By the time I returned to the barn, Roger was back by Trys’s side. She still lay on the cot unmoving, save those labored breaths. Colette still stroked her hand, and Millie looked as if she wanted every detail of what had happened between Luxe and me.
I slammed the doors closed behind me.
Millie’s smile faltered. “Where is she?”
“At Dewey’s.” I motioned for Roger’s flask. He appraised me for a long moment before wisely handing it over.
“What?” Millie jumped to her feet. “Didn’t you tell her how you feel?”
“I did.” I drained the flask, then took our liquor crate off the shelf, holding each empty bottle up to the candlelight. Of course tonight was the night we ran out of booze.
And the only way to get more was Dewey. Fucking Dewey.
“Well, what did she say?” Roger asked.
We still had moonshine. I uncorked the jug with my teeth. “She said what they always say. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. You’re a good guy, Jamison. If only you had something to offer.’”
Colette’s face fell. “She didn’t say that, did she?”
“Of course not. But she did say she’s going to marry Dewey.”
“What?!”
Millie jumped to her feet. “Marry Dewey? You can’t be serious.”
“I wish I weren’t.”
The worst part was, she was trying to protect us all. That’s all Luxe ever did: protect those she cared about.
But she wouldn’t let me do the same for her. And why would she? I had no magic, no money, nothing to get her out of this mess. She needed Dewey. She was going to let him hold her. Kiss her. Stand before a priest and marry her.
The acrid moonshine sent me into a coughing fit. Roger lifted a brow but said nothing.
Millie crouched beside me. “But she cares for you! I know she does.”
“Does it matter?”
“You’re upset—”
“I’m fine.” I took another swig and smiled through my teeth. “This isn’t the first time a girl has realized there’s no future with a broke orphan, isn’t that right, Roger?”
“Luxe isn’t Betty,” Roger said carefully. “She’s at the end of her rope. We all are.”
“What a lousy day.” Colette held out her hand for the moonshine. Reluctantly, I passed it to her.
“They killed Rose Effigen. Took her son.” Roger looked down at Trys, his face long. “They can’t keep getting away with this.”
Just like they did to my parents. My sister.
“George tried to kill Trys, too.” Millie shook her head. “And Dewey. His own siblings.”
“They’re the only time travelers on our side,” Roger pointed out. “If Jamison hadn’t found them, they’d be dead, and we’d be defenseless.”
“If George wanted them dead, they’d be dead,” I muttered.
Colette arched her brow. “He knocked them unconscious, then lit the Big Tent on fire. I don’t think that’s Chronos for ‘I love you.’”
And yet they were alive. “George Chronos could have had Rose shoot them, but he specifically told her to save them instead. He was sending a message. That’s why he left his little calling card with Trys’s watch.”
We always win. The exact same words he’d used after he sucker punched me.
“Why are they doing this to us?” Millie’s voice was flat. Defeated. “It’s not like we’re running for mayor.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Colette kept her eyes on Trys, her free hand trying—and failing—to brush away the tight curls falling over her face. “Publicly supporting Dewey is like staging a coup. Now they’re teaching us a lesson.”
“Will they ever let us be?” Millie asked quietly. “Haven’t they taken enough?”
Roger jiggled his little sack of gems. “Why don’t we ask our spunky little friend? I think it’s time to wake her up.”
I spun around to face him. “You can do that?”
He pretended to look affronted. “Jamison, don’t tell me you believe all that Oh, Luxe is the most powerful Revelle nonsense. All I have to do is find the jewel our dear Trysta gave me, and I’ll charm her into feeling very, very awake.”
Colette sat up straight. “What if she’s not ready to wake up?”
“Want me to wait for you to fix your hair first?” he teased.
“My hot comb’s buried in the ashes,” Colette mumbled, rubbing Trys’s hand. “What if you make her worse?”
“Then we’ll fetch old man Dewey to undo my error.”
Dewey could literally bring back the dead. Luxe couldn’t overlook that sort of power, not after everyone she’d lost.
Marriage couldn’t be the only answer. There had to be another way to keep the Revelles safe.
“Now to find the jewel.” Roger poked around in his worn leather pouch.
Millie peered over his shoulder. “I can’t believe you still have your little revenge stash.”
“It’s not a revenge stash, it’s a just-in-case stash, and of course I do.”
“Trysta willingly gave you a gem?” Colette asked.
Roger’s smile was nothing short of smug. “I see she hasn’t given you one yet.”
“I haven’t asked for one.”
Millie pulled Roger’s arm for a closer look at the gems. “Do you have a jewel from me?”
“I have one from each of you. Here’s Trys’s. Just needed a little magic to call to it.” With a sideways glance toward me, Roger’s smile tightened. “Here goes nothing.”
Clutching the black opal, he closed his eyes.
Nothing happened, save the glittery silt drizzling between his fingers as his magic extracted its cost.
“It’s not working.” Panic laced its way into Colette’s steely voice. “Why isn’t it working?”
The shimmering black dust gathered on the floor. Still, Roger kept his eyes closed.
Trys had to be okay. It had taken the first two years of us traveling together for her to actually trust us. I wouldn’t let myself imagine life without Trys, couldn’t let myself.
The sparkling pile of black sand grew taller.
“Damnit.” Roger’s brow creased as he dug deeper into his magic, the opal crumbling.
Trys shot upward, clutching her chest as she struggled to breathe.
I grabbed her by the shoulders, easing her against the pillows. Her cough was so dry, so unrelenting, Colette jumped to her feet to fetch water. Maybe Roger had made a mistake, bringing her back so soon.
“Jamison!” Trys rasped, her voice sandpaper.
I gripped her frigid hand. “I’m here, Trys. We’re both here.”
Roger took her other hand. “Right beside ya.”
Her frantic eyes searched my face. She tried to talk again, but the coughing overtook her. Colette pressed a glass of water into her hands, and Trys drank it greedily.
“Rose Effigen,” she managed to say. “The fire . . .”
“We know.” Grief flickered across Roger’s face, but he kept his voice low and soothing. “Dr. Strattori said you’re too tough to kill. Your family’s going to have to try harder next time.”
The coughing overtook her again, and we held her upright as she gasped for air. The water seemed to help, but even as she drank it, her eyes were glued to mine.
“Should we fetch Dr. Strattori?” I asked.
She shook her head, her eyes wide. Panicky.
I leaned closer so she wouldn’t have to strain her voice. “What is it?”
“I wasn’t the target,” she rasped.
“I know. Dewey—”
“Not Dewey,” she wheezed. “Not the Revelles.” She gripped my shoulder, her panicky eyes burning into mine. “You were.”
