Revelle

Roger insisted we couldn’t visit Nana until at least noon, so I lay awake all morning, trying to conjure a plan to untangle the Revelles from the time traveler’s clutches.

They could survive without the winter theater. And with moonshine, they might be able to stretch their supply to keep their doors open a little longer. Buying from other Night District businesses wasn’t an option. Every day, another storefront shuttered its doors, unable to afford Dewey’s high prices. And if the Revelles turned against Dewey, could they survive his wrath?

Hard to outsmart a time traveler when I couldn’t even punch a time traveler.

A little before noon, Roger led Trys and me to the long, barracks-like building behind the Big Tent. The salt air and sun had stripped the wood of its color, leaving it gray and bare. The Fun House occupied the second floor, but the first floor was for the Revelles.

“Three to a bedroom, usually, and more if you complain,” Roger said proudly. He led us down the narrow hallway lined with old playbills, family portraits, and the occasional declaration scribbled on the wall: Caroline Revelle, 1876, brought the crowd to their feet with her operetta! Arthur Revelle, 1893, juggled seventeen fireballs!

Trys flattened against a wall as a pack of small children rushed past. “In my house, I used to go an entire day without seeing anyone but Dewey and my tutor. Even on the weekends.”

“We can’t all live in mansions, Trysta dear.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” She ran her hand along a poster of a beautiful woman posing on a tightrope. “I would have killed for something like this.”

“Me too.” Part of me still would.

Roger pointed to the name on the tightrope walker’s poster. Ruth Revelle. “See Nana?”

“Wow. Your grandmother was a looker.” Trys smoothed the poster’s folded edge.

“Don’t let her hear you say that in the past tense.” Roger knocked on the door. “Nana? Are you decent?”

“I’m never decent,” Nana’s muffled voice called. “But I’m always ready for company.”

Roger opened the door—and took a step back as if he’d been struck.

An elderly white lady sat in the chair across from Nana, two horns barely visible in her pale hair. Flanking her on both sides were two young women. They were both beautiful, with iridescent ivory horns peeking out from sheets of dark, wavy hair, and eyes as green as summer grass. The one closest to us stared at Roger as if he were a hallucination.

Nana could not have looked more pleased. “Roger, you remember Margaret, of course.”

My gaze snapped to Roger. So this was the elusive Margaret. After years of hearing about her, she’d become a myth to me, but the girl gaping at us was certainly human, though as pale as a ghost.

Never before had I seen Roger rendered speechless. He stared at Margaret desperately, as if she’d cease to exist if he looked away. Whenever he’d spoken of their relationship, he’d done it with his usual air of casualness, and I’d known it was an act. That she’d hurt him. But now I saw the truth of why he’d avoided coming back here.

He was still head over heels in love with her.

The longer Roger stared, the deeper the blush that crept up Margaret’s cheeks. I stepped in front of him, giving his shoulder a hard squeeze as I passed. “I’m Jamison, Roger’s friend.”

She shook my hand gingerly, though her gaze still flitted to Roger’s. “Nice to meet you. I’m, ah . . . This is my grandmother, Lucy, and my sister, Rose.”

“I remember you from the party,” Rose said, all the while keeping her eyes on her sister. She, too, was pallid, with dark circles under her eyes as though she hadn’t slept in days.

“And I’m Trysta Chronos.” Trys thrust an aggressive hand forward, forcing Margaret to take it. Trys never forgave anyone who hurt those she loved. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

The Effigen women blanched. Lucy pushed to her feet, and Margaret and Rose stood to help her. “We should be going. Thank you, Ruth.”

“Of course,” Nana replied evenly. “We Night District families look out for one another.”

With another wary glance at Trys, they left.

Roger whirled on his grandmother. “What was that about?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Lucy is an old friend, as you know. She came by because of some concerning developments that have the Effigens quite upset.” Nana watched Trys from over the top of her teacup, her eyes wet and swollen. Whatever conversation we’d interrupted, it hadn’t been a pleasant one.

“You can trust her.” Roger placed a hand on Trys’s shoulder.

Nana didn’t look convinced, but she set the teacup down. “Did you know Rose has a son? A baby boy, about three years old.”

“I remember. She was pregnant when I left.”

“Well, the boy’s gone missing.”

Roger cursed under his breath. “That’s terrible. Did they file a police report?”

“With the Edwardians? Of course. But the Chronoses’ guard dogs don’t seem to be investigating much. And to make matters worse, he’s the second Effigen to have gone missing this month.” She glanced at each of us. “Have you heard anything?”

“The Strattoris reported a few people missing,” Trys offered. “Dewey mentioned it.”

Dewey. I bit my tongue hard enough to bleed. As far as I knew, Trys hadn’t seen him since he’d aged. And I hadn’t told them about Luxe’s night with him, not just because it wasn’t my story to tell, but because I had no idea how to tell Trys that her brother was a greedy piece of—

“He said the Strattoris are refusing to leave their compound,” Trys continued. “He’s had to pay handsomely for their services, and even then they seem hesitant.”

“That is something. Thank you, Trysta.” Nana gave her hand a squeeze, too, and Trys beamed. “Now what can I do for you three?”

Roger gave me an encouraging nod. I cleared my throat. “Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you about my parents again.”

Nana’s smile slipped. “I already told you, I don’t know anything.”

“Luxe seemed to think you might.”

“Did she, now?” With a sigh, she turned away, stacking the teacups left behind by Margaret and her family. “Well, I thought for a moment I might have recognized them, but I didn’t. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s time for my nap.”

Roger glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s only noon.”

“When you’re my age, you nap whenever you damn well please.” She faked an exaggerated yawn, then hurried us out of her room.

After she shut the door, I wheeled on Roger. “Well? Was she telling the truth?”

“Who knows? My grandmother has been practicing her poker face for a long time.”

I stared at the closed door. If Nana was hiding something, she had to tell me. She had to. Even if I had to knock on this door every day until she did.

“I’m sorry, Jame-o.” Roger clapped my back as we made our way back down the narrow hallway. “Want to walk around the Night again? Maybe something else will jog your memory.”

I shook my head. “I’ve walked this whole island a dozen times.”

Trys stuck out her cane, halting me in place. “Not the whole island,” she said carefully.

Of course. “The Day District.”

Roger frowned. “Is that such a good idea? Jamison’s had two black eyes in the last three weeks, courtesy of Chronoses.”

“I’ll go, too,” Trys said. “It’s a long shot, but we might as well have a look.”

She wasn’t only offering to keep me company; she was offering to keep me safe, with that magic of hers. “Thanks, Trys.”

“Okay if I sit this one out?” Roger’s jovial tone was a bit too forced as he held open the door for us. Seeing Margaret had truly rattled him.

Trys and I exchanged glances. “You okay?” she asked him.

“I’m fine! Better than fine, I’m the bee’s knees. The cat’s pajamas. The duck’s quack.” He clapped me on the back. “Go get beat up by some more time travelers, Jame-o, then tell me all about it.”

As we watched him walk down the beach, Trys sighed. “Bet you two emeralds he’s planning to sit on the barn roof and belt out sad ballads.”

“We’ll force it out of him later,” I agreed. “How far is the Day?”

“Far.” She twirled her cane. “I hate walking uphill.”

“Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Not at all.” She blew the air out through her teeth. “Let’s go.”

No sign was needed to mark the beginning of the Day District. The streets sloped upward, as if we were ascending into a different world, one with clean cobblestones and freshly painted black lantern poles. The farther we climbed, the more the Night District stretched out beneath us, the mismatched buildings quaint and minuscule—except the Big Tent, which still loomed large, a tantalizing purple-and-black bruise on the horizon. Surrounding the Night on all sides was the ocean, bluer than the sky but just as vast. The mainland hid somewhere beyond the hazy fog on the horizon, but it felt a million miles away.

Trys sat on a bench to rest. Behind her, row after row of colorful candies glistened in a shop window. Children in bonnets and ribbons slowed to gaze longingly at them.

“I never pictured children in the Day,” I admitted. “Only conniving Chronoses and stone-faced Edwardians.”

Despite her unease, Trys cracked a smile. “Plenty of families without magic live here, too. Some of the wealthier merchants settle down in the Day if they can afford it.”

Could my parents have lived in the Day? With renewed interest, I glanced around the street. “This is starting to look familiar.”

She quirked a brow. “You sure?”

“Not in the slightest.” I sat beside her as she rubbed her ankle. “You were five when you broke your foot, right?”

“Got it crushed by my sweet horse during riding lessons. A few blocks from here, actually.”

“You rode horses?”

“All rich girls ride horses.”

I took off my fedora and wiped the sweat from my brow. “I’ve always wondered: Why didn’t you travel?”

She sighed. “I’d never used my magic before. If I hadn’t blacked out from the pain, I might have tried, but by the time I woke up, I was afraid I’d go too far and end up ancient.”

Like Dewey.

She rotated her ankle and winced. “My father forbade my mother from finding a relative to travel for me. He fetched a Strattori instead, and paid one of our housekeepers to take the injury. It was part of being a Chronos, he said. ‘Learn to be comfortable at the top.’ But I refused.”

Of course she did. “Even at five, you had your principles.”

“Even at five, I was stubborn.” Her smile faded. “I was tempted, though. There are twenty-six bones in the human foot, and my horse crushed eighteen of mine. But I didn’t want the housekeeper to hurt, either. She was on her feet all day long. And she always snuck me sweets, unlike my father, who I hardly knew. I couldn’t do it to her.”

“Good for you, beating Mayor Chronos at his own game.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She stopped stretching her ankle. “He had my horse put down.”

Jesus Christ. How Trys had been raised with such cruelty yet still turned out so kind was beyond me.

“Let’s go.” Standing, she pulled me to my feet. “I want to see if you recognize anything.”

“Trysta.”

George Chronos stood in the doorway of a shop across the street, two police officers flanking him. Trys’s grip on my arm tightened.

“Did Dewey send you?” His voice, like his cold stare, was void of any affection for her.

“What? No, I was just—”

He stormed across the street. “Stop following me. And tell Dewey to back off. Having his people watch my every move isn’t going to win him the election.”

Pain flickered across Trys’s face, lightning quick, but when she spoke, her voice was perfectly nonchalant. “I don’t know, Georgie, maybe Dewey’s campaign is going a little too well. Maybe that’s why you hired a hitman to try and kill him in a Night District alley.”

“Et tu, dear sister? You really think me capable of fratricide?” George took a step closer. “If I wanted Dewey dead, he’d be dead. Now, I suggest you and your—friend”—George gave me a once-over—“scram. Unless you’re planning on returning home, in which case, I’ll bring you to Father myself.”

“And waste my life traveling for a bunch of corrupt politicians?” She stepped away from the hand he offered. “No, thank you.”

“For the family, Trysta.” Disgusted, he shook his head. “Just go. Tell Dewey to call off his dogs, or things are about to get much worse for him and his Night District trash.”

“Say that again,” I growled, pushing him right in the chest, “and I’ll—”

“You’ll what, throw another punch?” George laughed outright. “Haven’t you learned not to pick a fight with a Chronos? We always win.”

Trys grabbed my wrist as George strolled away. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

I glared at the back of his fancy suit. From behind, he could have been Dewey. “Your brothers are assholes.”

“Dewey, too?” She tilted her head. “I see your ‘magical hangover’ is alive and well.”

I pushed down my urge to tell her what Luxe had told me—it wasn’t my place, and Dewey would show his true colors soon enough. Monsters always did.

Turning away, my gaze caught the store from which George had emerged. Fortune-Teller, the sign read. With the brick exterior painted black, and voluminous scarves blocking the window, it looked more like a Night District tourist trap.

I looked inside—and couldn’t breathe.

The back of a maroon fainting couch was pushed against the window. I’d sat on that couch before. Traced the iron upholstery tacks holding the velvet in place.

“We have to go in there.”

Trys followed my gaze. “That’s Mag the Hag’s shop. She gives me the creeps, but if George was just in there . . .” She groaned. “Let’s go.”

The door was locked. Trys pointed at a little box beside it. “She only accepts payment up front. Otherwise, customers could just barge in asking questions she’d have to answer.”

“Edwardian?”

“A very old one. Less of a fortune-teller and more of a glorified gossip. She’s amassed the island’s secrets and sells them to the highest bidder. Hence why she’s in the Day and not the Night: deeper pockets here.” Trys reached into her purse and produced her last gems: two tiny rubies. She placed one inside the box. It tumbled down a dark chute in the door.

A window on the other side of the chute opened, and a wrinkled hand swiped the jewel.

“The other one, too,” an old woman’s voice cooed.

Trys groaned. “I could get Revelle magic for less.”

“Don’t be cheap with me, Trysta Chronos. If you want me to answer your questions about your brother, you need to pay my fee.”

With a sigh, Trys placed her last gem inside. It clattered against the metal pipe as it slid down the chute.

I tried the handle again, but it was still locked.

“Hey!” Trys banged on the door. “I paid. Now open up!”

“But your friend didn’t.” Amusement punctuated each word.

“I don’t have any gems.” Jewels or not, I needed to see this room, to speak to this woman and see if she knew anything—

“You have many questions for me, Jamison Jones. About your parents.”

The Day District disappeared. Trys disappeared. All that was left was the door in front of me and the roaring in my ears.

Jones.

Trys gave me a funny look. “Jones isn’t even your last name. It’s—”

“Port?” the woman interrupted. “No, Port is but a nickname, short for Sport, which your father liked to call you. But you couldn’t pronounce s when you were little, so it sounded like ‘port.’ To keep you hidden, your parents made it your surname so only they could find you.”

Stay here, my love. We’ll find you when it’s safe.

In a panic, I emptied my pants pockets, my coat pockets, but I had nothing. Trys checked her purse, too. “I’m all out.”

My empty wallet held one familiar bulge.

“Jamison, don’t!” But Trys was too late.

My mother’s brooch slid down the chute and into the waiting hands of Mag the Hag.

The door opened.

I hardly noticed the dark room, the too-sweet incense burning, the familiar red couch. “What do you know about my parents?”

She was the oldest woman I’d ever seen, with eyes nearly eclipsed by loose, wrinkled skin. Scarves covered her hair, save a few white wisps. She smiled, revealing no teeth. “I know what happened to them.”

I stepped closer. “Tell me. Please.”

Using the table for support, she lowered herself into a smoking chair and draped a scarf over her shoulders. “Let’s start with the easy questions. Go ahead, Trysta Chronos.”

I opened my mouth, but Trysta threw me a warning look. “Why did George come here?”

“He came here to ask me why Dewey is having him followed. You Chronos siblings are quite a mess, aren’t you?”

Trys ignored the dig. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him what I’ve heard buzzing in the heads of the Edwardians this morning. That your brother Dewey had a little time-traveling mishap. Apparently, George attempted to take out Dewey and the Radiant Ruby, and Dewey jumped back in time to save them. Traveled too far, though. Tell me, have you seen your brother today?”

Trys paled. “How far did he travel?”

“Far enough to lock himself in that mansion of his all day, for fear of being seen.” Mag’s cutting gaze flicked to me. “Ask your friend here. He already knows.”

Surprised, Trys turned to me. I nodded guiltily. This wasn’t how I wanted her to find out.

“With the election only eight days away, all of Charmant will see soon enough.” Mag cocked her head. “Any other questions?”

Trys braced herself, her fingers digging into the faded velvet couch. “Is George behind my uncle Frank’s attack on Dewey?”

Mag sighed. “Ah, the million-carat question. If George convinced your uncle to go after Dewey, he hasn’t done it yet—and he never will, now that your uncle is gone. And if George shot Dewey at his inauguration? Well, that also hasn’t happened yet, so who can say if it will? Your family’s magic is far too complicated, if you ask me.”

Trys slumped against the couch.

“The only person who knew for sure why he attacked Dewey was your uncle, and he’s dead.” The old woman turned to me. “Your turn.”

With trembling hands, I removed the photo from my wallet. “Tell me what you know about my parents.”

Trys elbowed me. “You have to phrase it as a question, or—”

“I’ll lie? If only.” Mag snickered, a wheezy laugh that morphed into a dry cough. When she looked at me again, her humor faded. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

My heartbeat slowed. “I remember this room.”

“And I remember your eyes. It’s hard to forget that startling blue, especially when you were little. They took up half your face, and long days on the beach had browned your skin, making the color even more startling.”

I swallowed. “How old was I?”

“Three, maybe four. Your parents brought you here twice.”

“Why? Why did they come to see you?”

“For answers. Like you.”

She watched me carefully, her eyes clouded with sadness. I leaned forward, not blinking as I met her gaze. “Please.”

Her hands folded on top of each other. “They came to see me the day after their daughter disappeared. Your sister. She was only a baby, just shy of her first birthday, and she vanished from her crib in the middle of the night. They paid handsomely for answers . . . but I found nothing. No witnesses. No clues. Not a whisper of the entire ordeal heard by anyone in my family, and trust me, boy, I hear everything. They feared the Chronoses were behind it because your parents were friendly with the Revelles. Mayor Chronos’s police investigation was less than satisfactory, but of course, there was no proof that was on purpose.”

Beside me, Trys didn’t move an inch.

“What happened next?”

The old woman sighed. “Weeks passed. Two, maybe three. They came again and told me the kidnapper had returned with a ransom: he’d give them back their daughter, unharmed, if they did something terrible for him. Something neither of them wanted to do.”

I hardly felt Trys’s hand grip my arm.

“They asked me to find this man for them. He might have been a Chronos, given his ability to time his entrance perfectly to avoid detection, but he wore a Revelle theater mask. The face of a tiger, whiskers and all.”

“What happened next?” I demanded.

“They offered me everything they had for a lead—their business, their savings, everything. But I couldn’t find out anything about the man. It was as if he was a ghost, haunting only them. He showed up again, repeating his demands and giving a final warning. They were . . .” She paused, her matter-of-fact voice quieting. “In my line of work, I meet many desperate people, but that sort of desperation, that anguish . . . They watched you like a hawk. You tried to wander away to pet my cat, but your mother grabbed you and held you tight against her. Hearing her thoughts was like eavesdropping on Hell.”

I tucked away each heavy word, not letting myself feel the weight of them. Not yet. “What happened to them?”

“They couldn’t bring themselves to do what he asked. He provided no proof your sister was even alive, and his demands . . . well, they were steep. To protect you, they brought you to the Night District orphanage and arranged to have you transferred somewhere far away from Charmant. They isolated themselves from the other Night District families, especially the magical ones. They trusted no one. Without their children, they were absolutely heartbroken. It was years before they even came to see me again.”

I swallowed. Hard. “When?”

“Seven years ago.”

Seven years. My parents were still alive seven years ago. I was twelve, living in that damn orphanage, and they’d been here, on Charmant. Trying to bring me home.

Maybe they were still here.

“Your father didn’t trust me, so he kept guard outside my shop. But your mother came inside. She asked about you and your sister. I hadn’t heard a whisper about either of you. And she told me about the visits. Every now and then, the masked man returned and made the same offer: if they did what he said, they’d see their daughter again.”

Mag paused to pat her brow with a handkerchief. Trys still gripped my arm. “What happened next?” I managed to ask.

“They’d suffered long enough. I read it in your mother’s thoughts: she’d lost too many years with her children, and she was going to do whatever it took to get them back. So they did what he asked. They rented one of their boats to three Revelle women and drowned them.”

Ice flooded my veins.

No.

“The man told them exactly what to do to make it seem like an accident, but it didn’t matter. My kin heard their guilt, divers found the bodies half-eaten by fish, and even though the police searched for your sister’s kidnapper, your parents were sentenced to the electric chair.”

My heart stopped beating.

A fly buzzed nearby. Landed on the edge of Mag’s teacup, already empty.

“It was a public execution. I didn’t attend, but I saw the scene play over and over in people’s minds for weeks. Terrible way to die.” She shuddered. “Your mother was the first woman to go that way in Charmant. Evelyn Jones—I’m sure you can look it up somewhere.”

The buzzing filled my ears, my bones, vibrating with enough ferocity to break me.

“Thank you,” I heard Trys say. Felt her hands on my back, the cool of the knob, the sunlight blinding.

I gripped the black doorframe before Mag could shut it. “My father’s name?”

“James.” She offered me a small, wilted smile. “That’s why they named you Jamison.”

Son of James.

Relentless, burning sunlight, pounding pavement, that roar in my ears, drowning out Trys calling my name, her hurried steps keeping pace with mine, spinning, spinning—

My stomach emptied itself all over the pristine cobblestones. Onlookers clutched their pearls as I upchucked again, again, again.

My parents. Dead. My . . . sister. Gone. Stolen. Probably dead.

And my parents had killed Luxe’s mother. Millie’s mother. Roger’s mother.

Trys gripped my shoulders as my stomach lurched again.

“I have to tell them,” I heard myself saying. Over and over.

“You will.” She pushed my sweaty hair off my forehead. “Just breathe, Jamison. Don’t worry about that yet.”

They were going to hate me. Luxe. Colette and Millie, and, oh God, Roger . . .

No Revelle would ever be able to look at me again.