“I still maintain that this is a terrible idea,” Roger announced.
Sweat dripped from my forehead as I tossed another charred wooden beam in the pile. “Your family just lost everything. The least we can do is stick around to help.”
“I should stick around to help; you should be halfway to New York by now.”
With a grunt, I picked up one side of a heavy beam and waited. “Why, because this isn’t my family?”
“No, you dope, because a family of time-traveling psychopaths wants you dead.”
Trys had recounted the moments before the fire: a crying Rose Effigen, surrounded by candles. The fire spreading within seconds. Rose pleading for Trys to yell for me. Sobbing. Begging her to do it. Trys, seeing the gun, refusing. Rose had covered her face with a sickeningly sweet rag, and the next thing Trys knew, she was in the barn, struggling to breathe.
We heaved the beam onto the pile to be carted away, then paused to rest.
“Jamison.” Roger waited for me to look at him.
“I know. George Chronos, who I’ve known for all of two seconds, wants me dead.”
“You did punch him.”
“Must have been quite the punch.” I wiped my face on the bottom of my shirt. “Or I’m going to be a very big deal in Charmant someday. Maybe I’ll open a show of my own and wow tourists with my ability to recite Bible verses under duress.”
He didn’t crack a smile. “The Chronoses want you dead. It’s time for us to go.”
I didn’t need Luxe’s magic to see how much leaving his family pained him. The Revelles were in a bad way. Earlier, Nana had broken down while walking past the Big Tent’s ruins, and they’d had to carry her back to the orphanage. Colette and Millie hadn’t slept a wink—and tonight, they were performing dangerous acrobatic feats at Dewey’s election party.
The show must go on, Colette had said bitterly this morning. They needed money, needed to prove to their skittish customers that they were here for their entertainment. The Fun House business would continue after the curtains closed tonight. Dewey had rooms reserved for the purpose. For a cut, of course.
Dewey: the answer to all the Revelles’ prayers.
“I can’t leave her,” I told him. “He’s bad news, Roger. He’s never going to let her go.”
Roger exhaled slowly. “I know.”
“Every time I try to picture getting on that ferry, I see him down on one knee. And she’s just wearing that fake smile of hers as he touches her, kisses her, does whatever he pleases . . .” I raked my hands down my face, as if I could wipe the damn scene from my mind. “I can’t do it, Rog.”
He gripped my shoulder. “I get it. Trust me, I do. But I can’t let you throw away your life for her. If she’s staying with Dewey, you need to move on.”
But he didn’t know why she was resigning herself to a miserable life. He didn’t know about her strange magic, how she couldn’t even let herself sleep for fear of dropping Dewey’s lightstring. He didn’t know how much she suffered every single day.
I wiped my dirty hands on my pants. “I do have my pride, you know.”
“Good.” He winced. “Because they just got here.”
I whipped my head around. Last I’d heard, they’d been making their rounds at the polling sites, a jazz parade trailing behind them. The upbeat music had wafted over the ruins of the Big Tent like salt in our festering wounds. My wounds—the rest of the Revelles had taken turns leaving to cast their votes for him.
It wasn’t hard to spot him, his chest puffed like a proud boxer and his arm wrapped around Luxe, his shiny trophy.
Roger squinted. “What the hell is she wearing?”
A frilly powder-blue gown better suited for a doll. “I guess Dewey got her a new wardrobe.”
“She looks like a pastel marshmallow.”
A ridiculous pastel marshmallow. The dress wasn’t her; it was part of whatever role she was playing, the one she was determined to play for the rest of her life.
Her eyes drifted to mine and widened. Dewey’s, too. “She does not look happy to see me.”
“She did tell you to piss off,” Roger reminded me, rather unnecessarily. “Maybe you should take off your shirt again. That seemed to work for you yesterday.”
Dewey made a beeline toward us, his head bent like a bull ready to charge.
Let him. Let all five feet, nine inches of him charge.
Her ridiculous dress snagged on the debris as he pulled her arm, his face purpling. She spoke quickly to him, trying to slow him down, but he wouldn’t be deterred.
And then his anger just . . . disappeared. As if it had evaporated.
Pain flooded her face as her magic exacted its cost. I took one step, two steps, ready to catch her, but she straightened, her haughty mask snapping back into place. She pressed her hands to Dewey’s and whispered something in his ear, her lips brushing against his cheek. Eyes on me, making sure I saw the intimacy of the kiss. As if dragging my heart over the splintered remains of the Big Tent would be enough to make me leave. Still, I couldn’t look away. Not as she grazed her mouth over his, lingering there long enough to garner looks.
My teeth gnashed together, pain radiating down my jaw.
With Dewey on her arm, Luxe floated across the wreckage to where Wolffe and the rest of her uncles hauled debris. Her sweet mouth moved as she spoke to them at length.
Her head hung low. Their jaws dropped at whatever she said.
Wolffe’s head jerked to where we stood. To me.
“Uh-oh.” Roger shifted so his back was to his father, who was storming toward us at an alarming rate, Roger’s uncles in tow. “This isn’t good.”
“What could she have said?” I tried to catch Luxe’s eye as she trailed behind them, but she cast her gaze on the rubble.
“He’s not slowing down.” Roger took a step backward, nearly tripping over the debris. “Maybe we should—”
Wolffe’s enormous fist slammed into my stomach.
The air whooshed from my lungs as I was thrown onto my back, charred wood splintering underneath me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t muster a single—
“We let you into our home!” Wolffe’s kick landed just above my ribs.
“Our lives!” Another kick. I couldn’t even suck in the air to cry out.
“Our family.” He wound his foot for the next kick—
Roger threw himself in front of me, hands raised. “What the hell are you doing?”
Wolffe glared at him. “Don’t turn your back on your family again, son. Stay out of this.”
“Not until you leave him alone!”
Wolffe pointed at me. A single finger, trembling with rage. “He started the fire.”
“What?” I wheezed. One of Roger’s uncles pushed me back down as I tried to stand. “I did no such thing. I swear it!”
“Luxe saw him sneaking around our private rooms right beforehand. She saw him in the kitchen with Rose Effigen.”
Christ. She wasn’t afraid to play dirty.
Luxe stood a few feet behind them, her head buried in Dewey’s shoulder. He held her as if comforting her, all the while leering at me with a victorious grin that I wanted to claw off his face.
Roger barked a laugh. “This is ridiculous. He was with me the whole time.”
“You weren’t there,” Wolffe snapped.
“But Jamison risked his life to save people! He saved—”
“Trysta and Dewey Chronos,” one of his uncles spat. “A little suspicious, now that I think about it.”
Behind them, Dewey’s eyes narrowed, but when Luxe laid a hand on his arm, he ceased his protest.
Her hand. An enormous diamond ring.
The air rushed from my lungs once again. “He proposed?”
A hush passed through the crowd. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know.
“Last night.” Luxe leaned against Dewey, pausing to admire her ring. “We’re to marry tonight, after Dewey is declared the winner.”
She couldn’t marry him ever, let alone tonight. She was supposed to charm him into a long engagement. Once she was his wife, there was no turning back.
She’d gotten a jewel from him—and she was still sending me away.
“Can we all just take a moment and calm down?” Roger still stood in front of me, hands raised as if ready to strike. Slowly, I pulled myself to my feet.
“You brought a traitor into our fold,” Wolffe growled.
“Jamison’s the furthest thing from a traitor. I trust him with my life.”
Colette stepped forward. “I’ll vouch for him, too, Father.”
“Me too. He’s one of the good guys.” Millie stared imploringly at Luxe, who looked anywhere but at her cousins. Or me.
Look at me, I pleaded. Just look at me.
Luxe hesitated. “I didn’t want to have to do this . . .”
“It’s for the best, my sweet.” Dewey patted her arm. “Go ahead. Show them.”
“Since Jamison arrived on Charmant, he’s been using a fake name.” Luxe handed her uncle a wad of newspaper clippings. “Look at the picture. It’s identical to the one Jamison has in his pocket. His real surname is Jones.”
My heart slowed to a stop, all my adrenaline gone.
“That’s ridiculous!” Roger didn’t take the article Luxe thrust toward him, didn’t even consider the possibility that she was right. “Tell them, Jamison.”
I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t utter a single word.
“His parents are James and Evelyn Jones.” Genuine pain flashed across her delicate features as her eyes finally met mine. “His parents killed my mother. Our mothers.”
Colette grabbed her arm. “What the hell, Luxe? Why would you say that?”
Shouting erupted, the Revelles surging forward. Roger pushed them away. “She’s lying!”
“Ask him.” Unshed tears made Luxe’s eyes a deeper amber. “Better yet, ask an Edwardian to confirm it.”
Colette and Millie turned to me. Roger, too, rolling his eyes as if this were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. My best friend. My brother.
I couldn’t keep my head high, couldn’t meet his eyes as I uttered, “It’s true.”
Roger stumbled back, the look of betrayal on his face worse than any of Wolffe’s blows.
The crowd surged forward again. Someone grabbed me, but I shook them off. “But I didn’t set the fire!” I exclaimed, trying to be heard over the shouting.
“Impossible.” Roger stared at me as if I was a stranger.
“Arrest him!” someone shouted.
“Call the Edwardians!”
“No, let’s take care of this ourselves!”
The mob grew around us. Beautiful Revelles, young and old. Aunt Caroline, who, just the other day, had taught me how to knot a tie properly. Uncle Thomas, who had greeted me with a clap on the back all summer. Even Colette and Millie stared at me like I’d drowned their mothers myself.
The Revelles were the closest I’d ever come to a family. And now they wanted to tear me to pieces.
“I had to tell them.” Tears streamed down Luxe’s face as she finally, finally looked at me. “I had no choice.”
She meant that. For her family, she’d break both our hearts. Completely. Irrevocably. And her mask was so carefully crafted, no one saw how much she was sacrificing.
Aunt Caroline glared at me as she embraced her niece. “You did the right thing.”
Still, Luxe’s eyes bore into mine as if she wanted this moment tattooed on my brain. “Just leave us alone, Jamison. Dewey’s my equal in power. My equal in magic. My equal in life.”
And then she was gone, eclipsed by the crowd as I staggered from the blow her cruel words delivered. Someone pushed me from behind. Another person grabbed my ankle. And then I lost my balance, falling on the debris, my injured shoulder screaming in protest.
“She’s lying!” I cried out to no one, to anyone. “She’s just pretending because she’s trying to protect me. To protect you all!”
No one heard. And even if they did, they wouldn’t have believed me. She was their star. He was their savior. I was an outsider.
“She doesn’t want to marry him—listen to me!”
Roger pulled me to my feet. Hurt still lingered in his eyes, but he didn’t let go of me as he turned to face the mob of Revelles. “If you want to get to him, you’ll have to get through me first.”
They paused, knuckles cracking.
“Roger, I—”
“Not now.” He glanced behind me. “Now, we run.”
