“You didn’t tell us we had a deadline!” My voice rose a few notches.
“You only have two threads,” the god said. “That’s why I said three or four would be better.”
“Okay.” Brooks exhaled a long breath. “How do we get to 1987?”
“Just tell the rope that’s where you want to go—but please, for the love of stardust, make sure you say Venice Beach, California. Otherwise you could end up in Florida or Italy. Time threads have wicked senses of humor, and you must always be literal and specific. Got it?”
“And how do we get back?” Marco looked like he wasn’t sure any of this was a good idea.
“It will know the way to the Old World,” Itzamna said. “Just make sure you are together and physically connected in some way—holding hands, looped arms, whatever. May fortune smile upon you all!”
We said good-bye to Itzamna and Alana. Adrik even gave his sister a hug, saying, “Don’t visit the Witch again while I’m gone. I don’t want to miss out on the fun.”
I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave Hondo out in the open while he clung to a time thread that held our lives in the balance, so we headed deep into the jungle. Finally, we found a perfect place: a small clearing in the middle of a thicket of trees.
“Ready?” I asked my uncle.
He gave a solemn nod.
Ren joined the two time threads. There was a flash of light not unlike lightning that forced us all to recoil for a couple of seconds. The golden glow illuminated the jungle and bounced off the metallic trees.
Hondo reached into his pack and pulled out the warrior mask.
Brooks’s face registered all sorts of emotions. “Where did you get that?”
He didn’t hesitate or try to lie. “Quinn gave it to me.”
Brooks searched his face, and I could see the puzzle coming together in her mind. “You and Quinn? But…” Her eyes softened and she gave a slight nod. “Okay, Hondo. Okay.”
I hugged my uncle tight. “You got this.”
He nodded and pulled away. “Just come back in one piece, Diablo.”
Ren said to Hondo, “Remember your meditations.” She carefully handed one end of the rope to him, and I half expected him
to yowl like a dying sheep. But he took the cord like it was nothing. So Zip had been right. As long as Ren gave it willingly, there was no risk of her incinerating someone’s flesh.
With the other end of the glowing rope in her hand, Ren walked away from Hondo. The strand grew longer and longer, just like it had at Zip’s place. Brooks, Adrik, Marco, Rosie, and I stood next to her and looked back at Hondo. The great pyramids loomed above the trees like stone ghosts.
Hondo clenched his jaw, then placed the mask over his face. My heart plummeted.
“Let’s get in and get out,” I said, knowing that every second we spent in 1987 was a second Hondo would be forced to spend in the shadows of torment.
We stood in a row like train cars, each gripping the shoulder of the person in front of us. I placed my hand on Rosie’s shoulder.
From the back of the line, Ren said, “Venice Beach, California, 1987,” over and over until the edges of the world began to bleed, colors faded, and a tunnel of utter blackness swallowed us.
The ground beneath our feet started moving forward like we were on some kind of conveyor belt, slow at first, then faster and faster. Ren’s voice was on repeat as music echoed and car engines roared. As the words floated over us, I could only hear “1987.”
Voices rose. Dishes clanked. “1987.”
Birds chirped. Waves crashed. “1987.”
A bright light filled the tunnel, and the next thing I knew, a volleyball slammed into my head.
“Sorry, dude,” said some guy with crazy curly hair and rainbow trunks as he retrieved his ball from the beach. He took a look at the six of us and tried to hide the laugh I could tell was ready to split his face. “Uh, nice sweats.”
Obnoxious electric-guitar music blared from somewhere down the shore. The smells of salt water and burned hot dogs floated through the air.