York: The Map of Stars

By Laura Ruby

The thrilling conclusion to two-time National Book Award finalist Laura Ruby’s epic adventure through the streets of an alternate New York City.

It was only a few days ago that Tess Biedermann, Theo Biedermann, and Jaime Cruz, along with a mysterious figure from the past, managed to survive an assault on the location of the latest clue in the Morningstarr cipher—and, in the process, made a shocking discovery about their own connection to this one-hundred-sixty-year-old enigma.

Now the friends are divided. Tess and Theo have no idea what the photo they found in Greenwood Cemetery means, but Jaime is convinced that they do, and that they’ve been keeping their own secrets from him. As the city continues to break around them, suddenly solving the greatest mystery of the modern world seems less important than saving their own friendship.

The stakes of completing the cipher, however, have never been higher. Darnell Slant, real estate developer and owner of all the Morningstarr buildings, knows that they hold one last secret: a power that even the Morningstarrs themselves never revealed. The world has rested on a precarious balance of power for generations; now Slant and his shadowy business partners aim to unbalance it.

It’s up to Tess, Theo, and Jaime to uncover the Morningstarrs’ final mystery in a desperate attempt to set things right. The world—theirs, and possibly others—depends on it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: May 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9780062307019

Laura Ruby

Laura Ruby is the Michael L. Printz Award–winning author of many books for adults, teens, and children, including Thirteen Doorways, Wolves Behind Them All and Bone Gap, both National Book Award finalists; the ALA Best Fiction for Young Adults selection York: The Shadow Cipher and its sequels; the Edgar Award nominee Lily’s Ghosts; and the Book Sense Pick Good Girls. She is on the faculty of Hamline University’s MFA in writing for children and young adults program and lives in the Chicago area. You can visit her online at lauraruby.com.

Book preview

DEDICATION

To the ladies of the LSG, superheroes all

MAP

EPIGRAPH

In my end is my beginning.

—MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Map

Epigraph

Peck’s Slip, Manhattan: Winter Solstice, 1798

New York City: Present Day

Chapter One: Tess

Chapter Two: Theo

Chapter Three: Jaime

Chapter Four: Merry

Chapter Five: Tess

Chapter Six: Theo

Chapter Seven: Jaime

Chapter Eight: Cricket

Chapter Nine: Tess

Chapter Ten: Theo

Chapter Eleven: Jaime

Chapter Twelve: Karl

Chapter Thirteen: Tess

Chapter Fourteen: Theo

Chapter Fifteen: Jaime

Chapter Sixteen: Imogen Sparks

Chapter Seventeen: Tess

Chapter Eighteen: Theo

Chapter Nineteen: Jaime

Chapter Twenty: Darnell

Chapter Twenty-One: Tess

Chapter Twenty-Two: Theo

Chapter Twenty-Three: Jaime

Chapter Twenty-Four: Ava

Chapter Twenty-Five: Tess

Chapter Twenty-Six: Theo

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Jaime

Chapter Twenty-Eight: September 6, 2025

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Tess

Chapter Thirty: Theo

Chapter Thirty-One: Jaime

Chapter Thirty-Two: August 18, 2041

Chapter Thirty-Three: Tess

Chapter Thirty-Four: Theo

Chapter Thirty-Five: Jaime

Chapter Thirty-Six: Tess

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Theo

New York City: December 3, 1855

New York City: May 10, 2114

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Books by Laura Ruby

Copyright

About the Publisher

Peck’s Slip, Manhattan

Winter Solstice, 1798

Even hundreds of years ago, New York City was the stuff of legend. People came from all around the world to escape their lots, to find their peace, to seek their fortunes. The streets are paved with gold, some whispered as they huddled in the bellies of ships, shivering from the cold and damp. There is honest work for honest folk, said others, their stomachs rumbling, their mouths dry with thirst, praying over meager meals of moldy bread crusts. There are treasures ripe for the taking, still others said, tongues thick with too much beer, rubbing their dirty hands together in their eagerness to rob anyone with anything worth stealing.

Every day, ships from all over the world crammed the East River docks, disgorging their thin and weary passengers into the hum and buzz of the city beyond. From the cargo holds, deckhands unloaded bales of cotton and wool; barrels of rice, flour, and salt; chests of tea; puncheons of rum; and pipes of wine. From the counting houses, brandy-gulping merchants came to inspect the goods and ordered the hands to bring the boxes, barrels, and chests through the teeming crowds of people so that the bounty could be properly totaled and celebrated with ever more drink.

On this December night, darkness fell early—it was the solstice, after all. That did not mean the work ended early, however. Myles White toiled along with the rest of the hands on the deck of the Aurora, unloading the sugar, molasses, and coffee they had hauled all the way up from the West Indies, goods that would go for a pretty price in this city. But it had not been a pretty trip, not for Myles White. He had seen things on those faraway islands he wished to forget, to scrub from his mind, things that had haunted his dreams and whittled him nearly as thin as some of the hungry and homeless newcomers milling around the docks. Myles would not speak of what he’d seen in the Indies, or what he’d done. First because there was no one for him to tell, and second because he did not trust himself not to reveal his other secrets.

Like many who traveled the ships that clogged the East River, Myles White had plenty of secrets.

Once the goods had been hauled away by the merchants, Myles got to work on the deck, sweeping and swabbing. No one had to order him to do it. He had learned long ago that the best way to prevent questions on such a ship was to work harder and faster than anyone else, to do the job before you were asked, and to do it so well that no one could find fault. He might be only a swabbie, but he was determined to be the best swabbie the Aurora ever had.

Even so, he could feel the eyes of Mr. Jasper, the boatswain, before the man spoke, could smell the drink and sweat wafting downwind.

You there, said Mr. Jasper. Swabbie!

Myles turned. Yes, sir?

When you’re done with that deck, double-check that all the goods are out of the holds.

Yes, sir, Myles said. Of course, sir.

Mr. Jasper scowled, and took a long pull from a brown bottle. You’re that boy, he said.

Fear prickled Myles’s skin like spray from an icy, roiling sea. Sir? he said, trying to keep his voice even.

That boy who . . . He swayed and had to grip the rigging to keep from falling over. The one who . . .

Yes, sir? Myles said again.

Mr. Jasper squinted hard at Myles, then made a noise at the back of his throat like one of the dock cats hacking up something disagreeable. Ach, I don’t care who you are. Swab that deck and then check the holds are clear before you take your leave. And be back by dawn or we sail without you. Any boy could take your place, mark my words.

No boy could take his place. Myles almost laughed, but coughed instead. Yes, sir.

Mr. Jasper stumbled away, tripping and falling onto the dock before crawling off to one of the pubs.

Myles continued to work, the exercise keeping him warm in the chill darkness, and keeping his thoughts from more unpleasant things.

That is, until he heard the thump.

He stopped swabbing, tipping his head toward the noise. And there it was again: thump, thump. From somewhere below.

As far as Myles knew, Mr. Jasper had been the last of the sailors to leave the ship. So who, or what, could be making that noise?

He leaned his mop against the rigging, lit a lantern, and proceeded to check the whole of the quarter deck, the gun deck, the middle deck, and the lower deck. All were clear. By the time he reached the hold, in the deepest part of the ship, his lantern barely cut through the blackness. The Aurora rolled gently with the movement of the sea, but down here, the undulation felt more ominous, the boards creaking all around him. Myles fumbled in his back pocket for his knife, small but deadly sharp, a knife that had kept many a bored and drunken sailor from beating Myles for sport. With the knife in one hand and the lantern in the other, he crept through the freezing dark and soon came to the cabin of the carpenter. The carpenter lived down here because of the easy access to the hold, but also because he was a mean old man who hated everyone except for the rats, some of which he gave jolly names like Daniel Defoe and Jonathan Swift. Maybe the carpenter hadn’t left for the evening?

Myles pressed his ear against the cabin door. He heard faint scratching, then mumbling and whispering. As far as he knew, Daniel Defoe and Jonathan Swift could not speak, no matter how much the carpenter wished they would. Myles took a deep breath and then threw open the door, thrusting the knife out in front of him.

Inside the tiny cabin, a dark-haired woman sat down abruptly on the bed, her hand trembling over her mouth. She was white, and not old, but not nearly as young as Myles. In the yellow light of Myles’s lantern, her eyes were as black as the ocean at night, wide and dark and terrified, but also defiant, as if she were scared of the knife but also willing to meet it, whatever that meant for her.

Who are you? Myles said.

The woman licked her lips but said nothing. It was then that Myles noticed that there was someone in the bed behind her. Someone trying to stifle a cough.

Who is that? Were you passengers on the last voyage? Myles repeated. You need to get off the ship or—

Or what? the woman snapped. Or you’ll stab me?

Myles had only stabbed one person in his whole life, and he’d been sure that person had deserved it. But he didn’t know if this woman did.

He made a decision and tucked the knife away. No. But if the carpenter or the boatswain or anyone else finds you, they’ll throw you into the sea. Or worse.

The woman swallowed hard, gestured to the man in the bed. My brother is sick. We only wanted to rest a bit.

Indeed, the man did look sick, sweaty and pale. And the resemblance between the man and the woman was unmistakable. Maybe she was telling the truth.

She said, I thought everyone would be away for at least a few days.

A few days? Myles said. We get a few hours. And the captain will be back before then to make sure no one damages his ship.

Oh, the woman said. Right. She wrung her hands, frowning. In addition to the man in the bed behind her, there was a trunk at her feet. Myles had no idea how she’d been able to sneak the man and the trunk onto the ship without anyone else seeing her. But he had to get her off the ship before they did.

Is someone meeting you on the docks? Myles said.

She shook her head.

Do you have family in the city?

She shook her head again.

Where were you going to go? he said.

Her hands twisted and fluttered against her long skirt. We thought we’d figure that out once we got to the city.

This was going nowhere. Where do you hail from?

Too many places to count, she said.

Her accent was strange. German? Myles spoke a bit of the language, because it was the quartermaster’s original tongue. Wo in Deutschland?

Austria, really, said the woman. Where are you from?

Me? said Myles.

Yes, you, she said.

It’s not important, he said, too quickly.

She lifted her chin. Where we’re from isn’t important, either.

At that, he nodded. A lot of people didn’t like to talk about where they were from. Fine. You still have to go.

Yes, she said, but she didn’t move.

Has your brother got the fever?

Which fever?

Yellow fever, said Myles. Was she daft?

No! It’s just a cold or something. And he’s tired. We’re both tired.

Hmmm, Myles said. If they weren’t passengers, if they were stowaways and he was caught helping them, it was he who would be thrown into the water. But the sick man reminded him of the islands, and of the sick woman there, and of the thing that Myles had done that he could not tell anyone, not ever, for fear they’d look too closely at him.

This woman was looking closely, though. She pressed one of her fluttery hands to her own cheek, as though feeling the lack of whiskers on Myles’s.

Though he willed himself not to, he found himself mimicking her gesture, putting his hand to a cheek that he had disguised with soot just that morning. I’m only fifteen, he said.

She wasn’t fooled. How has no one discovered you?

I’m careful, said Myles bitterly. He had been careful, but this lady had seen through him in a few minutes.

At this, she merely nodded. But he exploded as if she’d asked him a question, the question: Why?

You should know why I had to! Myles said, his voice loud, too loud. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "Who would want the lot of a woman?"

Her laugh was one of recognition, not amusement. Who indeed?

They wanted to marry me off to some poor fool like I was no more than a fattened pig. They said I didn’t have a choice. So I gave myself a chance.

Right, she murmured. You ran away?

Myles nodded. He had no idea why he was telling this stranger his deepest secret, except for the strain of keeping it to himself for so long. I stole some clothes and came to the docks. There are always jobs if you’re willing to do them. I was willing.

She nodded again, thoughtfully. I’m not sure you could say I—we—were willing, but we were desperate.

Well, miss, Myles said, I guess it’s the same thing. Why don’t we get your brother off the ship? Maybe we could find a suitable inn where you could stay.

Thank you, she said. You’re very kind.

I’m not, Myles insisted. "I’m not kind. If we’re caught, I’ll say I found stowaways, which is the God’s honest truth. I won’t lose my position here. I can’t."

All right, she said. What’s your name?

He drew himself up stiffly. Myles. He half expected her to ask for his other name, the name that he had buried when he’d put on these boy’s clothes and come to this ship, but she didn’t.

I’m glad to meet you, Myles. Will you help me get my brother out of bed?

Myles set the lantern down on the floor and took one of the man’s arms while the lady took the other. Together, they hauled the man upright.

Okay, okay, the man mumbled. I’m up, I’m up. You could have just asked.

Ignore him, said the woman. He’s peevish when he first wakes up.

Who’s peevish? said the man.

"What’s peevish?" said Myles.

My brother, the woman said. If you can take him, I’ll carry the trunk.

Myles shook his head. A lady shouldn’t have to carry her own trunk.

There are no ladies here, she said. But Myles took the trunk, which was a lot heavier than it looked, and the woman draped her brother’s arm around her neck. They hobbled out of the carpenter’s cabin, and then across the length of the hold. It was slow going, but they managed to get both the man and the trunk off the ship and onto the dock without anyone paying attention.

Once on the dock, the woman covered her nose. What is that smell?

What smell? Myles asked. The docks and the streets beyond were littered in the usual effluvia—horse manure, soil from the chamber pots, rotting vegetables, and coffee—but it would be so much worse in the summer. He barely noticed it now that winter had gotten a stranglehold.

You don’t smell it? The woman looked green in the lantern light. I don’t know if I can do this, she said, almost to herself.

Her brother lifted his head from her shoulder. You can do it. We can. We have to.

Are you really from Austria? Myles said. What I mean is, can you speak German?

Yes. A little. And . . . She hesitated. A bit of Yiddish, too.

There’s an inn a few blocks that way where you might find a room. I’ve heard they don’t ask too many questions. And you shouldn’t say much in any case. Your accent is too strange.

They hobbled down the street. Once, a drunken man tried to take the trunk from Myles, but the woman hissed like an angry street cat, scaring the man off. Nobody else bothered them. Finally, they reached the inn, the Morning Star. When the woman saw the name on the sign, she laughed.

What?

The Morning Star. I like it.

Good, said Myles, though he had no idea what she was talking about. As Myles had heard, the mountainous ruddy man at the desk didn’t ask questions of the woman except how many rooms she needed, and if she wanted food or a bath prepared.

Both, please, she said.

The innkeeper named a price for the room and board. The woman fished in her coat and brought out a gleaming gold coin. The innkeeper’s eyes went shifty. When the big man dropped the coin into the box below the desk without a word, Myles whispered, That’s too much.

Is it? said the woman. I don’t think so.

After the innkeeper left the desk to order a servant girl to prepare a room, the woman pressed another few coins into Myles’s palm, more money than he had ever seen at once, enough money to change his life right there and then.

Miss, he said, stunned. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .

Yes, you can, she said.

Myles whispered, I stabbed a man. In the West Indies. There was a girl—she was sick and couldn’t work and he kept beating her. I stabbed him and I helped her escape. I don’t know where she is now. Where she went. If she’s safe.

Again, he had no idea why he was telling her these things. The words felt as if they were being torn from him, ragged and bloody.

She said, I was right. You are kind.

But the man . . .

Was beating a girl. And you saved her. Wherever she is, I’m sure she is grateful. I’m grateful. The woman closed his fingers over the money. Take this. And perhaps if you get sick of working on a ship, you can find me. I might have a job for you, too, someday. If you’re willing.

But I don’t know your name.

She touched his too-smooth cheek. You will.

NEW YORK CITY

Present Day

CHAPTER ONE

Tess

There are people who are human whirlwinds. They move fast, they talk faster, they think even faster still. Their fingers jitter against their legs, their knees dance when they sit, their lungs heave as if they’ve been running a race. At night, when they try to sleep, their thoughts spin and jive. Sometimes happily, but mostly the thoughts knit themselves into nightmares that could make a person twist and kick, maybe even scream themselves awake.

Tess Biedermann was such a person. A whirlwind, a worrier, a jitterer, a heaver, and a kicker. Her knees danced, her thoughts spun and knitted themselves into nightmares even when she was awake. Because of this, she never really understood the phrase Time stood still, because Tess herself was rarely still, always leaping to the next thing, literally and figuratively.

But she was still now.

She sat on her bed in her room at Aunt Esther’s house, a photograph in her hand. She had been trying to make sense of this photograph for hours, for days, for ages, and yet she couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

It’s not us, said Theo, from the bed on the other side of the room. He’d been saying this for hours, for days, for ages, but that didn’t make sense to Tess, either. This photograph was proof that there was magic in the world, and Theo didn’t believe in magic.

It’s not magic, either, Theo said.

You just read my mind, said Tess. That’s magic.

I didn’t read your mind—you’ve been mumbling the word ‘magic’ since we came back from the cemetery.

I don’t mumble.

You mumble all the time. You talk to yourself and don’t realize it. You have entire arguments while walking down the street.

How do you explain this? she said.

Photoshop, he said.

Doesn’t look Photoshopped.

Photoshop photos aren’t supposed to look Photoshopped, he said.

Tess held out the photo to him anyway, but he didn’t get up to take it. He didn’t need to. He’d spent enough time staring at it himself.

In the photograph, a dark-haired man and woman sit at the foot of a tree, both them laughing. Someone had written The Morningstarr Twins, 1807 along the bottom edge of the photo. On the back of the picture were the words Now you know.

Tess didn’t know anything. She didn’t know how these two people, grown people, looked so much like her and Theo. Okay, exactly like her and Theo. They had the same pointy noses, the same frizzy hair. Weren’t people supposed to look different when they got older?

And if this was actually a picture of her and Theo, if they were the Morningstarrs, that meant that she and Theo had somehow found a way to travel back into the past. That she and Theo had built New York City and all its gleaming machinery. That she and Theo had held fancy parties for dignitaries and pirates and musicians. That she and Theo had laid into the streets and buildings the Cipher that had fascinated and confounded the world for a century and a half and then . . . disappeared.

Tess put her hand to her head, dizzy.

They have to be relatives, she said. Our great-great-great-uncle and -aunt or something like that.

Our great-grandfather on Mom’s side came to this country in the middle of the nineteenth century. We’ve seen the papers at Castle Garden. And Dad’s family didn’t get here until 1922.

Explain it, then! Tess said.

I can’t, said Theo. The words dropped out of his mouth as if he were spitting out bones. He couldn’t explain it—not for sure, anyway—and Tess could tell it was eating him alive.

Nine, black and shiny with the dye that had been applied to disguise her markings, nudged Theo’s fist until it relaxed. Then the cat stalked over to Tess and rubbed her big face against Tess’s knee.

Jaime doesn’t believe we didn’t know about this, said Tess.

Would you? Theo said.

But we didn’t know! Tess said. How could we know? We still don’t know!

What don’t you know? said their mother, standing in the doorway.

Without missing a beat, Tess said, Where Nine has been. And who dyed her fur black.

Their mother, a detective whose job it was to find lost things, frowned. I’m trying to get to the bottom of it, but we keep running into dead ends.

Dead ends, said Theo, and chuckled like a character out of a horror picture.

Their mother’s frown got even deeper. To Tess, she said, What’s with your brother?

He’s weird, said Tess.

I can see that. Why?

He’s always been weird.

Right, said their mother. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. Is Jaime coming over today?

Tess shrugged. Another thing she didn’t know.

He hasn’t been here in a while. Did you guys have a fight?

Not quite, said Theo.

It hadn’t been a fight. Tess, Theo, and Jaime had teamed up with the Cipherist Society to figure out another clue in the Morningstarr Cipher. At Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, they’d dug up a trunk with all sorts of strange items inside, items that had seemed to come from some other city, a city that looked like New York but wasn’t—at least not the city they knew, the city they loved. And also hidden in the trunk was this photograph. This ridiculous, impossible photograph.

The mysterious Ava Oneal had taken one look and stormed out of the archives, where they’d been staying the night. Jaime simply handed the photo back to Theo and said nothing more. He said nothing when the Cipherists woke them for breakfast, nothing during the meal, nothing when Tess begged him to talk to her. And he’d said nothing since. Their texts went unanswered, so Tess had decided to call. Jaime’s grandmother answered the house phone, and every time Tess called, she said, Yes, querida niña, I will tell him that you’d like to talk to him. Yes, I will tell him you’re sorry, though I have no idea what you’re so sorry about, or why he is so angry. No, dear, he still doesn’t want to come to the phone. All he does is draw and talk to those hamster-hogs and that little robot he carries around everywhere. When he is like this, I leave him alone, let him work things out for himself. That’s what you need to do, too. Keep reaching out, but don’t expect anything.

Tess did keep calling, but it was harder and harder. She felt terrible, and sorry, but she didn’t know the right way to apologize for something she didn’t understand herself.

And she didn’t understand. She didn’t understand anything about anything. She would have loved to ask Ava about this, Ava who had somehow—magically?—been alive for almost two hundred years. But Tess had no way to contact Ava, and it seemed that Ava was furious, too, and would stay furious for as long as she needed to, which could be another two hundred years.

Tess! her mother said.

Tess jerked and almost fell off the bed. What!

Are you having a spell?

No, Tess said, casually letting the photograph drop facedown on the blanket. I’m just thinking about Jaime. He’s upset about something but he won’t talk about it.

Maybe give him some time? said her mom.

That’s what his grandmother says.

I don’t think she’s wrong. Remember how mad you were at me when Nine went missing? You needed time, too.

Time. They all needed time. But time had already played so many tricks on them. Nine had gone missing only a few weeks before, but it felt like eons, and it also felt like five minutes ago.

You kids want lunch? said their mom. I’m making split pea soup.

Soup! said Theo. That’s for winter.

It’s nearly fall, said their mom. And there was a bite in the air this morning. Made me feel like having some hot soup. Want some? I’ll make some grilled cheese, too.

In the kitchen, Tess and Theo ate their lunch. Well, Theo did. Tess swirled the soup so that a dark little hole appeared in the middle of the bowl. Is that how they did it? Traveled through a black hole? A wormhole? Some kind of science-fiction-y elevator that jumped around in space-time? Or maybe they were living in the multiverse, where many timelines existed alongside one another, and they had somehow moved from one timeline to a different one. But then, how had they not met themselves and shattered all of reality or whatever? Then again, who knows where Tess and Theo were in another world, another timeline. Maybe they lived in Idaho, maybe they lived in Beijing, maybe they lived on a generation ship exploring the whole of the universe.

How’s the soup? said Tess’s mom.

Delicious, Tess said, though she hadn’t even tasted it.

Tess had lived with Theo long enough to understand a bit about relativity. Most people thought time was a constant, but Einstein had said time was as changeable as anything else. Time slows down or speeds up depending on how fast you move relative to something else. A person traveling at light speed in a spaceship would age more slowly than her twin on Earth, because gravity bends time. And just recently, a mathematician concluded that, scientifically, time travel was possible. Space-time is curved, he said. If it weren’t, stars and planets would have to move in straight lines. So theoretically they should be able to turn that curve into a loop, making time travel possible. In the future, people might even be able to travel to their own pasts.

Bananas.

But.

Einstein had said, Time only exists so everything doesn’t happen at once.

Theo had also said that other scientists thought the whole thing was ridiculous. That even if time travel were possible—through wormholes or black holes or machines—humans would probably not be able to survive it. And what about the paradoxes? If Tess and Theo had actually gone back to 1798 and built New York City, did that mean they would have to do it again? Over and over?

She swirled the soup faster and faster. The image in the photograph was burned into her brain. It was hard for Tess to tell the ages of adults. Some adults seemed old when they were young, some adults seemed young when they were old. But she guessed that she and Theo—or whoever was in the picture—were in their thirties. And the singularities? People in their thirties have lives—work and spouses and pets and maybe even children. Who had they left behind? And why? What would make a person give up her future to travel to the past? Were they trying to fix something? Avert something? A war? A plague? An alien invasion?

Tess, you’re spilling your soup everywhere, her mother said, dropping a wet rag next to Tess’s bowl. On the floor under her feet, Nine was lapping up the soup that had dripped from the edge of the table.

Sorry, she

Reviews for York

[krau0098 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Series Info/Source: This is the third and final book in the York series. Story (4/5): This was a well done conclusion to this series and wraps up all the loose ends. There is a lot of running around from building to building solving clues just like in the previous books. However, more history comes into play in this book and more time traveling. I thought things felt a bit rushed towards the end and some of the things that happened felt really contrived. I would say the first 75% of the story was five stars and I really enjoyed it; the last quarter of the book felt a bit off and I would have given it three stars.Characters (4/5): The characters are well done and intriguing. We learn more about what Tess and Theo will become in the future. We also learn a lot more about all of these characters' pasts. Many mysterious characters, such as Ava, are finally explained. Nine and the little robot are by far my favorite characters. I do enjoy the tight relationships that Tess, Theo, and Jaimie have with their families throughout the series.Setting (5/5): I absolutely love the setting of these books. This alternate reality where New York City was designed by the Morningstarrs into a kind of modern nostalgic sci-fi setting continues to be amazing and incredibly unique.Writing/Drawing Style (4/5): The book is well written and easy to read. It jumps between characters which does break up the story some, but works okay for this series. I did think the last 25% or so of the story felt really contrived and rushed. Once you get into all this weird time traveling stuff and jumping into the far past and far future it got a bit weird. It just didn’t match the feel or pace of the rest of the series. My Summary (4/5): Overall this was a really unique series that I enjoyed and I would recommend to those who are interested in reads with a lot of steampunk-like puzzles and a futuristic yet nostalgic sci-fi feel to them. I really enjoyed the amazingly creative setting and world. The characters were also well done and the puzzles and mysteries that had to be unraveled were intriguing.