Izzy ran away. Again.
She hefted on her snow coat on as she exited Joe's house, throwing a hasty goodbye to his parents before the door slammed shut behind her. Light snow fell on the streets of Brooklyn, blanketing everything in a layer white. Izzy shivered, but not from the cold.
The Monocle Man… Mad Jack, was realer than ever. She dreaded this happening for years, clinging to the hope that maybe that incident with her and her mother was a bad dream she'd mistaken for a memory. In less than an hour, she'd met her boogie man, learned his name, and found out one of her friends was his nephew. Could she trust Joe anymore? Could she trust any of her friends?
Of course I can, she thought. Just because someone had bad relatives didn't mean that they themselves were bad. Her maternal grandparents disowned their only daughter to the point of not even attending her funeral, but her mother was the most loving person she knew.
Izzy's dad must have trusted Joe, too. Why else would he tell her to go find Joe if he was in cahoots with Mad Jack? If Joe was working with his uncle, something would've happened by now.
This opened more question for her. How did her mother know that time traveling madman? Did she know about time travel? What about her dad?
It wasn't hard for her to believe that they knew about time travel and never told her. But why? She knew about magic. Her parents taught her what it was. They taught her how to use it, to respect, and not to abuse it. Why not tell her about time traveling?
Magic and time travel might be similar, but Izzy knew they weren't the same. With magic, the witch or wizard was in complete control of the outcome if they studied, trained, and knew what they were doing. Time travel, at least from Izzy's experience, wasn't as clean cut. You could be prepared, know your history, have the means to protect yourself, but you could still be at the mercy of others. Between Master Mysterio and Mad Jack, Izzy knew how dangerous things could get.
So her parents kept it from her to protect her.
Izzy sighed, her breath trailing into the air in misty wisps. She was being a brat. For one reason or another, some kids didn't have their parents looking out for them. She was lucky to have even one who cared about her safety. Izzy shouldn't complain about a few kept secrets when her parents only meant to protect her. Besides, she had secrets as well. How could she be upset with her parents when she was keeping her situation away from her friends and not feel like a big fat hypocrite?
Were her parents time travelers? It made sense the more she thought about it. Her dad read her history books to sleep when she was little instead of picture books or fairy tales. Her mom would decorate their home with old-timey knickknacks that always seemed a bit more authentic than a Made in China replica.
There were other things, too. Vague memories of vacations when she was no older than three or four. Meeting people she'd later learned were dead for centuries. Trips to countries that no longer existed. For years thinking the great pyramids were white, only to find out in the fifth grade that that was hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Things she disregarded because she thought they were simple misunderstandings.
Those trips, however, ended with a visit to Egypt. Izzy remembered crying; her mother's distressed face; cold, manic eyes that bore into her. She tried to recall more details, but it was like trying to roll a boulder uphill. Just when she was about to get somewhere, it would all come crashing back down, and she'd wind up back at square one.
Izzy tried to put these thoughts aside that night and get some rest, but the thoughts invaded her dreams, morphing and transforming into strange and weird images that confused her even further.
The next day at the Craft Shack, Izzy helped Joe pick out color chips and tried to stifle a yawn.
The Craft Shack was this local hobbyist store that carried everything an artist/seamstress/scrapbooker could ever want/need/buy and forget they had. It was meant to be just her and Joe picking out colors for their trick box, but Sam and Fred tagged along and she was happy to have them there.
Sam lagged behind, his nose in an engineering book. Despite declaring he had no eye for color theory, he chimed in every now and again, adding his two cents on what he thought about each shade of purple they looked at. Fred had… questionable taste when it came to color coordination. He seemed to think clashing colors would help them stand out more. It would, but not without damaging some corneas in the audience.
Joe was dead set on picking out the perfect colors for the trick box Izzy built for their talent show. Joe was one of the most ambitious people Izzy had ever met. The talent show wasn't for another month, but ever since Joe asked for her help, they've been practicing whenever they could after school. Izzy was practically finished with the box so they could start working on the payoff of the trick instead of just the setup.
There were still things they needed to work on, outfits to buy, etcetera. It was a lot of work, but Izzy enjoyed it. At her old school, kids wouldn't care enough to put together an act the way Joe did. She admired him for that.
"How about this one?" Joe asked, pulling out another purple paint chip.
"Dude, just pick one." Fred waved a flippant hand at the row of paint chips. "These are all the exact same color."
"No, they're not," Izzy said and picked out two different chips to show him. "Royal aubergine has more red in it than uncut amethyst, which is a lighter shade of purple. See?"
Fred nodded. "Oh, uh huh. Definitely."
Izzy frowned. "Was that sarcasm?"
"Oh, uh huh. Definitely. Of course you can tell the difference. You're a girl. Chicks see more colors than guys do."
Sam shook his head. "Fred, that's…" He blinked, reconsidering Fred's statement. "Actually true."
"See, what'd I tell ya? All these names are pointless. Violet Twilight? Lavender Razzmatazz? What even is a razzmatazz? Some kind of sprinkler?"
Izzy examined the last chip Fred pointed out. "It's my middle name."
"Lavender?" Sam asked.
"No." She mentally kicked herself for even bringing it up. "It's… Razzmatazz."
Fred and Sam looked at her. Even Joe, who was previously fixated on looking at colors, turned to stare at her. After a second, they busted out laughing. Shoppers gave them weird looks as they passed by their isle.
"Razzmatazz?" Joe asked in disbelief. "So your name is Izzy Razzmatazz Shabazz?"
"Like the crayon?" Sam managed in-between laughs.
Fred wiped a tear from his eye. "How much did your parents like the letter Z?"
Izzy's cheeks burned. "I-it was my parents' incantation. When they did shows."
She signed more heavily than she intended. Thinking of her parents reminded her of Mad Jack. Her hands trembled.
The boys stopped laughing. Joe noticed her shaky hands. "You alright?" he asked.
"Yeah," Fred said. "We didn't mean anything by it."
Izzy clenched her hands. "No, it's not that."
"It's Mad Jack, isn't it?" Joe asked.
Izzy flinched. Her first instinct was to brush off his guess but then she stopped herself. She wanted to tell him the truth, to tell all of them the truth. She wanted to talk about her troubles and she wanted to talk about it with her friends.
"You're right," she said. "I keep thinking about… Mad Jack. Yesterday wasn't the first time I saw him."
"So you do know him?" Joe asked.
Sam and Fred were both equally surprised. She realized they thought she knew more than she was letting on.
"No!" Izzy insisted. "It's not like that. I don't know know him. Not personally, anyway. I mean, I met him once before, like a hundred years ago. Well, a hundred divided by ten, give or take a couple years—"
"Slow down," Fred rubbed his temples. "No one said that there was going to be math involved with this story."
"Start from the beginning," Sam suggested.
She looked down, twisting her earrings. Words were not her strong suit.
"I know Mad Jack freaked you out," Joe said when she was silent for too long, "but we've dealt with him dozens of times before."
"We haven't actually seen him all that much lately," Sam added. "He might've given up on trying to steal The Book."
So Mad Jack wanted The Book? It made sense. The Book was seriously powerful and could do a lot of damage in the wrong hands.
Fred smiled with confidence and punched his palm. "If we do see him again, I'm sure we can handle him."
Izzy wanted to cry in relief. She was grateful she had such great friends that wanted to ease her worries. She felt guilty for ever questing if she could trust them. She wanted them to trust her, too. Which meant no more secrets.
"I met Mad Jack when I was little," she said. "Me and my mom went to see the pyramids. After that, it's blurry. I remember his face, he said something or did something. My mom was so scared. She told me if I ever saw him, I needed to run. When we went to Mysterio's show and he tricked me, that's what he told me. He said word for word her warning to me."
Joe shook his head. "That's awful."
"No wonder you ran," Fred said.
"I never told anyone this before," Izzy said, "but I trust you guys, which is why…"
"Why what?" Sam asked.
She had to tell them about her dad. But not here. Not like this. Her situation wasn't exactly normal, and she'd already dumped a bunch on them today. Telling them would be easy, but how they'd handle it was a different story.
"Brownies," she said. "We need the Brownies of Coping."
The boys all looked at each other, confused. Fred was the first to ask, "Uh, the what of what now?"
"There's a lot of to go over," Izzy said, "and I feel like if I start babbling about it next to the yarn, someone will overhear and I'll get vaporacted."
Joe frowned. "You mean baker acted."
"That's what I said."
Fred held up his hands. "Wait, wait, wait. I'm all for free food, but why do we need brownies?"
"To soften the blow of difficult news," Izzy explained, "you always need the Brownies of Coping. Whenever my parents had some hard news to tell me, like when my goldfish drowned, or that the Easter bunny wasn't real, they'd make me brownies and—why are you guys looking at me like that? Do your parents not do this?"
"Uh, no," Fred said. "That's weird."
Joe elbowed him. "It's not weird. It's just… not exactly common."
"Because it's weird."
"Wouldn't this tradition of yours lead to emotional eating?" Sam asked.
Izzy looked at him like he spoke in French. "What else are we supposed to do with brownies? They're not for show."
"That's not what I... Never mind."
"Well, if you're making free food, I'm down," Fred said. "What about you guys?"
Monday after school, Izzy weaved through the crowd on her way to her locker. The hall was filled with students heading to after-school clubs, chatting with their friends on their way to the car circle, and rushing to make it to their busses on time. By now, Fred would be on his way to baseball practice, Sam to mathletes. Joe had left earlier that day to get his braces tightened.
As Izzy stuffed her textbooks into her locker, a sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. She sighed. It was the pop quiz she had in math that morning. A big red 48% stared back at her, the second F she'd gotten on a math test since she'd transferred to H.G. Wells High. Mrs. Reynolds, her Algebra I teacher, talked to her after class about getting a student tutor to help her. Izzy didn't mind asking for help, she was never the best at school. But getting help from another student felt embarrassing.
Why did they have add letters to math? Izzy thought. Letters, her only weakness.
She bent to pick the test up as a group of giggling girls headed down the hall behind her. One of them waved at her.
"Hey, Isabella," she called out. "Loooove those pigtails, girl!"
"Too cute!" Another one said.
Izzy waved back. "Thanks, I—"
Their attention was already off her and back on each other, laughing as they headed towards the bus circle.
Izzy stood and grimaced. Those girls spoke at her, not to her. It left a bad feeling in her gut.
"Hey, Izzy!" A voice called.
It was Sam, making his way upstream through the crowd.
She crumbled the test and smiled. "Hey, Sam. I thought you had a meeting with the mathletes today."
"I did," he said, having reached her, "but Mrs. Reynolds had to cancel and go home. Something about faulty flip-flops and a cactus? Anyway, I figured, I meet up with you."
"Cool." Izzy tossed the test into her locker. "I could use your help moving the box to the theater, that is if you don't mind?"
"Not at all, that is if I can even manage to move it. How big is it?"
She pulled her hands apart and squinted at the distance between them. "It's about Joe's size plus some… so about a Joe and a half?"
"Very specific."
At shop class, Mr. Morrison greeted them. "Miss Shabazz and friend, welcome."
Mr. Morrison was a middle-aged guy with long sandy hair and a scruffy beard. He always wore flannel and a permanent smile. Izzy didn't take shop class, but Mr. Morrison was happy to let anyone who took interest in shop use the tools after school.
"Hope you two don't mind some company while I run out to get your cart. I got someone coming to fix the projector— Oh speak of the devil."
A girl with long dark hair up in a ponytail strolled in, her hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie. If Izzy had been drinking, she would've spat it out. Sam made a terrified noise in the back of his throat.
Rin scowled at them.
"Y-y-you have students fix your electronics?" Sam asked Mr. Morrison.
"Isn't that against several rules?" Izzy asked.
Mr. Morrison laughed. "So is leaving you alone with power tools every day while I go chat up that cute math teacher."
"Wait, it is?"
Rin shook her head in disbelief.
Mr. Morrison clapped Rin on the back. "Patinkin here works better than the people who get paid to do it, and she actually comes down when you ask."
"For a price," Rin said.
"Of course, of course. I didn't forget again." He brought her over to the projector, explaining what didn't work.
Meanwhile, Izzy showed Sam the chest she'd been working on. It was a simple solid wood chest, with vintage gold corner protectors and swirly designs carved along the sides. A lotus flower was carved onto the lid.
"Wow," Sam said. "You made this yourself?"
Izzy nodded proudly. "Yup. I designed it after my parents' chest."
"Why don't you and Joe just use that one?"
Izzy deflated a bit. "I had to leave it behind when I, uh, moved. I'll explain later."
Sam frowned but nodded. He inspected the chest with interest. "How'd you learn to do this?"
"My mom taught me. That woman was the queen of power tools."
"You're lucky," Sam said. "I can come up with ideas, but I'm not the best at executing them."
"I can help you build stuff," she offered, "if you want a flying car made out of wood, nails, and a mess of gorilla glue."
Sam chuckled. "Thanks, but that wouldn't be at all practical."
Izzy's laugh was cut off by Rin banging the projector with her fist. "What did he do to you this time," Rin muttered to herself. She mumbled curses under her breath and scrutinized the projector like a car that wouldn't start.
Sam gulped then cleared his throat. "W-what's wrong?"
Rin shot her eyes at Sam's so fast he flinched. She glared at him for a second, before sighing in resignation. "Morrison manages to break this thing at least once a week. Usually, I can fix it by blah blahing the blah and blah, but I have no idea what wrong with it this time."
Sam cautiously walked over to her. "These projectors are pretty old. There's a component that pops out of place sometimes when it gets overheated. Have you tried blahing the blah blah?"
"I did blah."
"Uh, what about blah blahing the blah blah?"
Okay, so they weren't really saying "blah blah blah," but Izzy couldn't comprehend their technobabble. They might as well have been doing Chinese Sign Language.
Well, at least Rin understood what was being said. She tinkered with the projector as Sam suggested. It whirred to life and the light flickered onto the wall. Rin sighed and dropped her head. "Finally." She slipped something silver into her hair that looked a bit like a flattened wrench. It disappeared into her mane of dark hair before Izzy could get a better look at it.
Sam headed back over to Izzy.
"Hey!" Rin called out.
Sam flinched. "Eep! I mean, yes?"
"Thank you."
Sam stood there, stunned. "You're welcome."
Mr. Morrison pushed the cart into the room. "I come bearing gifts! Your payment, Patinkin. Heads up!"
He tossed Rin a can of Cherry Bovine. She caught it effortlessly and cracked it open. She threw Sam one last glance before downing the drink and sauntering out of the room.
"You pay her in energy drinks?" Sam asked.
"Those were her terms," Mr. Morrison. "Now, let's load up this chest, shall we?"
"So what do you think Izzy wants to tell us?" Fred asked Joe.
The two of them waited at the porch of Izzy's apartment complex and tried not to look like stalkers. Joe's mom dropped him off after his dentist appointment and Fred showed up a little later, fresh out of practice.
"Beats me," Joe said. He winced. He's gotten his braces tightened before and knew how to combat the pain by taking some ibuprofen beforehand. But the anesthesia was wearing off and his mouth was beginning to ache. "She already told us her history with Mad Jack. What could top that?"
Joe fiddled with the object in his hand—some miscellaneous plastic and Styrofoam pieces mixed with a few rubber bands in a plastic sleeve. He'd been thinking about the same question Fred had since Sunday. He couldn't figure out what was so bad Izzy felt like she needed to give them food as some sort of apology.
Fred blew rings into the cold air. "Maybe she— oh there they are. Hey guys!"
He waved at Sam and Izzy bounding down the sidewalk towards the two of them. Izzy spotted them, and smiled, waving back enthusiastically. "Joe! Fred! Were you twowaiting here long?"
"I can't tell," Joe said, "my watch froze." He handed her the object in his hand. "Here. You'd appreciate this a lot more than me."
It took her a second to understand what it was. She grinned. "Is this one of those DIY whirly helicopter toys?"
"Yeah," Joe said. "The dentist still thinks I'm ten. I usually toss 'em."
Izzy oohed and ahhed at the toy as she let them in.
"I guess it's true what they say." Fred shrugged off his jacket. "One dude's trash is another chick's treasure."
"The treasure, in this case, being a child's toy that will break in six minutes," Sam said flatly.
Izzy's home was a cozy little studio apartment. Some paintings hung on the wall he recognized as hers. There was a TV almost as long as Joe was tall across from a pink and turquoise bed-sized couch with matching polka dot pillows. Comics and art supplies were strewn across the coffee table.
Looking around, Joe noticed how small her apartment was. He rubbed his achy jaw. "You live here with your dad?"
Her face darkened and he mentally kicked himself. He hadn't meant to sound rude.
"I'll explain in a bit," Izzy said. She dropped her backpack and made a beeline for the kitchen, letting her rabbits out of their cage on her way.
"Cage" didn't do it justice, it was a three-story bunny condo that took up a big chunk of the room, filled with toys, deluxe, fluffy bunny beds, and plenty of room for the rabbits to hop around in.
Dini hopped out to greet them. Bess turned her nose up at them and stayed in her condo.
"I think your rabbit hates us," Fred said to Izzy, scratching Dini on the back.
"She's just a shy baby," Izzy said. She pulled something from the freezer. "You guys wanna give them a treat? They like Bok Choy."
She handed Joe an ice pack.
"This doesn't look like Chinese cabbage," he joked.
She chuckled. "It's for your jaw. It looked like it hurt."
"Oh. Thanks." He was caught off guard by her gesture, he barely noticed the ice pack was the girliest shade of pink dotted with white hearts. Fred snickered at him but otherwise didn't say anything.
The three of them fed her rabbits Bok Choy while doing their homework. Well, Sam did his homework. Joe and Fred thumbed through her video game collection. There were the expected things like DDR, Guitar Hero, some sci-fi and fantasy RPGs for the Wii. Then he saw the last thing he expected to see.
He pulled the game out. There was no mistaking the grungy white font splattered with blood and gore, and the ominous hill in the background. "What are you doing with a copy of Hill of the Dead?"
Izzy smiled embarrassingly and scratched her cheek, smearing flour across her face. "I, uh, really like the atmosphere?"
"Seriously?" Fred asked. "We played this game when it first came out. The lights were on and Sam still nearly wet his pants."
"I did not!" Sam protested.
"He totally did," Joe said.
Sam turned his glare from Fred to Joe before rolling his eyes and returning to his homework.
After an hour, the brownies were finally done. Izzy called them over to the breakfast bar and handed them each a napkin.
"I haven't made brownies in a while," she said, cutting them each a neat square piece. "I hope you guys like them."
Joe placed the ice pack on the bar. "They smell amazing."
Fred was the first to scarf one down in his usual way. He stiffened as if someone flicked him in between the eyes. "Oh, my God…"
"What's wrong?" Izzy asked. "Did I add too much salt?"
"These brownies are incredible!" Fred grabbed the pan of brownies and started cutting himself a large slice. "Izzy, marry me and make these for me all the time. Better yet, I'll just marry these brownies."
Sam rolled his eyes and brought his brownie to his mouth. "Fred, they can't be that–"
Fred pushed Sam's hand to shove the treat into his mouth. Sam's pupils dilated. "Holy cow."
"Right?!"
Joe took a bite out of his brownie and understood. They were fluffy and sweet—but not too sweet—with the chocolate morsels still warm. It melted in his mouth.
"How did you manage to bake happiness into these?" Joe asked.
"It's just butter and love," Izzy said, "It's my mom's recipe."
"I can taste the love," Sam said, getting another slice.
Izzy poured them each a glass of milk as they chowed down on brownies. "Okay," Joe said coming back up for air. "You sweetened us up enough. What did you have to tell us?"
The three of them looked at her expectantly. She put down the gallon of milk and sighed, lacing her fingers together. "You already noticed that my place is pretty small. Well, that's because my dad doesn't live with me. I mean, he used to, but he left a couple weeks ago."
"So you live all by yourself?" Joe asked.
"It's not that bad," she lied. She didn't look them in the eye.
Fred's expression turned serious. "Oh, man." Then he grinned. "You could totally through a wicked party here!"
Izzy frowned. Joe and Sam gave him a Seriously? look.
Fred cleared his throat. "Just a thought."
"Anyway," Izzy said, "weeks ago, my dad disappeared in the middle of the night. He left me a letter explaining some things."
She pulled out a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Joe. He looked at her and she nodded, giving him the go-ahead to read it aloud. "Isadora, when you wake up, I will be long gone. I can't say for certain where I'll be. I need you to follow my instructions very carefully. This is extremely important. It's a matter of your safety."
So far, so strange, Joe thought. He kept reading.
"Pack up your things and move out as soon as possible. I put the address on the fridge; a moving crew will help you. Our home is no longer safe. Afterward, you NEED to destroy this note."
Joe looked at her. "This isn't going to blow up in my face, is it?"
Izzy shook her head. "I don't think so."
That's reassuring, he thought. "Put these earrings on IMMEDIATELY. "Spin them so the sand is always pouring. The sand moves slowly, so you won't have to do it often. I've enrolled you into a new school on Friday. Find the magician named Joe." Joe shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "He can protect you if the need arises."
"Why Joe?" Fred asked as if reading Joe's mind.
Joe lowered the note. "Yeah. I don't know your dad. Well, I know of your dad but I'm pretty sure he doesn't know me, like, at all."
Izzy shrugged helplessly.
"Not to be that guy—" Sam started to say.
"You love being that guy," Fred pointed out.
"Maybe your dad meant Joe's uncle?"
That made sense to Joe. Still, he didn't think uncle Joe knew Izzy or her dad either. His uncle would've mentioned them before, even in passing.
Joe continued. "Money will be left for you every week for you to buy whatever you need. There will be more than enough for you to order takeout, buy painting supplies, or some other third thing. Think of it as an apology for my absence, though I know this doesn't make up for it."
Izzy shrunk into herself. Joe felt weird about reading the next part, partly because it was so personal, partly because she got sadder and sadder the more he read. But she didn't try to stop him and he already read most of it.
"I am truly sorry for leaving you with no adequate explanation. I realize I should've explained things to you sooner, the way your mother wanted. But we shouldn't change the past, only learn from it. Isadora, I wanted you to have a normal life, unperturbed by the dangerous adventures awaiting you in your future. I only wanted to protect you.
"I have no idea when I'll be back. I WILL be back. Whatever you do, do NOT go looking for me. I know it'll be difficult, but understand that I'm doing this for your sake. Love, always and infinitely, your father, Anthony J. Shabazz."
Joe lowered the letter. The room was silent for a while as the three of them took in this information.
"Now I get why you wanted to sweeten us up," Sam said finally.
"So your dad just left you all alone?" Joe asked.
"That's nothing new," Izzy explained. "He's left before, not just the time I told you about back at the museum. I have no clue where he goes, but he's always back in a week and we always talked about it beforehand. This time, I got no warning, no time to prepare. Everything was fine one day, and then he was gone in the morning. I…"
Her voice quivered at the end. She cleared her throat. "I know it's a lot to ask…" She looked at Joe with pleading eyes. "Can I use your Book to find my dad?"
He rubbed his arm. "I dunno, Iz. He said not to try and find him and—"
"I don't care anymore. It's been too long. I need to know that he's okay. Please, Joe?"
Joe wasn't sure. Her dad was pretty clear in the letter for her not to go after him. Joe may not understand what was going on with him, but it was obvious that whatever it was, it was serious. Izzy should stay put until he came back.
But then Izzy gave him the puppy dog eyes, and Joe's resolve shattered.
He sighed. "Okay. I'll help you find your dad."
He pulled The Book out of his bag and Sam nearly fell out of his seat. "You can't pull that thing out without giving us a warning!"
Joe rolled his eyes. "Sam, do you know how many times I've had The Book on me when you were around and we didn't warp?"
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"Yes!"
Fred clapped Sam on the back. "Relax. Joe totally knows what he's doing."
"Yeah, until he doesn't," Sam muttered.
Joe was just going to ignore that little quip for now. He's been doing this for years at this point, and most of the time (like five—no six—times out of ten) things went off almost without a hitch. He was going to become a level three warper any day now. For a kid whose gotten minimum guidance when it came to operating a magical time machine when he was ten, that wasn't half bad.
Joe flipped open The Book and looked for any mention of Izzy's dad. Usually, he could find a single person, historical or not, easily if he thought about them, as if The Book was reading his intentions. But he couldn't a single entry on Anthony J. Shabazz.
"What's wrong?"
Izzy's voice broke Joe out of his concentration. He realized he'd been scrunching his eyebrows. "I can't find him anywhere. Maybe if I try looking for you I'll get to him."
And he did, finding Izzy easily. Isadora Razzmatazz Shabazz, born October 31st 1995, yadda yadda yadda, daughter of Dulari Shabazz and .
Joe stared at blank space in total bewilderment. "What?"
"What what?" Fred asked.
"I'm sure it's just a mistake." He turned the page and came across his family tree. He was ready to turn the page; he'd seen his own family tree dozens of times, but then he stopped. It wasn't his, it was Izzy's. A portrait of Izzy sat at the top of the tree, the thin, winding branches connecting her to her ancestors towards the base. Beneath her was a picture of her mother, a beautiful woman with long, flowing dark hair. Where Izzy's dad's picture should have been was a blacked out box like someone scribbled his picture out with a marker.
"This is so weird," Joe said, half to himself. "It's like he doesn't exist."
Izzy grimaced, her worry etched all over her face. Joe stood. "Let me try something," he said. "Let's warp back to the night he left. If we both confront him before he leaves, he'll have to give us some answers."
It was a long shot, but at the moment there weren't many other options. Izzy smiled, her eyes alight with hopeful determination. "Let's do it."
Joe turned to Sam and Fred. "This shouldn't take long, guys." He opened to the transporter page.
"Wait!" Izzy bounded around the breakfast bar and clamped onto Joe's arm.
He looked down at her. "You gonna do this every time?"
"If I can help it."
Joe shrugged and hit enter. Green mist surrounded them and they were sucked into the glowing green cyclone of mist.
Joe would like to say that after warping with The Book for nearly six years he was a total pro. At best, five-and-a-half times out of ten he'd land on his feet after reaching his destination.
Time travel with The Book was a smooth ride as long as you were prepared and knew how to right yourself so you didn't end up tumbling through space like a dead fish down a flight of stairs.
Unfortunately, Izzy hadn't mastered the technique yet. As soon as they left her apartment, she lost her grip on his arm. She yelled and flailed as she plummeted along, bumping into the misty walls of the wormhole like a pinball.
Suddenly, the green mist around them stopped churning. Izzy slammed into an invisible wall and sprung back like she bounced off a trampoline. She was hurled, screaming, into Joe, the force of her impact throwing them both back to their starting point.
They dropped back into Izzy's place, crashing right on the floor on top of each other. The Book bounced off Joe's shoulder and slid to the TV.
Sam and Fred jumped. "You guys alright?" Fred asked.
Joe helped Izzy up. "Yeah, I think so."
"What the heck happened?" Sam asked.
"I have no clue." Joe explained what happened to the two of them.
Izzy rubbed her shoulder. "H-has that ever happened before?"
Joe shook his head. He hadn't the slightest idea what the heck was going on. He'd never encountered this before. There was once or twice when one of them was stuck in The Book, midwarp, but they were never slammed into an inviso-wall and pitched like a fastball back home.
Izzy's shoulders slumped as she went to pick The Book off the floor. "Thanks for trying anyway, Joe."
"There might be another way," Joe said. "I know who might be able to help." He meant Jodie. He hated to admit, but Jodie knew how to work The Book better than anyone he knew, maybe even his uncle Joe. If anyone could help, it was her.
"You've done a lot already," Izzy said. "I feel like a burden."
"It's no problem, really," Joe insisted. "I want to help you."
She smiled at him, but her eyes were sad. "It's not fair to leave it all on you. I just wish I knew what was going on so I could help, at least…"
Izzy hugged The Book to herself, and green mist seeped from the pages, cocooning her. A final look of shock flashed across her face before she vanished into The Book.
The three of them stared in shock at the spot where Izzy previously stood.
Fred gripped the sides of his head. "We lost her again!"
"Where did she even go?" Sam asked.
Again that day, Joe had no answer.
Izzy ricocheted off the side of a pyramid and fell on her face, eating a handful of sand. She stood and spat, trying to catch her bearings. The tall white pyramid standing before her told her she was in Egypt. Ancient Egypt. She turned. Nearby, there were remnants of an old settlement. A few people milled around, but it looked abandoned otherwise, with the housing falling apart.
Further away was the palace. A sea of people gathered in front, their cheers audible even in the distance.
The Book was still in her arms, no doubt unable to slip away while in the vice grip she had on it. This was good. It meant she could just warp back home… that is if she even remotely knew how The Book worked.
"It can't be that hard," she lied to herself and opened The Book. "All I have to do is figure out what I have to do. Easy-peasy."
The letters on the pages flipped and twitched and swam around. Izzy shut her eyes and breathed, trying to calm herself. If she was too freaked to even read, then there was no way she was getting back home. She needed to relax.
She exhaled and opened her eyes, the words less chaotic than before. She managed to find instructions and she stumbled through a couple pages.
A burst of yellow light in her peripheral broke her out of her concentration. After a moment, a little girl no more than three ran from around the corner and bumped into Izzy's legs. The little girl giggled and snapped a photo of her with a disposable camera.
Izzy just stared at the child, unable to understand who she was looking at.
"Slow down, Malpua!"
A woman appeared from the corner, and Izzy's heart sunk.
Her long chocolate hair flowed behind her as she raced to the little girl, not noticing Izzy yet. The little girl turned and snapped a picture of her mother.
The mother knelt and gently took the camera out of the daughter's hands, a soft smile on her face. "Oh, Malpua, don't use up all the film."
"Sorry, Mama," the little girl said.
Izzy dropped The Book. A lump grew in her throat, salt rubbed into the wound that never quite healed.
The woman frown at The Book, then her eyes shot wide. She looked up and met Izzy's eyes, noticing her for the first time.
Izzy gulped. "Mom."