I circled the narrow alley around the Big Tent, yanking yet another thorn from my pants. The bush had looked soft enough from the window, but its sharp leaves had greeted me with a hundred little tears in the only nice trousers I owned.
Everything about tonight was a damn illusion.
A young man guarded the entrance to the Big Tent, his welcoming smile fading as he took in my torn clothes. “Three sapphires.”
“I was just inside—”
“Three. Sapphires.” He held out his hand expectantly.
I craned my neck around him, but he blocked my view. “Get outta here.”
“I’m a friend of Roger Revelle. He’ll tell you—”
“No jewels, no entry. Shoo!” He shoved my shoulders.
I stumbled backward, my protest dying on my lips. There was no way they were letting me in. Not without a—
Wait a second.
I patted my chest furiously, but my jacket was gone. Dewey’s jacket, with my mother’s brooch inside it.
“Damnit!” Even though Trys had stopped me from flinging the brooch onto the stage, I’d still managed to lose it. It wasn’t freely given, so Luxe couldn’t use it against me, though that hadn’t stopped her earlier.
I’d get it back. Even if it meant scaling the Fun House walls, I’d get it back.
Music blared from the after-party. All of Charmant flooded through those double doors, pausing only to deposit gems in the waiting hands of the Revelle man. I sat on the curb, the wind blowing sand in my face as I waited for my friends.
This damn island. The devil’s toilet, indeed.
Roger had warned me. Trys had, too. Yet I’d still managed to fool myself into thinking a Revelle performer—no, the Revelle performer—liked me. Her kiss had felt so right, so perfect—and it’d taken her all of two seconds to find a richer guy and throw me out with the trash.
At least the trash left through a door.
After Betty, I thought I’d learned. Yet here I was, as gullible as ever, convincing myself I’d struck gold when all I held was a fistful of dirt.
Giggling ladies rushed past me, their beaded flapper gowns rustling over the music. “Are you coming inside?”
“I’m broke,” I replied gruffly.
They hurried away.
Whenever I was stuck waiting somewhere, my mind liked to torture me with one of the few memories I had of life before the orphanage: waiting for my parents. Time made most of the details hazy, but I’d sat on a soft, worn couch in an unfamiliar living room, playing with a loose tufting button. Strangers had fussed over me. I’d waited, staring out a window, holding my breath every time someone appeared. I’d waited and waited, fighting anyone who kept me from that window. But my parents had never returned.
I’d get my mother’s brooch back. Find that dock, the one in my parents’ photograph. And once I did, I was going to get the hell off this damn island and never look back. Keep the past in the past, just like Roger always said.
By the time I stood again, dawn glowed just beyond the horizon. An elderly woman sat by the Big Tent’s entrance, the same one who had greeted Roger so warmly earlier. With stiff legs, I waited in the dwindling line until it was my turn. “Do you remember me?”
With a sly smile, she looked me up and down. “You’ll have to be more specific, sweet cheeks.”
“I’m a friend of Roger’s. We came here together, but I can’t find him.”
Her smile slipped. “James, is it?”
“Jamison.” I could have collapsed with relief.
She whispered something to the woman beside her, then pulled me to the side, her grip surprisingly strong. “Behind the tent, there’s a dirt path in the beach grass. Follow it and you’ll come to an old barn beside the beach. Roger’s inside.”
Finally, some luck. “Thank you.”
“Make sure he rests!” she called after me.
There was no escaping the Revelles’ music. It echoed off the water as I trudged through the beach grass, dodging the broken glass and sand crabs hardly visible in the hazy light. To the north, the first lamps blinked to life. The Day District, waking up just as the Night went to sleep.
The barn wasn’t much to look at: peeled paint, grayed after years in the sun, and heavy wooden doors. Big enough for four horses, at most.
Inside was more storage than barn, with discarded instruments blocking one of the two windows, and lit candles scattered on top of crooked boxes and empty milk crates. Silver moonlight poured through the remaining window, illuminating Trys lounging on a haystack. Beside her, Roger lay on a small cot, his night scarf already tied over his hair, along with crisscrossing bandages over his bare chest.
“What happened?” I exclaimed.
He smirked without lifting his head. “You first.”
“I jumped out of the Fun House and landed in a thorn bush. You?”
“I traded my cousin’s injuries for free rent at this glorious barn. What a deal, right?”
Luxe. No wonder she was strutting around like she didn’t have a care in the world. I slumped into a pile of hay beside the cot. “It has a roof and four walls. We’ve slept in worse.”
“It’s the best I could do. Unless Trysta dear wants to pay a visit to her parents?”
“I’m not setting one foot in the Day District.” She handed me a tin cup full of water. “What were you doing in the Fun House?”
I told them everything: Millie bringing me there, Luxe playing me like a fool, my graceful exit out a two-story window. I left out the kiss—the mind-blowing, worlds-colliding, absolute rightness of that kiss. Damn Luxe and her magic.
When I was finished, Roger gave me a look. “There’s no shame in falling for Revelle magic, you know. There’s no way to stop it.”
“Except, I don’t know, listening to us and not giving a Revelle a jewel,” Trys muttered.
“I didn’t give her a jewel,” I insisted. “I don’t have any jewels!”
Roger lifted a brow. “Where’s your mother’s brooch?”
His Revelle blood could tell it wasn’t on me. “I left it there, but I didn’t give it to her.”
They exchanged knowing looks.
“I swear, I didn’t give her anything. She just . . . tricked me somehow.”
A cunning actress. A cruel liar.
Roger sighed. “I know Revelle magic when I see it. Here. Let me show you.”
With a grunt, he sat up and pulled out the velvet sack he’d carried as long as I’d known him. Trys leaned closer. “You have a Jamison jewel in your little revenge stash?”
“It’s not a revenge stash.” He dumped the colorful gems into the palm of his hand. “It’s more like a just-in-case stash. Anytime I meet someone, I get a jewel from them, just in case.”
She examined the colorful jewels. “Still have the one from me?”
“Sure do.”
“Before I knew you were Roger Revelle.” She shook her head.
“And here I thought I had a famous face. See this one, Jame-o?” He held a canary-yellow gem in the palm of his hand.
“You asked me to hold on to that for you.” I had been touched that my new friend trusted me with something so precious.
He smiled guiltily. “I gave it to you. And then you gave it back to me.”
Roger. I stared at my friend, getting lost in those glittering Revelle eyes. He was the most enchanting person I’d ever seen. My heart soared for him, to touch him, to taste his mouth—
As if I’d been doused with a bucket of ice water, all the warmth coursing through me froze, then shattered. I blinked. Trysta was doing a terrible job of hiding her laughter.
Roger couldn’t have looked more pleased. “Well? Did you fall in love with me?”
I gaped at my friend. “For a moment there, I thought you were perfect.”
“I am perfect.”
I pressed my hand over my heart, trying to slow its racing. “It felt so real.”
“They’re still your feelings,” he explained. “My magic triggered a genuine emotional response in you. Emotions don’t care if they’re inspired by the sight of my beautiful face or a little magical cajoling. Feelings are feelings.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d explained Revelle magic. As much as I hated to admit it, part of me had known all along. That kiss had been too incredible to be real. And magic made far more sense than Luxe Revelle falling for me. “Even without a jewel?”
“You must have given her one. Magic always has a cost, and for my family, it’s jewels.”
Trys rubbed her hands together. “Well, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind.”
“Trys,” Roger warned.
“Or maybe I’ll travel back to the moment she decided to make her injuries your problem and tell her to get lost.”
“How would that work, exactly?” I asked. “I mean, what would happen to this moment right now? Would we disappear? Would this timeline just—cease to exist?”
She shrugged. “There’s only one timeline as far as I’m concerned. When I travel, I’m just editing it. Like erasing part of a straight line, then redrawing it in a new direction.”
“You’d shave hundreds of hours off your life for me, Trysta dear?” With a smile, Roger closed his eyes. “I knew you loved us.”
Trys pulled her blanket close to her chin as she settled into the hay. “The cost of my magic is unfair. Even traveling back a few seconds is rarely worth the risk. If an earlier memory crosses my mind, I could end up accidentally going too far back. And I can never go forward. Other than cheating at cards, there are very few perks.”
I sat up straight. “You cheat at cards?”
“Of course not.”
We stared at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, occasionally I have a look at your hands.”
“So there are unfinished timelines out there,” I mused, “where you owe us money.”
“And at least one where you’re crushed by a crate of booze.”
“I can’t believe you cheat at cards!” Roger exclaimed. “There truly is no such thing as a trustworthy Chronos.”
Trys shot him a look. “And yet a Revelle made a fool out of Jamison tonight.”
“It’s fine. Truly.” I tried to sound convincing. “I’m really glad I went to the Fun House because now I have a lead on my parents’ photo. Maybe I can track down a record of them visiting here. An old hotel bill, or an address. Who knows, maybe I have a wealthy uncle somewhere who wants to bankroll our debauchery.”
“You’ve said you were close before,” Trys said gently.
“This is different. Charmant feels familiar.”
“You’ve said that before, too.”
I tried to find the words to wipe the doubt from their faces, to convince them this time wasn’t like the other times, when I’d let hope cloud my judgment. “The picture of your mother and your aunts, Rog—it had the same carved dock in the background.”
“I wish I remembered the dock. Or the picture.” He stifled a yawn. “Once I get back on my feet, we’ll walk every beach until we find it.”
I settled into the hay, curling underneath the blanket Trys offered me. “Luxe is taking me there later today. Then I’ll gladly avoid her for eternity.”
Roger’s brows lifted. “Are you sure she’s helping you?”
“Positive. I made it very clear I’d tell Dewey about her scheming if she didn’t cooperate.”
Trys bit back a smile. “No offense, Jame-o, but you’re not exactly intimidating.”
“I’m six foot four!”
“With that baby face, you could be as tall as Wolffe and still look like a choirboy.”
Ignoring Roger’s chuckles, I pulled the blanket closer. “She’s coming today. First thing in the morning, I bet. Trust me.”
“I can’t believe she never came,” I muttered.
Five days had passed. Five days, and Luxe never showed up.
Five sleepless nights, too. I’d lain awake, studying every detail on my photograph, comparing it with my memory of the one in the Fun House. Had I imagined the similarities?
I’d walked on every beach in Charmant, but without the intricately carved pier, they all looked the same. At Roger’s request, Colette and Millie had tried to find the framed photo for a side-by-side comparison, but it was gone. Luxe didn’t want anyone helping me, apparently.
Tonight I would give her no choice.
“And I can’t believe I’m going to a Chronos party.” Roger lifted his cane—he’d insisted on bringing one as black and sleek as the one Trys always carried, no matter how many times she pointed out that he’d broken ribs, not legs—toward the mansion at the end of the quiet street. Tall hedges cut as straight as a razor lined the perimeter of the property, interrupted by the long brick driveway. In the center of the lawn was an elaborate statue of a diamond-shaped clock.
“And I can’t believe you talked us into matching tuxedos.” Trys pulled on her bow tie. “We look like a tap-dancing brigade.”
“A tap-dancing company,” Roger drawled. “A brigade goes to war, not to a party.”
Black and gold, Dewey’s invitation had said, which was all the encouragement Roger had needed to raid the Revelle closets. Black tuxedos, golden suspenders, black bow ties, and wide golden ribbons around our top hats. He’d procured golden glitter, too, but Trys had threatened mutiny.
Armed guards patrolled Dewey’s roof, the shadows of their guns rising like spires in the moonlight. Despite the humid night, a chill swept the back of my neck. “Sure looks like war.”
Trys squinted at the guards. “What is my brother up to?”
“Going somewhere, Trysta?”
We turned as a figure stepped out from a driveway we’d just passed. Black suit, black suspenders, black dress shirt. He looked a little younger than us, but with a Chronos, one could never be sure.
With a loud sigh, Trysta crossed her arms. “What do you want, Freddy?”
“So you do remember your family,” the boy sneered.
“Dewey didn’t invite you,” she said firmly. “So go.”
“I have a message from your folks: if you stand by Dewey, there will be consequences.”
“I see you’ve been promoted to errand boy. Tell me, Freddy: Any gray hairs yet?”
“Better than shacking up with Revelle scum.” He spat, the glob grazing Roger’s shoe.
“Do that again, and I’ll charm you into skinny-dipping at Sapphire Cove so all the tourists can have a good laugh at your little Chronos.” Roger crooked his pinkie finger for demonstration.
“A swim?” Freddy snickered. “Maybe I’ll see your mother on the ocean floor.”
I hardly heard their distant music, hardly heard anything except the rush of blood to my head. I surged forward, but Roger grabbed my arm.
“Frederick Claus Chronos,” he said evenly, “son of Frank and Lacey Chronos. Nephew to the mayor himself, and cousin to dear Trysta over here.” Roger retrieved the velvet jewel sack from his pocket and dumped a few into his hand. “Four years ago, you changed out of your gaudy black suit, put on a sky-blue touristy top hat, and came to the Big Tent. I collected your admission at the door: a tiny black pearl.” Roger held the smooth stone up to the streetlight.
All the color drained from Freddy’s face.
“You have five seconds to get out of my sight, or you will go swimming with my mother tonight.” Gone was the usual cadence of Roger’s singsong voice. “Four.”
Freddy glared at Trys. “Traitor.”
“One.”
“You said five seconds!”
Roger simpered at him. “We Revelle scum never learned to count.”
Freddy tripped as he ran away, cursing under his breath.
I stared down the street as he retreated. “Is everyone in your family that awful?”
“Yes,” Roger said.
“No,” Trys said at the same time. “At least there’s Dewey.”
“No wonder he left the family right after you.”
“He wanted to be mayor. My father said no.” Trys twirled her cane as we turned away. “The eldest is usually groomed for the position, so it was Dewey’s for the taking, but he suffered from fainting spells. My father decided we couldn’t have a ‘sickly’ leader, so he chose George instead. Dewey was devastated. Fortunately, bootlegging has worked out well for him.”
“How fortunate indeed,” Roger murmured, staring at the enormous mansion.
The roof guards kept their guns trained on us as we walked up the long driveway. Rows of golden torches lit our path, their fires sparkling like liquid gold. Roger wiggled his fingers over one. “Effigen flames. They combine the flames of several fires to make these burn brighter and longer. Dangerous, but beautiful.”
Roger waved to the guards on the roof as we slipped into the yard.
In every direction, crowds of people stretched over the green lawn, their voices a jubilant cacophony on top of the fourteen-piece band playing on the patio. Waiters wove through the crowd, their coattails fluttering in their wake as they offered golden drinks to radiant guests. At the edge of the lawn, elegant couples danced on a sandy beach, their quick feet illuminated by the moonlight sparkling over the harbor.
For most of my life, I’d slept on one of twenty cots stuffed in a room behind an abbey. And in every city I’d visited since I left, there were children on the streets, hawking goods for a bit of money to bring home. If they were lucky enough to have one.
Yet Dewey lived alone. In a house that could swallow ten homes, easily.
Roger froze. “There’s Lucy Effigen, the matriarch of that bloodline. See her with Nana?”
Trys watched him carefully. “Do you think Margaret’s here?”
Margaret Effigen, Roger’s former flame, the girl who’d broken his heart right before he left Charmant. When he’d gotten those scars.
“And risk running into me? Not a chance.” He turned away, his smile fading.
“The Strattoris came.” Trys pointed to a cluster of people standing awkwardly by the bay, their plain white robes in stark contrast to the dazzling black-and-gold finery surrounding them. A reclusive bunch, I’d only heard of them from Trys and Roger, and even they knew little.
Roger clapped me on the back. “Let’s find something stronger than champagne.”
We wove our way through the crowd. “Do all these people have magic?” I asked.
“Most don’t.” Roger grabbed an hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter’s tray and popped it into his mouth. “Plenty of folks without magic live here. Shopkeepers and their employees, merchants who sell goods from the mainland, tourists who find odd jobs so they can stay. Plenty of New York playboys have summer homes in the Day District, though the harbor’s becoming more popular.”
“Rumor has it a US senator bought the place next door,” Trys added. “He publicly denies it, of course.”
“What in the world is your brother up to, bringing all these people together?”
“Let’s ask him. Look.”
There he was, the youngest man in a circle of black suits. And on his arm was Luxe.
A golden dress overlaid with intricate black beading clung to her curves. The shimmering slip ended at her thighs, though the beaded fringe kissed her knees. Her dark curls were swept upward, held in place by an embroidered gold headband with black feathers.
My mouth dried as remnants of her magic surged through my veins. She was beautiful, all right. Like the sky before a hurricane.
I slammed my champagne flute on a nearby cocktail table. “Here goes nothing.”
Dewey gestured wildly, regaling his sycophants with tall tales as Luxe stood dutifully by his side, her smile painted like a portrait of merriment, though her eyes dimmed with boredom.
She spotted me approaching, whispered in Dewey’s ear, and slipped away.
Damnit. I couldn’t exactly chase after her.
“Trysta!” Dewey lifted Trys off the ground and swung her in a big hug, which almost coaxed a smile from me.
“Everything’s beautiful,” she gushed. “I can’t believe you live here.”
“I needed a big space to fit all my friends. Did you see Mayor Hylan from Manhattan? And the Fitzgeralds are here, too, by the champagne fountain.” He winced. “Let’s hope Zelda doesn’t fall in again. And you just missed the Radiant Ruby, of course.” He elbowed Roger. “She’s a looker, isn’t she?”
“Cousin,” Roger reminded him.
“Right. Of course.” Dewey shook my hand, once again applying more pressure than necessary. “Your tie’s a bit loose.”
“I know.” I tugged at the damn thing. “I hate ties.”
“Some people just don’t belong in a suit.” He clapped my shoulder and turned back to Trys.
Wonderful. I’d been here only a few minutes, and I already stood out.
As Dewey began introducing Trys and Roger to the nearest rich men in richer suits, I spotted Luxe beside a thick wooden bar. Roger gave me a small nod as I walked away. Dewey watched me, too, his brow furrowing in a scowl that was so much like Trys’s, I nearly laughed.
Keep her, Dewey. Be my guest.
She poured champagne into golden glasses, taking a covert look around before stealing a sip straight from the bottle.
“I saw that,” I announced.
Her head whipped toward me, fizzy bubbles mingling on her crimson mouth.
That kiss was going to be the death of me.
I blocked her path. “No show tonight, right? The first summer night off in years?”
“Don’t talk like you know anything about my family,” she spat.
“I’ve spent the last three years with Roger, the most talkative person on the planet.” I took a swig from the champagne bottle. “Trust me, I know all about your family.”
Her eyes flashed with irritation. “Why are you here?”
“I was invited. Besides, you and I had a deal.” I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “I haven’t mentioned our . . . encounter to Dewey.”
She blinked those thick lashes in feigned innocence. “Did we rendezvous? I can’t recall. I’ve been so busy with Dewey this week—”
“Just show me the beach.” I tried to keep my voice even, to hide my frustration. “At the very least, tell me exactly where it is.”
She stole a look toward Dewey. “Would you just let it go already?”
“I can still tell him everything, you know.”
“Why do you even care about the beach?”
My parents’ sun-kissed, smiling faces burned in my mind. “None of your business.”
“It’s west of the pine barrens, but east of the tourists’ beach.”
West of . . . “I tried that already!”
A dismissive shrug. “Then you’ve seen it.”
I reached for her arm as she attempted to step past me again. She shook herself free. “Stop,” she hissed. “Before someone gets the wrong idea.”
As if anyone would believe the gold-digging Revelle star would waste her time on me. “Trust me, you’re the last person I want to talk to tonight, but I need your help. No one else knows which beach it— Hey, where are you going? I’ll tell Dewey!”
“Be my guest.”
I remained motionless as she sauntered away, her head high, her pristine smile plastered on her face. She slipped her hand in Dewey’s and glided through the crowd, the sight of them met with equal parts awe and disapproval. And what a sight they were: young and beautiful and so very affectionate with each other. She leaned closer to him, whispering something with her feather-soft lips.
Lies. Every memory of that mouth was a magic-infused lie.
I forced myself to unclench my teeth, but I couldn’t look away as Dewey snaked an arm around her waist. Together they climbed the stairs to a small stage erected in the corner of the patio. Once they reached the center, he brushed a kiss along her temple. So intimate, as if he’d done it countless times.
Damn this party, and damn Luxe. I’d find the beach myself.
Trys caught me by the arm. “Where are you going? Dewey’s about to make an announcement.”
“I don’t care. I came here for—”
“Look.”
The band stopped. The crowd quieted to a murmur as everyone stared at the dazzling couple onstage. A Revelle and a Chronos, arm in arm—Charmant’s very own Romeo and Juliet.
Dewey clapped, and the molten gold torches blinked off, enveloping us in darkness.
