“Dewey!” I grabbed his wrists, feeling for a pulse. He needed to be alive, needed to be okay.
Jamison yelled, and I turned in time to see him slam into the cobblestones. Hard.
I gaped at the man who had shoved him, his chest as wide as a refrigerator. Jamison struggled to his feet as the man pulled back his fist, his gold watch glittering in the sunlight—
“No!” I screamed.
He pummeled Jamison’s beautiful face, smacking the back of his head into the street with a sickening crack. Jamison got his hands in front of him quick enough to block the next shot, but the man was all over him, kicking his stomach, his ribs—
“Help!” People were close. Main Street was only twenty yards away, and my cousins were on the other side of this brick wall. At the end of the alley, a man in a dark suit peered from behind a nearby building but quickly disappeared in the shadows. The damn coward.
The attacker swiveled at the sound of my voice. Had he . . . gotten older? His hair looked thinner now, and his face appeared older than it’d been mere seconds ago. But that was impossible.
Not impossible—a goddamn Chronos. One who’d traveled really bloody far.
I grabbed a stray rock and hurled it at him, but it bounced off his barrel chest. With an irritated look my way, he stalked back to where Jamison was scrambling to his feet.
Jamison’s eyes were dazed, his legs swaying as he stepped in front of Dewey and me. He lifted his fists, his face already swelling. Taller than the attacker, but half his weight. The Chronos barreled toward Jamison, his expression almost remorseful for what he was about to do.
“Please help us!” I begged the crowd forming at the head of the alley, but they backed away. No one risked taking on a Chronos.
With hair graying and thinning by the second, the man slammed Jamison against the wall. He pressed his forearm to his throat, not even flinching as Jamison clawed at his arm, fists flying to no avail.
My screams died in my throat. He was going to kill Jamison.
I threw myself at the man, leaping onto his back, driving my fists into his head. Letting go of Jamison, he spun around, trying to shake me off. He made it one step, two—
His knees cracked under my weight, and we crashed onto the ground.
The Chronos squirmed beneath me, his skin ancient and papery, hardly human anymore. I scrambled backward. Jamison pulled me farther away, not stopping until his back hit the wall. I pressed into him, still not far enough from our attacker.
The man stopped moving. His hair silvered and disappeared, and his skin hung longer and longer off his cheekbones. Deep wrinkles marred what had only moments ago been a broad, healthy face, and his eyes shrank until they were little black orbs.
He gasped for air with his rotting mouth—and breathed his last breath.
His thick body shriveled. Gray skin curled off his arms like bark off a sycamore tree. And underneath the skin, bones as white as pearls.
I squeezed my eyes shut, nausea pooling in my stomach. Beneath my ear, Jamison’s heart raced. “What the hell is happening?”
Speechless, I shook my head.
“Luxe?” Across the alley, Dewey lifted his head, blinking as if the world was just coming back into focus. As he struggled to sit, he assessed the scene before us: the body, the near-empty alley, and Jamison and me clinging to each other like lovers.
His eyes narrowed.
“Dewey!” I untangled myself from Jamison and ran to him.
He rubbed the side of his head, his fingers coming away red. “What happened?”
“You were attacked.”
The crowd pressed into the alley now, eager for a peek. Trysta pushed her way through the tourists, my cousins close on her heels. She skidded to a halt in front of Jamison, who was slumped against the alley wall, his face bloody. “What’s going on?”
“Someone attacked Dewey.” Jamison’s words bled into each other.
“Then why do you look like you lost a fight?”
His split lip jutted forward with his feeble attempt at a smile. “Got in the way.”
“Are you hurt?” Dewey pressed his hand to my cheek.
I shook my head. “He didn’t lay a finger on me. Only you and Jamison.”
Trys crouched beside Jamison. “You’re bleeding.” Ignoring his efforts to squirm away, she separated the back of his thick hair, then shot Roger an alarmed look. “He’s bleeding. A lot.”
Colette poked the rotting man with the tip of her shoe. “You were attacked by a corpse?”
Jamison’s eyes found mine. No one could possibly understand what we’d seen.
“He didn’t look like that at first,” I said, my voice hoarse. That wouldn’t do, not with so many onlookers listening. I cleared my throat. “At first, he was in his forties, but he was aging quickly.”
Trysta narrowed her eyes as if I were personally responsible for the scene before us. “When we travel, we arrive at our new age. No one sees the change, not even us.”
Ignoring her accusatory tone, I met her glare. “I saw it with my own eyes. By the time he hit the ground, he was twice as old.”
“He’s still aging now.” Colette nudged the body with her foot. “See?”
Sure enough, it was decomposing at an alarming rate. More patches of skin melted away, and underneath, pink muscles shriveled and grayed. My stomach churned.
Apparently immune to disgust, Trysta poked the body with the tip of her cane. “He’s a Chronos, all right. He’s got the watch to prove it.”
Dewey tensed beside me. “Who?”
“Uncle Frank. Freddy’s pops.” Trys backed away, her expression unreadable.
“Freddy, who found us before the party?” Roger asked. “This is his father?”
Trys nodded. “Far from my favorite uncle.”
“Not my favorite, either, but I never thought he’d try to kill me.” Betrayal swept over Dewey’s face. I squeezed his arm, but he didn’t register my touch, not even when I slipped my hand into his. A week of earning his trust, ruined by his family in an instant. If their scare tactics worked, he might abandon his plan for mayor—and his deal with us. No more crates full of hooch. No winter theater.
We wouldn’t last the summer, let alone another winter.
As Dewey stood and examined the still-rotting body, I squeezed my eyes shut and called to my magic. The pain accosted me, a dizzying sense of being swallowed by relentless fire, burning hotter than ever. I could hardly hold on while my magic exacted its payment . . .
“Are you okay?” Jamison was beside me now. Of course he’d seen me. His left eye was nearly swollen shut, and his lightstring was hazy, as if his grip on consciousness was fading.
“You need to get to a doctor.” On unsteady legs, I pushed myself to my feet.
A storm of emotions brewed in Dewey’s lightstring, dark and thick like aged syrup. There was his perpetual cautiousness, the politician careful with every word, every emotion. Beneath it, hues of sadness swirled with betrayal, frustration, and, worst of all, regret.
That wouldn’t do.
I gripped his chin and turned his face to mine. “You know why your family did this, don’t you?”
His eyes narrowed, and even though I was no Edwardian, I could practically hear the words he considered spewing: Because I’m helping the Revelles.
His lightstring fought against my mind, only relenting as I began to infuse a calm down it. You trust me. You know I speak the truth. “Because you’re going to win.”
“What?”
You feel the truth of my words. “Think about it. For a Chronos to age this much, how far did he have to travel back? Six months? A year?”
Trys frowned. “That’s suicide.”
“An attempted murder-suicide,” I corrected her. The sheer power of the Chronoses, to be able to travel back an entire year in order to change the course of history, even if it killed them. “And why would he do that?”
“It would have to be a sacrifice the family deemed absolutely necessary,” Dewey said slowly. “Like stopping me from becoming mayor.”
“That’s right.” And keeping him from releasing my family from underneath the Chronoses’ thumb. I straightened my back, my gaze fixed on him. “In twenty-four days, you’re going to win. And after that, you’re going to change Charmant for the better, just like you said.”
Dewey dusted off his jacket. “My God, you’re right. I’m the key to all this.”
“Exactly.” You are the most important person in Charmant.
Hubris surged through his lightstring. “Well, they certainly judged us wrong. We can’t be scared into submission, can we, my sweet?”
Easy for a time traveler to say. Without him, they could have me shot on Main Street in broad daylight, and there was nothing my family could do about it. “Not one bit.”
You see the threat your family poses. You wish to keep the Revelles safe.
“Rest assured, citizens of the Night,” Dewey continued, letting his voice carry to the bystanders. “We’re going to put an end to my family’s tyranny once and for all.”
I turned to Colette and Millie, but both looked skeptical. They’d see. Once the first snow fell and we were still making money, they’d be his biggest fans.
Trys pulled on Dewey’s arm. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, okay? Luxe is far from an expert on our family. She’s hardly an expert on her own family.”
I kept my face a mask of calm, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing how her words stung. “If you have a better explanation, I’m all ears.”
She frowned. “Uncle Frank was a jerk, but he loved his wife and son. He’d never willingly leave them behind. And he’s far too selfish to sacrifice himself to help George win. Maybe Dewey fainted again, and—”
“Maybe I fainted?” Dewey’s ears pinkened.
Trysta leaned closer and dropped her voice. “You have that pale sheen you always get when you wake up from a fainting spell.”
“Because I was knocked out cold!” Dewey exclaimed, turning away from her.
Roger gripped Jamison’s shoulders, steadying him. “You okay, buddy? You’re swaying like a sailor.”
Jamison managed a nod, but his lightstring was fading by the second. Trys and Roger needed to get him to a physician, and fast.
Dewey looked back and forth between us, tendrils of pea-green jealousy snaking their way into his lightstring. “Why were the two of you together?”
“We weren’t. We stumbled upon you at the same time.” He means nothing to me.
Ignoring my lie, Jamison leaned his head against the wall. “Should we call the police?”
The last of the bystanders scurried away. Trysta shook her head. “We don’t even have a body anymore. Look.”
Sure enough, no skin remained beneath the man’s clothes. Only bones and dust.
Dewey held his arm out to me. “Let’s go. I need to see Trevor immediately, and I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
All I wanted was to crawl into bed and forget this nightmare. Or at least talk to Uncle Wolffe and figure out what the hell we were going to do. Time travelers didn’t simply give up. Another would take his place. Soon.
I looped my arm in Dewey’s. “I won’t leave your side.”
From my periphery, Trys rolled her eyes.
“Wait a second.” Colette handed me her handkerchief. “You’re bleeding.”
As I pressed it to my nose, she murmured, “Maybe you should come home.”
If only I could. “I’m fine. Really.”
Her mouth tightened to a thin line. She didn’t approve of whatever I was doing with Dewey. No one did, though I didn’t hear them complaining about our stocked liquor closet.
She looked as though she wanted to say more, but Dewey beckoned me. Fixing my smile, I tucked her handkerchief into my cleavage. “Jamison needs a Strattori,” I whispered. “I’ll find you all later, if I can.”
With one last appraising look, she nodded and let me go.
