oliver's classes the following day that Mai rang him back. He was at home, alone, reading in his room.

"Hi Naru." She sounded a little sheepish. "Sorry I missed your call again. We have bad luck, don't we? I tried ringing earlier, but your phone was off."

"How are you?"

"Me?" He didn't understand why but she seemed surprised at the suddenness of the question. "I'm fine. A little tired. It's been a busy week. I get up, practice qigong with Lin, study, head to school for exams, go to SPR, study, eat dinner. Study and repeat it all over again."

"You're not working, are you?"

"No—Gene won't let me." He could hear, in her tone, lips forming a pout. "I've just been studying there, while he and Lin work on the case. Yasuhara was going to drop by this week, but he's been so busy with exams too, so he hasn't." She yawned. "Nothing terribly exciting, really. Lin said we're starting practice to teach me healing qigong, but we must be waiting until after this week because nothing about my morning training has changed at all. But I should be asking you about your case—?"

"We've barely started, likewise there's not much to tell." He could hear she was about to protest and sighed. "It's strange. From the witnesses' testimony, activity only occurs during inclement weather, which in itself is suspect."

"You mean you don't trust the witnesses?"

"A little bit. But even stranger that our client is a complete sceptic but has only approached BSPR because one of her patrons pushed her to it."

"Hm." He could hear Mai chewing on her lip as she pondered this. "That is strange. What's the premises again?"

"A pub in Worcestershire. Gene's probably already told you the specifics—"

"Nothing. Just "your classic haunted hotel", is all he said, but I don't really know what he means by that. Poltergeisting, I suppose."

"Something like that. We'll find out what's really going when we get there." He rose to his feet and began to pace the room. "What concerns me about this case is that it didn't happen last time. I can't be completely certain, of course, but I'm fairly confident this case didn't come to BSPR the last time around. And the question is why." He frowned. "I know that simply the act of turning time around has unintended consequences. But I wasn't ready for this."

"It could be that you just never happened across it before. You would have been in Japan by now…"

"Perhaps." He did not feel like contradicting her outright, but he knew she would take this as disagreement anyway. In the silence that followed he considered how to ask her if she had any dreams lately. If he asked straight out she might deny it; if he told her he'd heard from Gene she might instantly go on the defensive. He decided to leave it for a moment and changed the subject.

"Another thing that's come up recently is Madoka remembers a bit of correspondence—from who, she's no idea—that may relate to this link between time travel and precognition. She's continued to look into Martin's idea and has been asking a lot of questions. Sooner or later, she'll find out."

"Tell her," Mai said without hesitation. "I know Gene doesn't want Madoka to know. He's worried she'll feel guilty, that she'll blame herself. But she's going to find out eventually and sooner is better than later. She'll feel worse if she finds out later, knowing you didn't want to tell her. Besides," she continued, "We're going to need her help."

Oliver took a deep breath and slowed in his pacing, listening to the certainty in her voice. "You're sure, aren't you."

"Absolutely. One hundred percent."

"Ok. That's good—it just reinforces that I've made the right decision."

"You'd already come to the same conclusion? So I don't get to take the credit for changing your mind, do I," she pouted.

"When have you ever changed my mind about anything?" He teased.

"Oh… maybe never. Maybe not." He could hear her grinning, and then she yawned. "Sorry. I guess I haven't been sleeping well…"

"Dreams?"

"Maybe," she replied noncommittedly. "Sometimes I remember but mostly I don't. I think I'm just stressed because of my exams." But she did not sound as sure as she had only moments ago.

"Do you want to ask Lin to take a break in your training? For this week only?"

"No, honestly, I think I need our meditation sessions to focus. And I suppose, even though Gene's not letting me look at any of the case materials, I can't help but think about it. About Kanegae-san and his little sister. I hope they're okay. What do you think happened to them last time? If SPR didn't even exist for them to come and ask for help—"

"Don't think about that," he warned. "I don't want you worrying about SPR, and certainly not about what may or may not have happened last time," he said firmly. "Focus on your exams."

"I know, I know," she grumbled. "But I'll have you know I've certainly gotten better marks this time around, at least on the tests I've taken. English and Biology and Classic Literature."

"You're turning into a right star student, I know."

She laughed. "Right. Well, I wouldn't go that far…" her voice trailed off and when she spoke again, her tone had quieted. "I've been thinking, you know? This week, especially, because everyone's talking about it at school. About what I want to do." She paused again but Oliver stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue. "Last time I went to London as a student, but this time I think I want to continue my studies here. If I can, maybe Waseda or Todai—if that isn't too outrageous."

"If that's what you really want, I have no doubts whatsoever you can do it."

"Maybe. But I kept thinking about what Luella said, about becoming a translator. It's not that I really want to do something different—but if I studied English seriously, had advanced studies in other fields, I would be a prime candidate for investigator at BSPR. That I wouldn't have to just keep doing office work, but could be hired to work cases on my own right."

"Mai, you're already more than capable—"

"Don't even start!" She interrupted. "I haven't got anything on paper yet Naru, and you know that. Least of all experience. I need to prove myself. I can't let you hire me again because you feel sorry for me. I know," she added hastily, "That's not what it is. But you know what I mean."

"I didn't hire you in the beginning because I felt sorry for you," he said stiffly. "I hope you don't think that."

"No, I don't. I'm sorry." She sighed. "It's a long way away, though. I'm only fifteen. Ugh," she laughed, "Fifteen. I can't believe it sometimes. It's so strange."

"I know what you mean," he continued. "I know there others' think I've just used Martin's influence to get where I am. Or where I was," he amended. "Which is partially true—Martin has provided access at Cambridge that would never have been available otherwise. And of course I support you, if that's what you want. But are you sure you want to leave Japan? Give me five years and I will have a fully developed branch office of BSPR in Tokyo and SPR can hire you full-time when you're done with university."

"But what about BSPR? What about your parents?" She protested. "Won't—"

"No," he interrupted. "I've been thinking too—and this isn't spur of the moment. I've been thinking about this for a long time. Before we came back, I had been deliberating whether we should move to Japan. And now that we're here with Gene, I see no reason not to do what I want, which is to run SPR. With you and Gene. Lin if he'll be kind enough to give me his time. And the rest of our team, if we can convince them it's worth it. I don't know how long it will take, but that's what I want."

"Naru—"

"You said it yourself, didn't you? SPR, the three of us together."

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice catching. He thought he heard her wipe her eyes and when she spoke again it was with confidence. "SPR will really go places, with the three of us. I know it."

...

Mai was so elated after her conversation with Naru that she couldn't focus on her studies, even though he'd asked her to do only that. But she justified she'd already spent hours memorising every formula and proof in her geometry textbook for the upcoming exam that she couldn't fit any more into her head, and with that pushed her books aside and left her apartment to make the short walk to Lin and Gene's.

Mai had left their spare bedroom a few days ago and had relocated back to her own apartment, but if she was honest with herself she missed their constant company. She had been going to their apartment every morning for her daily session of guided meditation and qigong training, and she saw them both at SPR in the afternoon. But they'd stopped eating dinner together as Gene had been kicking her out of the office before he and Lin left for the evening. She missed sitting around in the evening, Gene's constant barrage of questions to Lin and even cleaning up the kitchen together after meals. It wasn't as though she wanted to spend time to herself, but she felt self-conscious of monopolising theirs and spending time with Gene when Naru wasn't around. That and it was easier to force herself to concentrate when she was all alone.

She rang the intercom and waited for the door to open, then ran up the four flights of stairs, gasping when she made it to their flat. Gene opened the door, smirking with amusement as she came in and nearly fell to the floor, panting.

"Why do you run up the stairs like that?" he laughed, closing the door behind her.

"I'm trying—to become—strong," she managed, kicking off her shoes and following him into the living room. "Where's Lin?"

"Phone call." Gene tipped his head toward the hall leading to the bedrooms. "Though to be honest I don't know if it's Sarah or family."

Mai's eyes widened and she sat down on the sofa, taking a throw pillow and hugging it into her chest. "His grandmother?"

"Like I said, I don't know." Gene sat down across from her and folded his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow as he considered her. "Aren't you supposed to be studying? What about your exams?"

"Gene, you sound like Naru," Mai complained, throwing the pillow at him. He laughed and caught it, flicking it back. "That's not fair."

"Somebody's got to look after you while he's not here."

"I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you." Mai leaned back into the sofa, propping her feet up on the coffee table, pushing back some papers which were sticking out over the edge. "More like somebody needs to look after you. Don't tell me you're working on the case even after working on it all day at the office?"

"Of course not."

"Then what's that?" She pointed to the pile of papers on the coffee table.

"Just some additional research." He leaned forward and pulled the papers toward him, shuffling them into order and closing a folder around them. "Just something to keep me busy."

Mai's eyes wandered to a stack of books next to his chair. She knew Gene felt he had a lot of catching up to do, but it wasn't reasonable for him to try to do it in one fell swoop.

"You look like you're in a good mood," he said lightly, interrupting her thoughts. "What brings you out of your studies to come visit?"

"I missed you guys."

"You saw us a few hours ago," Gene scoffed.

"I know, but that's work. This is different." Mai rested her chin on the pillow in her arms. Gene gazed back for several moments before tipping his head, lips splitting into a grin.

"I know exactly what you mean. When's your last exam? Thursday or Friday?"

"Thursday morning."

"What do you say Thursday we have a celebratory home-cooked dinner?"

"And who do you propose should cook this dinner," a wry voice asked from the doorway. Lin entered the room and took a seat, raising an eyebrow at Gene. "Surely you're not going to ask Mai to cook her own celebratory meal."

"Of course not," Gene said indignantly. "We'll cook—you and I."

"I'll help," Mai offered quickly.

"Don't be ridiculous." Lin smiled at her warmly. "Gene and I will cook for you."

"You guys," Mai whispered, looking at her hands. "It doesn't have to be such a big deal." But inside she felt happy, immensely so, warmed by their consideration.

"And it might be a good opportunity to fill you in on all the background of the Kanegae case before we leave," Lin continued.

"Lin, we were having a happy moment and you ruined it," Gene muttered.

"No, he's right though," Mai said. Then, mouth forming an 'o' she turned back to Lin. "Oh! Your phone call? That wasn't—sorry to be so rude—was that your grandmother?"

"Sorry to disappoint. It was Sarah." Lin smiled apologetically.

"Oh," Mai's cheeks flushed pink. "I didn't mean it that way. How is she?"

"She's well. Says hello to both of you. Sounds like BSPR is incredibly busy these days. She's in Brighton—on a case with Stevens."

"Too bad she got stuck on the case with Stevens instead of working with Madoka," Gene said, slouching down in his chair. "Noll told me Stevens has been a right prat to him since he got back. Nothing out of the ordinary, then, I guess."

Lin's lips twitched in a smile. "I know we all have our problems with Stevens, but you do have to acknowledge he's a good investigator. And Sarah enjoys working with Haliama, who has always worked under Stevens."

"Haliama?" Mai shook her head. "I never met her."

Lin paused, considering. "She would have left BSPR before you came to England."

"Haliama left?" Gene asked, genuinely surprised and curious. "What happened to her?"

Lin hesitated, then considered for a moment. "She moved away—to South America if I recall correctly. I don't remember the circumstances, whether it was because of a job or family."

"Oh." Gene hummed and rested his chin against his knuckles, trying not to think about the strangeness of talking about someone in the past tense when they still existed in the present, but it had been perfectly natural. "So no word from you grandmother just yet, Lin?"

"Not yet." Lin rose to his feet abruptly, turning and heading for the kitchen. "I'm going to put the kettle on. Mai, would you like anything? Gene?"

"Oh—yes please," Mai called, as Gene simultaneously said "I'm fine."

Mai gave Gene a quizzical look, who shrugged in response. "I think it's a bit touchy," he whispered. "After all, his grandmother wasn't too pleased to hear about Sarah. And now it's been how long since she was here? Surely there would be something to report back by now."

"It's only been four days," Mai frowned.

Gene shrugged. "Just saying."

Mai rose to her feet. "I think you're being impatient." His eyes followed her as she crossed the room and she stopped in front of him, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Now you're the one who sounds like Noll." Gene grinned and hopped to his feet. "Changed my mind. Maybe a cup of tea right now wouldn't be so bad."

...

Mid-morning light filtered through the thin curtains, casting a faint shadow on the pages of the book in his hands. Oliver was reading at the kitchen table, breakfast plate and teacup still in front of him even though he'd eaten hours ago. He didn't have any classes today; as such he was alone at home and hadn't gotten around to washing up after breakfast.

Oliver set the book aside, checked his watch and let his thoughts extend out toward the link that connected him to his brother, but there was nothing on the other side and it felt like reaching into a cold, vast darkness that he couldn't see inside. Mentally, he pulled himself back. While that empty, lonely feeling had been normal in what felt like a different lifetime ago, it was now strange and unsettling, disturbing even.

He picked up his mobile and dialled Gene's number. His frown deepened as the line rang out and went to voicemail. Where was he? Morning here in England was the middle of the afternoon in Tokyo. Even if Gene was asleep or focused on something else to the effect that his psychic link could not reach him, his phone should be on. He shook his head and hung up before the message reel began to play.

There were so many things Oliver wanted to talk about. That he had been wrong in his thinking about the butterfly effect; that the fact he had turned time around and that alone had set off these different events. He wanted to tell him about the letter they had received from the Nilsons. Gene would consider it happy news to receive this letter from their biological grandparents and he wanted to hear his reaction in real time.

And he wanted to ask Gene questions about the case they would be starting in Etajima. He was curious, and despite knowing he couldn't be there, had rationalised why he shouldn't be there—he wanted to be there all the same, wanted to be there with his brother, Mai and Lin and whoever else they managed to bring along. But he couldn't bring himself to leave any of it in a message.

Oliver set the phone down and rose to his feet, clearing his breakfast dishes from the table. After he had washed and dried the dishes, he stood at the kitchen window and gazed into the small backyard garden behind the house. The small apple tree Martin had planted a few summers ago looked like it might burst into blossoms any day now.

Mai had loved Martin's garden in the future; had loved standing under that blossoming tree in the spring, her closest link to the ubiquitous cherry blossoms in her new home. But that was in a different lifetime now. His throat constricted as he thought about how Luella and Martin had welcomed Mai into their home, how close the three of them had gotten over time. Even with the rocky start they had gotten off to when the three of them met, none of that could happen now. Even if Mai came to London she wouldn't live at the Davis house, as she had in that other time.

He shook his head and turned his back to the window. His books lay out in front of him on the table. He had just a little more reading to do, and then he could turn his attention back to the case—

Just as Oliver sat down, the phone in the other room began to ring. He considered ignoring it for a moment, then sighed and rose to his feet again. The caller was persistent and didn't hang up by the fifth ring, when he answered.

"Davis residence."

"Oliver, good morning. This is Lin Hua."

It was such a surprise that the call was, firstly for him and secondly, Lin's grandmother, that it took him a beat to respond. "Good morning." Instantly he was on edge. Why would Lin Hua be calling him? Why today? "What can I do for you, Mrs Lin?"

"Oh please, no need to be so formal. Call me Hua. I hope I'm not interrupting you."

"Not at all."

"Good. I'm in London at the moment and I would like to have this discussion in person. Perhaps I could trouble you to meet me for morning tea?"

It was an hour by train into the heart of London, and then nearly twenty minutes' walk from Liverpool Station across the London Bridge to the hotel where she'd asked him to meet her. Thirty-five floors up and he found Lin Hua waiting for him outside an upscale restaurant lounge. Even if she'd been surrounded by people he knew she'd be easy to pick out in a crowd. There was no other way to describe it but to say she had presence—an small, elderly woman with a piercing gaze, a very straight back and snow white hair.

"Oliver, so good of you to come." He followed her inside into the open restaurant. The room was bright with natural light with chic low tables and chairs with stylish décor. Oliver knew this was the type of place that would be very popular among a certain class of clientele, but Wednesday mornings were obviously not their busiest time of day. Lin Hua had evidently already made arrangements, for as soon as they had taken a seat a young man with slicked-back hair was placing a teapot and teacups on the table in front of them followed by a platter of assorted cakes. Hua waved him away when he attempted to pour the tea and took the teapot herself.

"Now," she said, pouring a cup of tea and passing it to him across the table. "I'm sure you are wondering why I've asked you to come here so suddenly. This may sound to you a strange question, but I need to confirm—you did not go to Morocco in the second week of March?" She poured her own cup of tea and gazed at him severely.

"Of course not. Why—"

"Yes." Hua sipped her tea, a small smile twitching her thin lips. "Of course you didn't. I'm apologise, but I had to ask."

"Why would you even need to?"

She leaned back in her seat, considering him. "I brought Aahil with us to Morocco. His strength lies in reading auras, one of my spirit's strengths lie in seeing the past. Together—well, I'm sure you can imagine." She tilted her head and did not elaborate further. "And what Aahil saw in that cave bore an uncanny resemblance to you. Such that he could not tell the imprint left by this man apart from you. I had to be certain." She gazed at him for a long time that he began to feel uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "Even now, he tells me it is exactly the same. Your aura and the one he saw left in that cave of the djinn. That if he didn't know better, he would say it was your fingerprint left behind."

Oliver frowned. It was a off-putting to say the least, that Aahil was currently lurking behind Hua and scrutinising him with the very same gaze she was.

"You're saying that my aura is identical to the man who consumed the djinn."

"Yes." Hua took a bite of cake and offered the plate toward him, but he held up his hand to decline. "Everyone's spiritual fingerprint is unique, Oliver—or so I thought. We seem to have come across your doppelganger."

His frown deepened. "What does it mean, exactly, that we have the same spiritual fingerprint?"

"It means that he has the same abilities as you." Hua gazed at him with narrowed eyes. "Aahil can see your psychometry and immense spiritual strength in your aura. It would seem this man is the same."

Oliver paused, considering this. "I thought you said it wasn't a man."

"The shiki I had sent to investigate was deceived. Of this, I am completely certain. Just as the children of the djinn reported, it was a living, breathing man who came here, very much alive and human. But if I am to believe the reports from my spirits—which I do—he did not come alone. There is a second imprint here, something which he has never seen before. If the djinn could not see it, it must have been something not on their realm. Some kind of spirit—perhaps a spirit familiar of his own."

Oliver tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. "What do you mean—not in their realm?"

"As you know, some spirits are more alive than dead. Djinn are very much alive—I suppose we cannot even call them spirits, they are something else entirely. They would not be able to see a spirit which is dead."

Oliver's thoughts began to race. A spirit which was dead— "Then, what we would call a ghost."

"Yes. Precisely."

"And yet Aahil has never seen anything like this before?"

"Not Aahil nor any of my other familiars." Hua sighed and took another piece of cake from the tray—this one, he noticed, had pale green icing topped with a pale pink rose. "This is what troubles me. I do not know why this second imprint should be so foreign to them." She smiled wryly as she carefully portioned off a bite-sized piece of the cake with her fork. "Well. I would be lying if I said all of it didn't trouble me."

Oliver's throat felt very tight. "Why are you telling me this? Shouldn't you be telling your grandson?"

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure I made the right decision in telling all of this to my Sunzi. " Hua's smile relaxed. "Yifan—my son, Sunzi's father—did not understand why I wanted to see you either. But I like to see things as they are before me, Oliver, and I wanted to see you. Even if we could not account for your whereabouts that second week of March, I would know it could not have been you. That is why I wanted to see you today."

"Why not?"

"Because this act of travelling through the spiritual plane—from an alternate future, if that is what it is—to the middle of the Moroccan desert seems to me a very irrational action. And you are anything but irrational."

Oliver shook his head. "We may not understand it but that does not mean it was not a rational action on their part."

"That may be." Hua tipped her head. "And I have told Sunzi as much."

"What have you told him?" This time he was the one who held her gaze.

"I love my grandson more than anyone else on this earth. And I know you two are close," Hua spoke carefully. "Trust me when I say if there was anything I could do to avoid putting a strain on your friendship, I would do it. But I could not keep this from him. That there is another man with powers identical to your own, walking this earth and consuming large amounts of psychic energy? I had to tell him."

"And I would not have expected you to do anything to the contrary. What did he say?"

"You have put me in a difficult position." Hua said with a mirthless smile. "That was all."

Oliver nodded absently, considering only momentarily how Gene and Mai would react to this news when Lin inevitably told them. If he knew Lin—which he was confident he did—the man would sit on the information for a day or two before relaying it to the others. However, considering Mai was focusing on her exams this week and how protective Lin had become of her, he wouldn't be surprised if he waited until she was finished. But the real question was, would Lin tell Gene?

He turned his thoughts to what Hua had said. If it was true that he had a doppelganger, what were the implications? He sat in silence, pondering this train of thought. Across the table, Hua ate her cake and poured both of them another cup of tea, waiting quietly without showing any signs of impatience.

"I have a question for you, if you don't mind," he finally said, reaching for his teacup. "That djinn—how long would you have watched it? If it had remained dormant in the desert for years and years—would you still have kept an eye on it?"

Hua tilted her head, raising her eyebrows as she considered him. "Now that is an interesting question. Quite possibly, yes."

"I don't mean to sound presumptuous—and after all I have no idea how many spirit familiars you employ, nor would I presume to understand their employment. But over time—years and years, of course—your grandson in England, married and his wife about to have a child, is it possible the spirit you had watching the djinn would have had more important work done elsewhere?"

Hua leaned forward and rested her chin on clasped hands, silver rings glinting in the light. "What are you suggesting?"

"That the very same fate befell this djinn in the future." Oliver met her gaze evenly. "Why else would something—someone—pass through the spiritual plane to this time and make this his first stop?"

Hua exhaled slowly and leaned back in her chair, nodding. "I understand what you're saying."

"And of course it is possible you were aware of what had happened to the djinn in the future." Oliver continued. "With only my and Lin's memories on the matter, it could have been something you were very much aware of. I assume your familiars acknowledge the shift in time but do not hold specific memories of it."

"That is so. Aahil seems to be alone amongst the spirit familiars in that he holds distinct memories of that time." Hua sighed again and picked up her teacup. "If I had become aware of what happened, as last time I would have informed Sunzi. But not if he were about to become a father." She shook her head with a bitter smile. "If he had told me. I am not particularly keen on him forming a lasting relationship with that woman." She saw his eyebrows raise and she waved her hand. "It has nothing to do with her being Japanese. I had hoped to be able to set him up with a daughter from another distinguished family. But if they had married and had been about to have a child…" her voice trailed off. "I suppose I had better come to terms with his decision."

"Can I ask what you're going to do now?"

"Ah. Yes, indeed." Hua took the last bite of her cake, considering the question. "I am not able to determine where this man went after Montignac. Whoever he is, he is very good at slipping between cracks as his trail clearly points there from Morocco and yet—" she spread her fingers. "—from there he seems to disappear into thin air. We know nothing about him nor his motivations. For all we know, he could still be in France, Europe, or who knows—perhaps he has flown across the Atlantic to America. Or perhaps he has hidden himself into a cave as that djinn did, and we will never hear from him again."

"But you wouldn't take that chance."

"No." Hua laughed bitterly. "Absolutely not. As far as I am concerned, this man could be a danger to my family. Whether he has an unknown motivation or not, from my point of view it appears we are looking at someone who is hungry for power. Considering my family is one of spiritualists, sorcerers and diviners, I cannot take the risk that he will not show up on my own doorstep some day in the future for his next meal. As unlikely as it may be. I have asked my daughter-in-law to use every form of divination she has learned to look into Sunzi's future, but she can see nothing that points to him being targeted by this man. So I intend to keep it that way."

Oliver frowned, suddenly uneasy. "What are you going to do?" He repeated.

"I will return to Hong Kong. I am going to make sure this unknown man never comes close to any of my family."

Oliver thought about the spells he had seen Lin cast to keep spirits at bay and the paper wards he had seen Matsuzaki prepare. "Using sorcery," he supplied.

Hua smiled thinly. "I may spend the rest of my life in this venture, but I intend to prevent him from ever approaching any of my bloodline. Only then can I know they will be safe from him."

Oliver exhaled slowly, trying to control his anger. "Rather than find him and see for yourself if he is a threat?"

"And how do you propose I do that?" Hua shook her head. "No. You've missed the point, my dear boy. I know he is a threat, which I will minimise."

"Then what do you want from me?" When she didn't respond immediately Oliver barked out a short laugh. "I'm like you, Mrs Hua. I like to see things as they are in front of me. What do you want from me that prompted you to fly to England? You obviously trust the word of your spirit familiars. I was with Lin during that second week of March, and therefore with Aahil. And you could have sent him alone if you wanted him to confirm what he saw was my lookalike."

Hua laughed outright. "Quite right you are." Her eyes narrowed and Oliver felt a chill run up his spine. "He is your doppelganger," she finally said. Her voice was soft but he could hear the implication behind the tone. "And I cannot take the risk that he would deceive me using your likeness."

Oliver stared at her, at a loss of what to say. Hua held out her hand towards him and he lowered his stare from her gaze to her palm.

"I can only stop him if you no longer look the same." He lifted his eyes back to her penetrating gaze. This was non-negotiable, he knew. She had made up her mind and would not change her decision.

Hua's eyes softened slightly at his hesitation. "I only need you to give me something," she said gently. "Something that only you have, something that can't be replicated in another. And I wouldn't be taking it from you. Consider it sharing. All I'm asking is for a memory—a memory you share with someone with whom you have a close bond."

"A memory—" his throat was tight and he couldn't speak, but he found he couldn't pull his gaze from hers.

"It's either your brother or her," Hua said quietly. "I would prefer her, as she would be easier to distinguish. But I'll leave it up to you."

He managed to drop his gaze back to her hand as he considered what she was asking of him. On the surface of it, a memory didn't sound like much of a price. But he knew there was more to it than that. Any memory wouldn't do. Surely Lin Hua was asking for a link into the bond he had with one of them, a glimpse of the threads that held them together so that his being was forever differentiated in her eyes than that of this doppelganger of his.

But he had refused to show Gene any of his memories of Mai, his own twin brother with whom he'd never kept any secrets from when he was alive. How could he share something so private with Lin's grandmother? Whom he had only just met today for the first time? And Gene—memories he had with his twin brother were just as private and precious as his memories with Mai. And what did it mean if she could see his link to Gene? Could that compromise their telepathy?

He thought about Mai, the way she pushed her lips out in a pout when she didn't get her way. The way her eyes lit up when she saw him across the room, the way she would find him with a cup of tea when he hadn't even realised that was exactly what he needed. How she would touch his shoulder very gently when he couldn't handle any physical contact after using his psychometry and yet craved the comfort of another person's presence all the same. How she would clench her fists when she was angry, the mischievous spark in her eyes and her rebuttals when he teased her, the way she would stick out her chin indignantly when he was being stubborn. How she smelled sweet when she embraced him and the calm he felt whenever she held his hand in her own.

He closed his eyes as he made his decision, his throat tightening. I have no choice, he thought. Reaching out to take Hua's hand, he pulled the memory to the surface of his mind and let himself relive it. He knew Hua was seeing it too.

Dappled sunlight moves in patterns on flat stones, worn smooth by countless people treading on them for hundreds of years. Weddings and festivals, dances and rituals. So many people have passed through here, young and old alike. He lifts his gaze into the trees above, watching leaves dance in the wind. It is a warm summer wind, blowing his hair into his eyes and the smell of the forest fills his nostrils. He instinctively closes his eyes as sunlight falls onto his face and turns his head away. It is bright, too bright.

He turns his head to see her lift hers, dropping hands back to her sides. She has finished praying now and steps toward him, much calmer than before. She smiles at him and he takes a step forward, the two of them walking side-by-side through the shrine grounds. He can't help but notice this easiness, the way she falls into step at his side. Even though years have passed it almost feels as if they were together only days ago. How acutely he is aware of her presence, how right this feels. In the years they were apart he would never admit to himself that he missed her. He realises now how foolish that was. After all, what is admission but an opportunity to change things?

We died, didn't we? she asks. The only way we could be here now is if we died. There is a resignation in her voice, as she grapples with this unfamiliar, unpleasant revelation.

One part of him doesn't want her to know. But the other has always known she deserves nothing but the truth. She is the one person he never wants to lie to. And he knows she can handle it—probably even better than he ever could. Another thing he doesn't want to admit.

When he tells her, her retaliation is so swift and immediate that, looking back, he doesn't know how he avoided the smack that was meant for his arm. Funny, that in her anger of his willingness to step into his own destruction, her first instinct is to try to hurt him. But it is a way to normalise it, he knows, and not that she means him any real harm. He understands her anger, now, years later. He was exactly the same, when she was so foolish and reckless for him.

She cries, then, fists clenched at her sides before covering her face and bursting into tears. He doesn't know how to comfort her but he tries anyway. A hand, tentative on her shoulder. Taking one step closer and drawing her into an embrace. He has never let himself get this close to anyone before. It is not just the physical proximity. It is the sign he knows he is sending her, showing her how he feels without having to say it. And the way, when she backs away from him, she stares up into his eyes. Her eyes asking him if he really means it, and by keeping her gaze he is telling her that he does. He realises, now, fully that he risked his life for her. And that he would do it again in an instant. Hasn't it always been this way?

This moment seems to last an eternity, and in it he has made up his mind. He cannot let anything to happen to her. With all of his being he wants to protect her, and more than anything he wants to stay by her side.

He relives the memory of standing on the shrine steps, feeling the heat of the day build even in the shade of the trees, holding Mai's gaze as surely as she holds his. This is the pivot in their relationship. Had this moment gone differently—had she not gotten angry or burst into tears, had he not put his arms around her, had they not even stopped at this shrine—perhaps nothing would have turned out the way it did. He has the distinct feeling that Lin Hua is reeling in a carbon copy of this moment, winding it up as one might collect a ball of loose twine. The memory is no longer his alone, and because of it the sound of her voice is a little fainter, the brightness of her eyes a little dimmer, and her shoulders now out of reach, so much further away.

...

When Oliver opened his eyes Lin Hua was placing a plate of cake in front of him. "Eat," she commanded when he attempted to refuse. "Constant control of psychometry is extremely tasking. I can't very well have you passing out on the street this afternoon, now can I."

He picked up the fork and portioned off a corner of the cake, hesitating before taking the bite. "I didn't know you were a psychometrist."

Hua smiled, lips quirked in a wry grin. "It's not just that I have a sweet tooth." Her eyes softened as she gazed at him, and this time her face did seem honestly gentle. "It's not an easy thing to be."

Even though the cake was too sweet on his tongue, it did seem to make him feel better. "It's more than just seeing other people's memories for you, isn't it? You don't," he paused, choosing his words carefully. "You don't live through someone else's memories and then retain it with your own, remembering as if it happened to you but knowing it didn't. Your psychometry is different, isn't it?"

"That was the extent of my psychometry when I was your age," Hua said. "I was lucky that my mother was able to teach me, and learned at an early age how to control how and when to accept the residues of others' memories. As I am sure you must do. Over time, and with practice, you will find you can limit the intensity and keep the memory impersonal while still taking in the information." She looked amused. "As a scientist, you may appreciate this new way to collect data. It may be very useful to you in your career."

He ate the rest of the cake in silence, wondering if his memory had seemed impersonal to her and if it truly had been the right decision to give it to her so easily. But he knew he could not have refused her, and it would have gotten very unpleasant had he tried.

"What will you do with my memory?"

"Only use it to distinguish you from the other." Hua poured him another cup of tea, filling the cup only half full with the remainder from the pot. "He cannot have that same memory, so the spells I cast will identify and exclude you."

He smiled bitterly. "You won't keep me from your Sunzi?"

Hua smiled as she set down her teacup. "No. That was never my intention."

Oliver drank the tea and stood to leave. Hua rose and looked him straight in the eye. "Promise me one thing, Oliver. If you ever come across this man, your doppelganger, remember our meeting today. Remember that out of my fear of him I took something precious from you, and that given the chance this man will take your spiritual energy in the same way he devoured the djinn."

"I know," she continued, holding up her hand to silence him. "I know because I have seen this all before. Even if this djinn was the very first instance, it will not be the last. There is nothing good in a human consuming that kind of energy. It does something to you, it changes you. And it is addictive. He will look for it again, and when he does you must stop him. You must make sure he never feeds on the energy of others again."

"And you're giving this responsibility to me? While you hide yourself with magic?" He sneered.

"Yes." Hua's smile was wry. "I know I'm not being fair to you. But I am old, Oliver, and turning away from this fight. You are young and resilient. You know what is right. I don't need to ask you, because I know you will do it anyway. You will stop him. At any cost."

...

Because he was already in the city, Oliver left the hotel and went straight to BSPR. He knew Martin would be at Cambridge all day so he went into his father's office. He closed the door behind him and began to pace the room.

He was angry. Angry that Lin Hua would use him so easily, angry that he was powerless against her. And he was angry that he knew she was right. If his path crossed with this man, of course he would stop him. He could not turn a blind eye—not if, as Lin Hua suggested, this man would do it again.

As he paced he began to calm down, his anger subsiding. Maybe he was overreacting. Yes, Lin Hua was turning away from the situation in front of her. Even though it wasn't right, he could understand why. Her priority was to ensure her family line remained safe and stable. Nothing else would take precedence over that. But it did irritate him that she expected so much of him. And what was this talk of stopping him at all costs? It led to a thought he was not comfortable thinking.

He stopped in his pacing and stood very still, thinking. He would have to talk to Lin. While he didn't want to have to admit that his friend's grandmother had bullied him in a fancy restaurant, he needed to know what Lin Hua had told her own grandson.

And he still hadn't spoken to Madoka—

With that thought he abruptly left the room, treading down the hall toward Madoka's office. The door was ajar so Oliver knocked and pushed it open. Madoka was seated at her overflowing desk, slightly bent as she perused the papers spread out and covering the surface in front of her. She didn't look up as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"Noll, I reckon you want to discuss our plan of action this weekend in Worcestershire," Madoka said cheerfully, waving him inside and gesturing toward the sofa. "Just give me a second, I had a thought..."

He said nothing and sat down, waiting for her to finish. She appeared to be cross-referencing his notes with hers and with the original notes Stevens had given them, searching for something. He knew this feeling all too well—knowing something was there but not quite being able to put one's finger on it.

"Argghhhh," she finally let out a frustrated groan, dropping her head in her hands. "I can't find it. Guess I'd better sleep on it."

"Can't find what?"

"Oh—" she waved her hand at the papers. "There was something strange about this. Remember her signed list of witnesses—I'm pretty sure somewhere, there's a note that somebody approached her and asked her to do it. Which is odd, really."

"Yes—it was in Steven's original notes."

"I thought so too—but I thought he'd taken down his name. Unless I'm completely making this up, but it was John or James or Jimmy—something like that." Madoka sighed. "Anyway. It's either there or it isn't. Another question for Judith Pullman." She rose to her feet, stretching and stepping away from the desk. "I'll take a break and come back to it. What did you want to discuss? Find anything new?"

"No." he paused, hesitating. Even though he'd decided to tell Madoka the truth he hadn't given much thought about how to breach the subject. "It's—not about the case."

She stilled, eying him with a curious glance. He didn't need to elaborate. She would know he was picking up their conversation from the day before.

"It's the truth, that Gene didn't want to tell you—doesn't. But I want you to know." He finally said.

She was waiting expectantly, but didn't press him.

"You asked if Gene thought he time-travelled. It wasn't him." Oliver exhaled and met her gaze. "It was me."

He watched as her shoulders slowly fell in a long, silent sigh. Madoka didn't say anything for some time. When she did, she spoke softly. "You're not precognitive, Noll."

He could have laughed, that this was her reaction. "Of course I'm not."

She gazed at him for a moment and then bent to open her desk drawer, retrieving a file folder. "So this explains why Martin has gotten all quiet." She shook her head to herself as she opened the folder and took out a single sheet of paper, inside a clear plastic sleeve. "Here," she said, holding it out to him.

He frowned and reached over to take it. It was a hand-written letter and even through the plastic he could feel how thin the paper was. The cursive script was old-fashioned and difficult for him to read. The page began without salutation and ended with a signature, the final page in a longer piece of correspondence.

"Where was this?" he asked.

"In a box of papers to be binned," Madoka said quietly. "I couldn't find the first page—or pages. The fellow is rather long winded, who knows. The rest of it has probably already gone out in the shredding."

"What is it?"

"Read it, you'll see."

Oliver started at the top of the page, struggling at first with the cursive script.

I confess, at first I did not believe what was plainly in front of me. I thought I was dreaming. After all, have we not all had dreams so vivid we believe we have truly lived them?

And yet, when one is truly cognizant, one understands that what is before oneself is completely real. It did not take long for me to recognise truth for what it was. So at first I thought I was dreaming, then I thought perhaps I had awoken from one. Deep in my soul I knew both of these so-called dreams were, in fact, real. What I saw before my eyes was real and yet what one might call a 'dream'—that, too, had been real. So how does one reconcile these views which are in complete opposition?

The only way to settle these thoughts is to accept that the impossible is actually possible. That I had truly seen and lived a life into the future and at my sister's untimely death I had—somehow—returned to a past when she was still as alive as I. You can say I saw the future in a dream, and yet I know what I had seen was real and tangible. And yet when something as intangible as time is reversed, how does one collect evidence and prove what has passed?

I could have told you things I knew, could have proved that I had lived this life and then stepped back into my past self to live it again. I admit I lived with a single purpose—that my sister would not face the same fate she once had. You can imagine my distress when she was involved in an accident. So I went back again.

That I was able to do it again only proved to me what I had already known, that all of this was real. It was not a dream. What I had seen—the self I was only moments before—was a future so real, I had lived it in its entirety, and when I opened my eyes in the present it was as if I had stepped back into my past self. Yet that I had done this act so deliberately I was suddenly terrified of the consequences. Should a man such as myself be allowed to pass through time so freely? Would God forgive such presumption? Yes, I had only done so to save my sister's life, but the doubt began to spread. I do not know if you are a religious man, but I know everything He does is for a reason, perhaps even those He calls to His flock when we are not yet ready to part.

I am a man and I have my doubts, but if our Father in Heaven has given me this ability to save her life then it is only one part of His divine plan. I do not consider myself a fortune-teller. I leave that to the heretics, for what I have seen—what I have been given—is truly nothing less than a gift. And so I allow myself to dream, again and again if I must. For when I wake and she is alive and well that I might continue to live this life God has given me.

I intended to describe this to you in detail, but as I begin I realise there are so many things I wish to say that I cannot determine where to even begin. If you would be kind enough to allow time for us to meet I should like to discuss these matters with you further. I await your reply.

Kindest regards – J E Renault

Oliver frowned and lifted his head, meeting Madoka's gaze. She was watching him carefully, arms folded across her chest. He couldn't help but finger the paper in his hands, trying to pull something from it—but there was nothing.

"Who knows how old this letter is." Madoka sighed, placing it back into the folder as he handed it back to her. "It seems old, but with everything else in those rooms downstairs—" she waved her hand in a vague gesture "—who knows where any of it actually came from. And that it was in the bin, it's impossible to know which box it might have come out of that we might be able to trace it." She shook her head and crossed the room, sitting down on her sofa. She leaned back, propping her arm against the back of the sofa and rested her head against her hand.

"I'm surprised you found it at all, if it was in the rubbish."

"Me too." Madoka's face turned serious. "Was it anything like that?"

Oliver leaned back against the edge of the desk, considering her, but she did not seem to be joking. "You believe me, then? Just like that?"

Madoka snorted. "I know when you're lying, Noll, and when you're telling the truth. Just because I don't understand doesn't mean I think you're lying."

"Most people would."

"I think you know I'm not most people." She gazed at him and he could see she was not going to let him dodge this question. "Does any of this letter sound familiar?"

He thought for a moment and then shook his head, choosing his words carefully. "All these allusions to dreams—this man seemed surprised to have found himself where he was. At least at first. While I was certain what would happen and what I was doing."

Her eyes widened. "You went back in time on purpose?"

"Yes."

"Tell me then, why did you go back?"

He turned his head, seeking the window to evade her gaze. Again, he didn't know whose instincts to trust. Gene hadn't wanted their ghost-hunting mentor to think her encouragement for him to travel independently had led to his death, even if that only existed in the memories of a select few. And yet Mai had told him to tell Madoka the truth. He certainly had no intention of lying, but Gene was right—there were details he would have to omit, at least for now. But Mai was right that Madoka needed to know.

"Are there things you would turn time around to re-do?" He finally said, a bitter smile lifting his lips. "Looking back you realise you've made a mistake. And some things can never be undone so there's nothing you can do to fix it. Nothing—except were it not to happen." He turned his head back to meet her gaze. "I needed to be there for him. Gene went to Japan and I didn't go with him—but I should have. Our lives diverged at this point and I always regretted it."

"How much time had passed before you..?"

"I'd rather not say exactly."

"It must have been more than you simply didn't go with Gene on this trip," Madoka reasoned.

"True, it was a combination of things."

Madoka nodded slowly, thinking. She seemed to accept that he didn't want to go into the details and was content to leave it at that—at least for now. "And you said you knew what you were doing. That you did it on purpose."

"Yes."

Her fingers began to tap against her leg. "Using… a combination of your psychometry and PK?"

Oliver couldn't help himself from laughing, dropping his head as he leaned his weight against the desk. Of course—of course Madoka would have instantly made this connection. It had taken him and Lin—how long? And yet she had instantly known. "Yes. That's my hypothesis, at any rate."

When he lifted his head she was gazing at him with a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. She shook her head, lips twitching in a grin. "This explains why you've been acting so strangely. I knew it had to be something."

"I suppose I'm not the same person I was when I was sixteen," he acknowledged, tilting his head. "But I think I've managed relatively well. No one else has noticed."

"Of course not," she scoffed. "You can fool the world, Oliver, but not me. How long has it been since you first started ghost hunting with me? Five years, six years?" she gazed at him, her smile warming her eyes. "Just as I'm sure you know me, I've come to know you rather well, Noll."

But I know you better than you think I do, the thought rose, unbidden into his mind. Because I've seen you, eight years into the future, where you go, and where that future takes you.

...

a/n:

Why. Hello everyone! *nervous wave*

Since it's been ages and ages, I thought you deserved an explanation. I can't believe it's been almost two years (ermagerd) since I last updated. To be honest .. the first year I was having a lot of trouble with finding where this chapter should begin. I had been working very stubbornly on what has now become chapter 22 but the story was not having it and it took me a long time to find the missing pieces. More than that, I have been having a lot of problems with the story as a whole. Not exactly in what comes next (but a little bit of that) but what has come before in previous chapters. It's been eight years and some now since I started this story. I have changed, my writing has changed, and my opinion of the characters—Naru most of all—has changed. I write very transparently, heart on the sleeve et cetera, and so when my feelings change it has been difficult to reconcile with what I felt before. Most obviously, Mai's preoccupation in earlier chapters with starting her eventual family with Naru, which does not sit well with my current view of how Mai and Naru's actual relationship would unfold. As this story got longer and as I became more and more invested in it, I became more and more convinced it had to be perfect, which became more and more difficult as time goes on. This story is far from perfect. There are huge structural problems with gaps and overlaps in the timeline, I don't see any of the characters reflecting canon any more, going back and rereading certain scenes make me cringe. And of course, it is a circle. As time goes on, continuing has become increasingly daunting. Not to mention real life always gets in the way. I recently started an extremely challenging job which has been way above my comfort level and right now I feel like everything in my life has gotten thrown off-kilter because of it. And there is that ever difficult problem of how to prioritise hobbies/obsessions/chores/entertainment/family in what seems like dwindling free time.

But, I have slowly started making progress again, and if there's one thing I've learned from all this it's just to keep going. Yes, this story will be flawed and yes I would do things differently if I had another chance (oh, the irony), but I mean it when I say I absolutely want to finish it. And believe me when I say I am stubborn in this determination.

Anyway, tl;dr: To everyone who's come back after my hiatus, a thousand apologies for making you wait so long and a thousand thank you's for sticking with me, for your reviews and continued encouragement and patience even when I appeared to have dropped off the end of the earth. I cannot thank you enough for it. And to you and anyone else who might just be picking this up now: let's enjoy the ride :)