Holt woke to smells so sickly sweet it was like they'd been shoved up his nostrils.

Pancakes? French toast, maybe? Dad usually had some scary cool take on breakfast when he returned from a business trip.

Holt rubbed his eyes and opened them. He grimaced at the black liner smudges on his hands, then looked past them. His heart sank.

Oh. Right.

Holt groaned and sat up on the cot, limbs heavy. Was this what actual sleep felt like? Sure, he and Jackson "slept" while the other was awake, but he had always felt energized when he woke. He scowled. With the music trigger, there was no telling when or where he'd wake.

Jackson knew of actual sleep already.

Holt stretched his arms. It was pretty rad waking where he'd slept.

"Good morning, monster." Elizabeth smiled as sweet as the smell.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, and he squinted. This "no music" thing was some trip. "C'mon. You remember my name."

She laughed and waved him off. "Yes. Holt, was it? You're just in time for breakfast."

"Yeah, yeah." Holt rose to his feet, gathered his clothes, and made his way out back to the outhouse. Turns out, sleeping in the nightie wasn't bad. Maybe it needed a comeback in the future.

He tugged on his purple pinstripe pants and frowned. Mud stained the flames on the ends. The terrain he knew, like the back of his hand, was so different compared to the present. Lucky his yellow sneakers hadn't suffered much. His tank appeared black and green instead of white. He slid it on. Great idea, lying on the ground last night.

He shook it off. Feeling better was a win, no big deal. Besides, there oughta be some way people washed clothes back then. Back now. Lucky his jacket was still intact.

When he returned inside, Elizabeth sat at the table with four plates of lumpy bread. She smiled.

Holt smiled back. Maybe this normie girl was alright; nice. Better than Sparky or the monsters at the school. He sat in the chair where he left his jacket last night. His fingers thrummed on the table. "Where's everyone else?"

"Asleep, it seems." She delicately sliced her bread with a knife. "I'm sure that this situation is a lot to take in."

Holt scratched his head. "Yeah. But hey, I got a pretty ghoul—er, girl—making me breakfast, so there are perks."

Elizabeth laughed and sent him another sweet smile. "Thank you, Mr. Monster."

"Hyde," he said, shifting in his seat.

The ice broke, but Elizabeth looked closed off. Bored. With those golden curls surrounding that pixie-like face and big blue eyes of hers, she may have been too familiar with the compliment.

She clasped her hands together and placed them in her lap. Any more pink on her and she'd give Draculaura a run for her money. "Well then, Mr. Hyde, could you tell me about your relationship with Victor?"

"I only just met the guy. Frankie's the one who knows him."

"I assume she's his granddaughter?"

Holt paused. Could he give her more information? Not like he had much to begin with.

Elizabeth leaned in. "Victor said he met his granddaughter in the future. You and Frankie are from the future, so she must be the granddaughter. Victor wouldn't keep just anyfuturistic monsters in his home."

Holt let out a breath and leaned back, raising a brow. The girl had deduced confidently, like she ran the world. Was it that "Judge Frankenstein" guy she mentioned last night? Had she picked up some of his tricks? Or maybe she had him under her thumb, too.

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, her posture still incredibly straight. "Tell me, what kind of monster is she?"

"Kinda hard to explain," he shot out, startling himself. His leg jittered. "Anyway, it's prolly best that I don't go sayin' something that messes with the future, ya know?"

She smoothed out her skirts. "I suppose."

Holt heard a door open, and he looked over his shoulder. Frankie walked out of her room dressed in her rumpled plaid dress from yesterday. Or two hundred years from now. Whatever.

Elizabeth shot up in her seat and marched to the other room. "I swear, Victor hasn't changed a bit."

Frankie slunk to the chair across from Holt. "How'd you sleep?"

He picked at his breakfast. "Alright. But I gotta admit, the sooner we're home, the happier my back'll be."

She nodded sympathetically, not touching her breakfast. "So... Where did you head out last night?"

Holt chewed down a mouthful of the sugary bread. Damn, it had flavor. He took another bite.

A hell of a lot was going on. He was trapped in the past with his estranged old flame, her human teenage grandfather, and possible grandmother. Then there was Jackson. Jackson, who was not a literal part of him anymore, and not by his choice.

Privacy. Was it too much to ask for? He took another bite and muttered, "Just took a walk in the woods."

"You know, I've noticed you haven't been singing as much." She grinned softly. "You always sing a little when you talk, and we've talked for a while. Since we've got here, I mean. Is it because we haven't talked for so long since before then or—?"

Holt laughed. "Frankie, doll, I don't got music playin' every waking second." He pointed at his ears. "Ain't no song to sing along to."

"Oh. That... makes sense."

He huffed out another laugh and tore into his sweet bread.

"Holt, are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah," he said, mouth full. "Why the ask?"

Frankie looked past him, eyes darting around. "Well, see, since you're apart from Jackson now, I figure you wouldn't feel so good. I mean, he's a part of you. He is you—"

Holt's fork clattered onto his plate. It sizzled. He clenched his heating fists. "I feel the same as I always have, Frankie."

At his tone, she met his eyes, shrinking into her seat.

"I lived most my life without knowing someone else existed with me."

"But there must be something—"

"No. I..." He ran his fingers through his hair and flinched. It was nearly as warm as his hands. Okay, being apart from Jackson changed him, but not like Frankie thought. "Only difference now is that there's no trigger, and it's just meand I can do... I can do..." His breath caught.

No more Jackson. No more trigger forcing him in and out of the day. Nothing held him back. He could do anything he wanted to do. A grin spread across his face. Was this what Jackson wanted? Holt played the hand life dealt him, but this… this looked pretty damn exciting.

Frankie opened her mouth when Sparky burst out of his room, and a disgruntled Elizabeth stomped out behind him.

Sparky looked pretty cleaned up for being the last one out of bed. He clutched a rumpled notebook in his right hand, a staggering contrast to the neatness of his shirt and pants. He ran a hand through his hair, and his eyes widened at the dining table. "Elizabeth, when did you learn to cook?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Oh, it isn't just Henry that has kept me company back home, Victor. I have befriended the governess. She's taught me to cook and I insist I cook for you while I'm here. Oh, and how she adores your brothers."

Frankie spun in her seat. "Brothers?"

Sparky winced. "Yes, brothers. Not blood-related, though, mind you."

She slowly turned in her seat, face-to-face with Holt again. Well, only kind of, as she sullenly stared at her lap.

Holt reached out his hand, but stopped short. Confusion about family origins sucked, and Frankie had thought she knew it all. He picked at his cleared plate.

Sparky's voice cut through the living room. "Would you cease that infernal tapping?"

He froze. His fingers and his foot had been tapping. He tucked his feet under the seat and closed his hands into fists.

Sparky sighed, and he and Elizabeth made their way to the table and sat beside Holt and Frankie, almost in unison.

"Holt used to listen to music all the time." Frankie perked up. "That's why he can't stand still."

He inhaled through his nose. Was Frankie right? Was something wrong with being apart from Jackson?

"Did he use one of those small devices for constant music?" Sparky asked. "Why on earth would anyone need music for so long?"

"It's just how I roll," Holt spurt out. He sent Frankie a look. Breakfast was not the time to hash out the family curse. "That's all."

Sparky placed his notebook on the table. He placed a protective hand on it and forked a few bites. The guy's roomy dress shirt said he needed to eat more, but he was gone; scanning the pages with furrowed brows.

Elizabeth shot Sparky an occasional glare as she daintily ate. He never looked up.

Holt got similar looks from his mom back home, always bringing his songwriting journal to meals. His first had been a spiral notebook meant for school, large and obtrusive. The next time he brought it to the table, his mom handed him a different book. A small one; it fit in his pocket. It was the most she would tolerate, and Holt took what he could get. She said his dad mailed it in, and a brief spark ignited within him. Since then, Holt wrote in the small journal and his dad would mail in new ones as soon as he heard he had filled the last. Sometimes, his dad's pyromancy burned the edges, but hey it made for a pretty killer look.

Holt twisted in his chair — Sparky had no taste in furniture, huh? — and grabbed his jacket, placing it on his lap. He fished the pockets. Slightly melted pen, sunglasses, and the leather of his latest songwriting journal. It was only a week old, and he had written about two pages worth of lyric ideas. He grabbed the pen and journal and slipped them into his pant pocket. Inspiration could ignite anywhere. That and he had plenty of time.

Sparky gasped and tore out a page of his notebook. He reached across the table and shook the page in his hand. "Elizabeth, I know you need to go into town, but please keep this list in mind, if you would."

She snatched the paper from him—well, as eloquently as one could snatch something—and skimmed it. She folded the piece of paper into a tiny square and tucked it into her dress pocket. "You are fortunate that I am always happy to help you."

He ignored her and turned another page in his notebook.

Frankie tapped her fingers together. "Sparky?"

"Yes?"

"If you don't plan on eating that, can I?"

Holt looked at Frankie's plate. It was wiped clean. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she glared good-naturedly at him.

Sparky waved her off. "Yes, sure."

"Okay, thanks!" Frankie stabbed the piece of bread with her fork and wiggled it off onto her plate.

Elizabeth's brows furrowed. "Do monsters not have manners, or is it people from the future?"

Frankie stilled, her mouth already full of bread. "I guess I'm just comfortable."

Holt rolled his eyes and plastered on a grin, glancing at Elizabeth. "Things ain't the same in the future."

She frowned and rose from her seat. "Well, at least you two will not appear out of place with the people—erm, monsters—around here once I am done with you." She looked at Sparky. "I will head out to town in a few minutes... you do what you must." She left for Sparky's room and shut the door behind her.

Sparky lifted his nose out of his notebook and looked at Frankie. "Today, I want to visit Hexiciah's lab to see the damage. You two will accompany me."

Holt left his jacket at the house. Sweat trickled down his neck the second he stepped outside. Trees soared into the clear sky, and he took out his pen and tapped it along every nearby trunk or overhanging branch.

When Monster High's edifice loomed ahead, he tucked away the pen and stretched out his bare arms. Lucky for them, it was Saturday.

They finally made it to the graveyard. The headstone that led to Hexiciah's lab looked lonely. Holt made a mental note to check out what headstones had been added since 1815, even though he'd likely forget.

The ride down the elevator was quiet apart from his tapping foot. No use stopping it. He was bound to go crazy without music at some point. Damn, he was jittery. Thinking about it only made it worse.

Jackson probably had it easy back home. Listening to new music; going out to some rocking parties. No wonder Jackson wanted to separate. He got the better end of the deal, even apart. And Frankie was concerned? If Jackson stood here instead of Holt, no way she'd be as worried.

She was at his side; her black and white hair almost covered her face, arms wrapped around her stomach. She looked so far away.

Frankie never looked like that before, at least, not in front of Holt. But why? He chuckled under his breath as his mind landed upon a plethora of answers. Stuck in the past with a huge project and a recent breakup. Not to mention the awkwardness between them.

His gaze shifted to Sparky beside her, who looked spaced out to another galaxy. His rumpled notebook hadn't left his grasp since they left his house. Victor Frankenstein gave some strange vibes, but at least Frankie would have her grandpa during this.

Holt stared at his shoes. A sinking feeling rooted in the pit of his stomach. It'd be nice to be anywhere else.

The elevator halted with a shudder, and the three exited one after the other onto the hard, concrete floors. The large, round, golden door of Hexiciah's lab was as wide open as it had been when they had left.

They climbed inside. An abrupt scent of smoke filled the air, and the room was tinted a faint gray. And the time teleporter? Charred to hell. It looked like one touch would turn it to ash.

Holt strolled about the room. Gadgets and doodads littered the otherwise orderly lab. Overstuffed bookshelves lined some corners. He grinned. It reminded him of his mom's bookshelf back home. He took out his pen and tapped their spines one by one. Old school books looking brand new. The lower row had no titles on the spines, and Holt reached for them. He flipped one open to a page full of scribblings—likely Hexiciah's notes; much neater than Sparky's.

"Hey, guys," Holt called. "Looks like our pal Mr. Steam has plenty for us to work with."

The two made their way to the corner bookshelf and peered over his shoulder.

Sparky's eyes lit up. "Incredible! If one of these notebooks has notes for the time teleporter, we can take the information along with the plans and I can figure out how this works." Sparky shot into a crouch and picked at each notebook. He flipped through each page in each book before shaking his head and moving on to the next one, again and again.

Frankie knelt and grabbed a notebook from the shelf, opening to a page. She gasped and met Holt's eyes with a grin.

"What?"

"Look." She beckoned him and held the notebook open. "Looks like his greatest project is in the works."

Holt smiled. A wavy-haired ghoul with geared irises. Though only on paper, Robecca Steam was a sight for sore eyes. He scanned over the words beside it. Draft 1.

"His first draft?" Frankie mumbled. "Maybe he's in Europe working on his second…"

Holt glanced back at Sparky, who rifled through notes with little regard. "You think he can do it?"

She shut the notebook and bent slightly to shelve it. "Sparky is a genius. I don't doubt it one bit."

"Except my genius is nothing like Hexiciah's," Sparky exclaimed. "But I will do my utmost, regardless." He stood upright with a book in his hand, opposite his tattered notebook. "This book contains Hexiciah's notes when he first planned and perfected the time teleporter. All I need are the plans, which I believe are upstairs. Excuse me." Sparky climbed up the stairs with all the eagerness of a kid in a toy store.

Holt reached to shelve the book when, in the corner of a page, a word glared like a pair of brights in the middle of the night.

JEKYLL

His heart stilled. What did Hexiciah Steam have to do with someone named Jekyll? Could it really be his grandpa, Dr. Jekyll? Holt scrutinized the page.

JEKYLL - London, England. A young former colleague of mine. Just as reckless and closed-off as he is brilliant. Note: as intelligent as Henry Jekyll is, he has a strange fascination with people's morals—his morals rather and how to better implement them onto society and onto himself; if he pursues this, I fear he will become a danger to himself and others. Should adhere to his medicinal studies. In the meantime, only contact when absolutely necessary.

Holt frowned. Everything about Hexiciah's description made the image of good ol' Doctor J fuzzy. Wasn't he supposed to be the good one? If Edward Hyde was "evil" and Jekyll was already behaving weird… Holt shuddered. How bad was ol' Ed Hyde?

Holt didn't know when exactly Gramps's Hyde side manifested, but the guy wasn't born with it. He created a potion and thus the bad half was born. Then his daughter was born with both sides. Each was more a part of her than Jackson was ever a part of Holt. The two learned not to anger their mom for her Hyde's sake—not to mention their hides!

But their mom never grew up with Dr. Jekyll. He died before she was even born. Mom didn't know her mother either and heard rumors of her father in the monster orphanage. She took his name to reclaim it. When Holt had his heritage project, she disclosed enough information to complete it. As for his own dear old dad, it was a side of the family he had no problem admiring. Most of the time.

Holt shook his head and shut the book. Nothing worth looking at anyway. A name from the page flashed in his mind as he shelved it: Henry. Sparky and Elizabeth mentioned a Henry.

Sparky bounded down the stairs with papers clasped alongside Hexiciah's notebook.

"Who's Henry?"

Sparky stilled, confusion creasing his brow. "An old friend. Why do you ask?"

Holt crossed his arms. "Last name?"

His fingers twitched. "Clerval. Poet. Kind yet simple-minded for my tastes and insufferable half the time. Do you have a reason to ask?"

Holt winced, his confidence faltering. Guess that Henry wasn't old gramps after all. He uncrossed his arms. "Nah, it's nothing. Never mind."

Sparky let out a hmph and tucked all Hexiciah's things and his own notebook under his left arm. "Very well then, we have everything we need here." He looked to Frankie, who raised her nose out of another one of Hexiciah's notebooks. "For now, I will study these notes at my home and return to the laboratory whenever necessary."

"Sparky." Frankie stood straight from her slouch on the wall, eyes bright. "When's the soonest you think you'll fix the time teleporter?"

He grimaced. "That's hard to say. Considering the hefty amount of notes I need to read in order to understand the machine, I need at least a few days. On top of that, the machine itself needs completely new parts. That cannot be done properly until I not only understand the machine but also the pieces and how—"

"Just say when you'll get it done," Holt interjected.

"Could be days..." Sparky winced. "Weeks, more likely."

Frankie slackened. "Okay. Thanks, Grandpa. Do we need anything else here?"

He shook his head.

"Let's go." She pushed some hair away from her face and strode out the door.

Holt moved to follow when Sparky held an outstretched arm in his path.

"Not so fast."

He smirked. "What?"

Sparky's eyes narrowed. Their similarity to Frankie's was bizarre, and they weren't blood-related. "I see the way you behave around my... granddaughter."

Was this some sorta joke? He'd been nothing but nice to the ghoul. "Yeah?"

Sparky tensed, and he gripped at his hair; it stuck up even more. "I mean, this is my family lineage we're talking about." He paced. "Like that nice unicorn zombie boy. However, he didn't seem scientifically inclined. How about you? Are you..?"

Holt raised an eyebrow.

"No, of course not."

Holt ran a hand over his face. Of all things he could've asked, it was about him and Frankie. Ghoul of your dreams, whispered a little voice in the back of his mind. He groaned inwardly.

There was no way he could keep lying to himself, even after all this time.

He sighed. "Look, I ain't gonna lie. I like the ghoul." The words felt strange coming off his lips, yet a weight lifted off his shoulders. He rolled them back, surprised. "And it doesn't matter if I'm what you want for her. What matters is that I'm what she wants for her. Likes me for me, ya know?"

Sparky waved him off.

Holt grunted. Why would he understand, anyway? This guy had a beautiful girl who'd kiss his feet. He winced. One wrong move and Elizabeth'd likely twist his ankles just as quickly. That attitude was almost as fierce as Operetta's.

A pang shot through his chest. How long would he go without seeing his best friend? He shook his head and looked back at Sparky, still pacing.

Holt cleared his throat. "So... I have to admit, there was, uh, another guy involved."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, once upon a time."

Sparky stilled. "What was he like?"

"He's..." Everything you'd want for her. "He's a real dor—smart dude. Likes science and math." And athletic and friendly, and he reorganized Holt's vinyls by color when they were clearly ordered by year. "And stuff. We both liked Frankie at the same time and it didn't turn out too hot."

Sparky nodded slowly. "Ah. You liked her because he did."

"Wouldn't have met her without the guy, but... no." The words left him like water breaking a dam. "I've always liked Frankie for Frankie. The more I got to know her I..."

Yeah, he had liked Frankie—still liked her, maybe. But was Sparky right? Did it matter? Maybe Frankie needed someone more like her. Stick to the "good side" with a Jekyll. Besides, it hadn't worked out with "unicorn zombie boy" and the only reason Frankie broke up with Jackson was because Holt was in the picture—literally, and vice versa.

Vice versa.

She left Holt because Jackson was there, too. They couldn't get their act together, and she left. Holt had asked her on a few casual dates afterward, and they had fun. But they were still on pause. Then Jackson took her on a "not a date" picnic. But they were still on pause. Frankie dated Neighthan. But they were… nothing.

The sound of clacking heels echoed in the lab. Frankie's head popped in from the doorway. "Uh, guys, are you coming or what?"

Sparky sent Holt a warning glance, then followed Frankie out.

Holt lagged behind.

Jackson…

Holt had felt there was another person inside him; he'd told Frankie he thought so once. He never meant literally. It was just something in him, like anyone else. He'd tried expressing it through music, his clothes; even parties he threw.

Frankie had understood until she probably chalked it up to that "other person" being Jackson. Holt clenched his fists, footsteps heavy.

So what? He spent around sixteen years without knowing there was literally another person existing within him. Sixteen years before discovering this "better", "good" person. Now was no different.

He was on his own.