We lay entwined under the pier. Sweaty, shivering, unable to move.
It had been perfect. Jamison had been perfect. The things he could do with those strong hands, that clever mouth. My toes curled at the memory.
“You’re shaking.” He pulled me closer, and I let myself melt in his arms. Lying here with him was almost enough to forget the Big Tent was in ruins. And that the Chronoses were still out there, somewhere, disappointed they hadn’t killed us all. And Dewey’s threats. And the election—the polls opened in a matter of hours.
The Big Tent was gone. Soon Jamison would be, too.
Reality wedged itself between us, sharp and uninvited. Dewey’s mood grew more restless by the minute. Anger had tangled him in its dark web, and detangling him required more magic than I had left. I needed to save some for tomorrow night. I needed a damn jewel. I needed rest.
And yet I couldn’t bring myself to disturb this enchanted moment.
Jamison thumbed the loose strap of my leotard. “Magic or not, I think I fell for you the moment I laid eyes on you.”
I snorted. “Definitely magic.”
“I almost jumped off the balcony for you, you know.”
The memory of him clambering over the railing made me smile. “I noticed.”
He settled against the blanket. “The Fun House was even worse. I think I’ve replayed every word you uttered a thousand times since. At least before you made me jump out the window.”
My heart squeezed. “I wasn’t using magic after the show.”
“Really?”
I traced the line of his jaw. “My inkwell was empty.”
He rolled onto his side and tucked one of my frizzy curls behind my ear. “I wonder if we ever met before,” he said softly. “Maybe we played together on the beach when we were little.”
Jamison was from Charmant—from the Night District. His parents had owned that boat rental business a few blocks from the Big Tent. “Do you think,” I began, “if the Chronoses hadn’t interfered, and you’d grown up in the Night, we would have still ended up here, on this beach?”
“I know it.” No hesitation, no trace of doubt in his voice. “I would have had a ridiculous crush on you long before you noticed me.”
“I wouldn’t have been the star,” I pointed out. “My aunt Adeline would have handed over the reins to Colette.”
His warm hands cupped my face. “Luxe, I couldn’t care less that you’re the star. Hell, it’d be much easier if you were a backup performer.”
We both heard the words he didn’t say: So Dewey was someone else’s problem.
“Even if my parents were still alive, we would have ended up here.” He planted a soft, slow kiss on my lips. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
I fought back the urge to point out that I still smelled like that terrible smoke, felt sand in unspeakable places, and would not have noticed if a seagull had nested in my hair.
“And this”—I combed the unruly tendrils falling over his forehead—“has been driving me crazy all summer.”
“I know, I know. I need a haircut.”
“Don’t you dare.” After tonight, I’d never even know if his hair was long or short.
Dewey’s lightstring slipped from my grasp yet again. Time to face reality.
My exhaustion clung to me like a lead blanket I couldn’t lift. It was an effort to stand, and even harder to keep upright. Jamison helped me fix my disheveled leotard, then wrapped his jacket around my shoulders. I’d hold on to it forever, a token to remember his scent, his touch.
But where would I keep it? I had no bedroom anymore. No home.
He rubbed my arms for warmth. “Do you want to come back to the barn?”
I groaned, leaning into him. “I want to board the next ferry and never return.”
“Then let’s do it.”
I gave him a look.
“I mean it,” he said, those bright eyes alight. “Let’s find some desolate place where no one cares about the Chronoses or the Revelles. I’ll teach at the only schoolhouse for miles, and you’ll start a dance studio. Or you can sing. Or you can do absolutely nothing, if you’d like.”
I laughed, and his smile was so sweet, I wanted to bottle it up and keep it forever. “Living together unwed on the mainland? What a scandal!”
“Well, if you’re concerned about propriety, Miss Revelle, the boat captain could perform the ceremony. As soon as we leave Charmant.”
“And do we have children in this fantasy of yours?”
“Lots, of course.”
My eyes widened.
“I mean, very few! Only one or two.”
I couldn’t sustain my smile, not when Dewey’s faint lightstring still wavered just over Jamison’s shoulder. A leash, tethering me to him.
Jamison frowned. “What is it?”
I stared at the sky, the smoke from the Big Tent veiling the stars. “When I was little, I drove my mother crazy with all my talk of the world outside Charmant. She worried I’d disappear forever, like my father. She didn’t understand that Charmant is my home, that I’d always return. But in this fantasy of yours, we’d never be able to set foot here again. I’d never see my family again.”
Like embers in the wind, our dreams vanished.
“If you want to stay in Charmant forever, then I’ll stay forever, too.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You’re not alone in this mess anymore. We’ll find a way out together.”
“I wish you could stay,” I said honestly. “I wish this weren’t goodbye.”
“What do you mean, goodbye?”
“Because you’re leaving,” I reminded him, hating every word.
He kissed each cheek gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“We talked about this.” I tried to keep my voice steady, tried not to betray how much I wished he could stay. “You need to leave. Right away.”
“Yes, but that was before I knew you feel the same as me. I can’t leave you now.”
He was so stubborn, so optimistic, even now. “I’m glad we had tonight, Jamison. I truly am. But it doesn’t change anything. My family still needs me to keep Dewey happy.”
His brow furrowed. “You can’t mean to tell me that you’re actually going to marry him.”
“If that’s what it takes to get a jewel and keep my family safe, then yes.” I let go of him and turned away. “I’m late, in fact.”
His silence grew heavier with each crash of the waves. I shook the sand from my hair and straightened my leotard, gathering the strength to walk away for good.
“You can’t.” His voice was hardly a whisper over the crashing ocean. I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see his lightstring.
“I told you,” I whispered. “I told you this was goodbye.”
“There has to be a better way. You can’t—you can’t become his wife.” His voice tripped on the last word. “I can talk to Wolffe. Or even Dewey—”
“No.” I couldn’t even think of Jamison hurt, Jamison dead. “I’m really glad we had tonight, but my situation hasn’t changed.”
“But that was before I knew how you felt. Before we kissed.” He pressed a hand to my cheek. “Luxe, I think I’m falling in—”
I covered my ears, backing away from him. “Don’t say it.”
“Love? But Luxe, I—”
“Don’t say it.” I’d been selfish enough. I didn’t deserve those three words from him.
He nodded, his face brave, but hurt flashed through his lightstring.
“It’s not you,” I said quietly. “I told you. I can’t love anyone.” Even now, a small, selfish voice inside urged me to turn my back on my family, on the dangers we still faced, and to leave Charmant with Jamison right now.
As if Dewey wouldn’t time travel and make sure I never left.
Jamison caught my wrist as I turned away. “Don’t give up. We have to keep fighting.”
Anger flashed in Dewey’s lightstring, as dark as the smoke that still rose from my home. Bracing myself, I gripped it tighter. “This is how I fight. Get the jewel, tame the beast.” The beast who, by tomorrow evening, could be mayor.
He watched me as I shrugged off the warmth of his jacket. “I may not be able to see emotions like you, but I know a dog with a bone when I see one. He’ll never let you go. Not until there’s nothing left of you for him to take.”
Every muscle in my body tensed as I grabbed Dewey’s lightstring once again. It was becoming too much—the pain, the Big Tent, the long night ahead of me. “Goodbye, Jamison. I really hope Trysta is okay, but either way, you need to leave.”
It’d be safer for them all off Charmant, Trys included. And she wouldn’t let anything happen to Jamison. She’d traveled for him once already. She’d do it again.
“Don’t walk away,” he called after me. “Please, Luxe, don’t make yourself live bait.”
With every heavy step away from him, wind whipped off the water, drowning out the rest of his protests. Dewey’s lightstring grew red-hot, and I nearly cried out in pain as my pitiful drops of magic snuffed it out.
Dewey’s lightstring fell from my grasp a dozen times before I reached the wrought iron gates outside his mansion. My magic had all but blinked out, leaving me with a splitting headache and bone-deep exhaustion. Even if opening night weren’t tomorrow, I’d have to use it sparingly.
A long bath, a little sleep, and I’d pull myself together.
Trevor waited at the bottom of the long driveway. He nearly collapsed with relief when I stepped underneath the streetlamp. “Oh, thank goodness! He was ready to have my head.”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to—”
“Better if you don’t tell me.” He offered me his arm. “I can’t read his thoughts well from here, but he’s in a mood.”
We began the ascent up the driveway. “How mad?”
“Livid. At us both.”
“I truly am sorry.” Every decision I made had consequences far beyond me. I needed to remember that. “From now on, I won’t put you in that position.”
He squeezed my arm. “After the election, I’ll organize a fundraiser at my church. Maybe a clothing drive, or we’ll collect household supplies. Whatever the Revelles need.”
“You’d do that for us?” Tears threatened as I regarded Trevor. My friend.
“Of course. It’s about time our families worked together. Besides, we both work for Dewey now.”
“I don’t work for him.” But my protest rang hollow.
No Big Tent. No Fun House. Like it or not, Dewey’s winter theater was our only hope of ever being able to rebuild.
Dewey waited against the tall columns framing the entrance, his arms folded tightly across his chest. My magic was too weak to wash away the anger written all over his face.
With lips still swollen from Jamison’s kisses, I grazed his cheek. “You didn’t have to wait up.”
He glanced at his watch. “You were supposed to be here nearly two hours ago. I’ve been worried sick.”
“It was hard to leave my family.” I cast my gaze to the polished marble floor. “There was so much to look after.”
“And who looks after you, my sweet?” He pressed a hand to my back, guiding me into his cavernous foyer. “I have a Strattori waiting for you in my study. Go upstairs and get washed up first.”
The warm glow of the Strattori’s candles were visible through the glass panes of the study’s French doors. “I thought the Strattoris were holed up in the cliffs.” Helen was the only one I’d seen in weeks.
“For the right price, I can get anyone to do anything.” He halted his step, turning me to face him. “You inhaled quite a bit of smoke. And you fainted. Again. I need to make sure my star is ready to help me win an election tomorrow.”
I hardly felt sturdy enough to traverse his grand staircase, let alone follow him around all day and perform trapeze at his party tomorrow night. But I fixed my smile, squeezed his hands, and gripped the railing as I followed two pretty maids upstairs.
The bath, at least, was exquisite, the water hot enough to leave my skin pink and tender. The warmth soothed my pounding head and sore muscles. More than once, I had to pinch my eyelids open to keep from falling asleep. By the time I emerged from the claw-foot tub, the water was black with the sooty remains of my home.
Numbly, I watched them swirl down the drain.
The closets were full of dresses tailored to my size. Day District gowns with heavy skirts and muted petticoats, the sort of frills my cousins and I liked to mock. Far too many for Dewey to have acquired them all tonight. And the vanity drawers contained a hairbrush just like the one I’d had at home, only newer. My hair serum, too, the one Colette used to tame my curls. I combed it through my wet hair, watching in the oval mirror as ringlets began to form.
He hadn’t traveled to buy me such trivial things, had he? That would be unhinged.
With my damp curls pinned away from my face, I padded down the stairs in a white ruffled nightgown. I hadn’t worn anything this innocent since I was a little girl.
Dewey’s and the Strattori’s hushed voices drifted from the patio as I followed his maid to the study. She closed the French doors behind me. I half expected her to lock them.
The ivory candles of a traditional healing ceremony cast long shadows along the walls. Those candles were more disconcerting than the echoing halls, the deafening quiet, even the creepy closets full of frumpy dresses tailored to my size.
This Strattori wasn’t my family’s perpetually drunk, custom-flouting physician. And this wasn’t my home.
Yet it was everything I’d once wanted, wasn’t it? Charmant’s bootlegger dedicated to my family. An elegant winter theater, entirely ours, if he won tomorrow.
My family protected. Alive.
I walked the circumference of the room, running my finger along leather-bound books with their binding still intact. All for show.
His pedestal desk had but one drawer. My Revelle blood hummed to life as I touched the handle. There was a jewel in there. A massive one.
I tried the drawer. Locked.
With a glance over my shoulder, I removed a hairpin. The lock was the simplest kind, a dead bolt that twisted out of the way when I pressed the pin against the right spot. Every Revelle child who wanted candy from Nana’s stash knew how to pick locks.
The drawer slid open without a sound.
A black velvet box sat atop a folder. With trembling hands, I cracked it open and gasped.
The ring was absurdly beautiful. That same radiant Art Deco setting, with a series of sparkling diamonds embedded in the platinum band. The delicate whorls of diamonds thickened to frame the massive emerald-cut diamond centerpiece. As clear as air. As wide as my thumbnail. Too many carats to count.
With this ring, I could charm him for months, maybe even years, before he noticed the stones disintegrating.
But it wouldn’t work unless he gave it to me.
As quickly as I could, I combed through the rest of the contents of the drawer. It was organized: a folder of receipts, a ledger I couldn’t decipher, and, tucked so far back I almost missed it, a leather notebook. A journal.
With a furtive glance toward the door, I opened it.
Diagrams. Numbers. A list of dates, some crossed out, others circled. Was this how Dewey kept track of how much his body had aged? The times he’d traveled?
I turned the page—and gasped. My mother’s name. Over and over.
- Catherine Revelle alive, Jamison Jones dead. Colette is the star, but Luxe’s magic is weak and Catherine keeps her from me. George wins.
- Catherine dead, Jamison dead. Luxe is the star but her magic’s weak. Luxe despises me.
- Catherine dead, Jamison alive. Luxe is the star, magic strong, but still chooses Jamison. Act like Jamison?
- Catherine dead, Jamison alive but off Charmant. Luxe is the star, magic strong, but Jamison returns, turns her against me. Make the Revelles need me?
The words blurred together, the list going on and on. Jamison, my mother, Colette, my magic—it made no sense.
Footsteps padded just outside the door. I flung the journal back in the drawer, placed the jewelry box on top, then closed it without locking—
The Strattori entered alone, her simple white garb at odds with the decadent mansion. Circling the room, she checked her candles, hardly looking at me or the desk on which I leaned.
“Lie down on the couch, Miss Revelle.” Her voice was cool but not suspicious.
Grateful she wasn’t an Edwardian, I obeyed. “I’m fine, just tired. We won’t be transferring any injuries tonight.”
“Let’s see what I find first.” She lifted her hands over me, mumbling the long incantation the traditional Strattori preferred. So many unnecessary rules to their magic. I’d seen Dr. Strattori transfer broken bones with a bottle of bourbon in one hand.
How much did I truly know about other families’ magic?
Trevor would know what Dewey’s notes meant. I’d ask him as soon as I could slip away.
Once she ceased her prayer-like chants, the examination carried on for several minutes. Perhaps, like Revelles, some Strattoris were more powerful than others. Or perhaps all the candles and prayers were props, much like the gaudy fake gems that decorated the Fun House.
But the Fun House was gone.
The Strattori’s eyes shot open. She sucked in her breath.
I lifted my head. “What is it?”
“Shhh.” The urgency in her voice pinned me in place as she closed the study door. When she returned, she kept her eyes open as her hands continued to hover above me.
They hovered above my chest. My heart.
She couldn’t see my strange magic, could she?
“Impossible,” she hissed.
I rolled away from her. “I think this examination is over.”
“What have you done, girl?”
Every inch of me stilled. “What? Nothing.”
All the color drained from her face. “Shadow magic. You—You’ve found a way to use shadow magic.”
“That’s ridiculous. Shadow magic isn’t real.” Helen Strattori might have been a mean drunk, but at least she had common sense.
“Your lifeline is nearly empty.” Seeing my blank stare, she spread her hands wide. “Long, shiny bits of light? The source of our magic. Our life.”
I gaped at her. “You mean lightstrings? Emotions?”
“You odious child.” She backed away. “If you’ve seen the lights, you’ve tampered with the darkness. Do you know what will happen if this gets out? Not only to your family, but to all of us?”
“Shadow magic isn’t real,” I repeated more sternly. “Even if it were, I’d never hurt anyone.”
“Not someone else.” She lifted a trembling finger. “You. Somehow, you’ve drained your own lifeline. It’s all looped and twisted—and dark. I don’t even know how you’re still alive.”
Her words slowed as I blinked once. Again.
Impossible.
I must have spoken aloud, because her anger softened. “I’m sorry, but you’re on borrowed time. You have a day or two. A week, at most.”
I forced a laugh. My magic caused pain, yes, but it wasn’t shadow magic. It couldn’t be.
I wasn’t dying.
“You’re mistaken.” I rose to my feet, ignoring the way the world swayed, the way pain blossomed from my head, my chest, even without my magic. “I don’t see lifelines; I see people’s emotions. It’s harmless.”
The nosebleeds. The weight loss. The fainting.
The pain.
My mind was as thick and slow as mud as she blew out her candles, hastily throwing them in her medical bag without waiting for the wax to cool. “You can’t tell a soul,” she hissed, reaching for the door. “If a Chronos finds out—”
She gasped.
A knife rammed through her center, a red stain blooming across her crisp white tunic.
My own heart stopped beating.
Dewey pulled out the knife he’d stuck in her back, the silver tip receding like quicksand. She curled onto the floor, her mouth opening and closing, eyes imploring, so full of fear—
Run, she mouthed. Her legs kicked out helplessly, twitching once, twice.
She stilled.
I backed away from Dewey, digging into my little inkwell too late, much too late . . .
He wiped the blade with his index finger and winced. “A waste of magical blood. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The backs of my thighs struck his desk hard enough to bruise. “What have you done?”
“Don’t worry, my sweet.” His smile was as warm as the blood pooling across the floorboards. “We can’t have anyone discovering our secret, now, can we?”
