Mira's Diary by Marissa Moss Read Free Book Online Page B

the cathedral, their silhouettes black against the pale blue sky. They were an odd sight, statues where you least expected them. Just like me. I was someplace I didn’t belong at all. A place and a time where I would never fit in. I knew there was a reason for the sculptures, probably a kind of prayer reaching up to heaven. But what was the reason for me to be here?

    My feet ached. I slipped off my shoes, and the breeze felt so good playing on my toes that I almost didn’t notice it. Wedged into the side of my shoe was a folded-up piece of paper.
    â€œThat’s strange,” I thought. “I didn’t put that there. Did Mary? Why?” I’d walked so much the creases were worn through, but when I unfolded the paper, I could see it was a letter. From Mom.
    Dear Mira,
    I need you to understand that I’m here for a very important reason. Something terrible will happen in the future, in your future, if I can’t change things. Time is always splitting off, like binary trees. When it hits a certain bump or hiccup, it splits and then it can go one of two ways.
    Our job, mine and now yours, is to make sure the second way heals or prevents the first way. I didn’t know you had the gift too, or I would have told you all this in person at home. I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve time-traveled, which means you’re here for a reason. There’s something you need to do.
    People like us, those who can time-travel, have a heavy responsibility. When something horrendous happens, we’re sent into the past to prevent it from happening. Some horrors are too big for us to change, but others can be altered.
    There are other time travelers, like the woman at the racetrack, who try to stop us. They’re evil people who profit from misery and destruction. We can’t let them win.
    Since you’re here, it means you need to change things too. It all has to do with Dreyfus, the man I was with at the races. I think you are meant to make Degas support him. He’s an important public figure and his voice defending Dreyfus could make the difference. You need to make that difference happen. Then find your touchstone and go home. I’m also working to change things, so don’t worry about me. You work on Degas. I’ll work on Zola.
    Love,
    Mom
    Unlike the other letters, this one actually told me something, but the tone was so tight and worried that it scared me. The something Mom needed to change must be really horrible. And the fact that the beautiful creepy woman was so determined to stop Mom made it even riskier. I wanted to help Mom, like she asked, but now that I knew what my job was, it made no sense. Who was Dreyfus and why did Degas need to support him?

    I read the letter again, hoping for more answers, more clarity, but I was just more confused. Except that one thing was clear. I was here for a very specific reason. This wasn’t an accident at all. I wondered if that meant I wouldn’t find my touchstone until I’d done whatever it was I was supposed to do. Would I be stuck here forever if I couldn’t figure it out?
    â€œExcuse me, mademoiselle.” A man sat next to me on the bench, far too close for a stranger. I quickly folded up the letter and glared at him. Only it wasn’t a stranger—it was the Walrus Man. I thought he’d gone to another time when he vanished in Notre Dame, but here he was, back again.
    â€œI’m Morton, a friend of your mother’s,” he said, leaning in and speaking in a hoarse whisper. “A time traveler, like yourself. She asked me to find you.”
    â€œIs she okay?” I asked. “Where is she?”
    â€œShe’s fine, she’s fine.” He wiped beads of sweat off his pasty forehead. “She wants you to go to 1894. That’s when you’ll be useful to her.”
    As if I could just open the door that said “1894” and walk through it! How was I supposed to