Revelle

The sunlight blinded me, the smoke stinging my eyes.

“Luxe, answer me! Are you all right?” Millie shook me roughly. “She’s bleeding. We need a Strattori.”

I lifted my head. Chaos, all around me. Thick black smoke streaming from the Big Tent, blotting out the sky like spilled ink on blue satin. My dazed family in the street, crying, as the tourists watched from a distance. Another spectacle for their entertainment.

“Is everyone okay?” My throat burned as though I hadn’t had a drop of water my entire life, and my chest ached something awful, from the smoke, or my magic, or both.

Tears streamed down Millie’s soot-covered cheeks, leaving clean trails in their wakes. “I don’t know. Uncle Wolffe’s trying to do a head count.” She shook her head. “You passed out. The smoke—”

I pushed onto my elbows. “Where’s Colette?”

“Safe, but . . .” She swiped at her tears. “Trys is still missing.”

I need to find Trys, Jamison had said. My heart stopped. “And Jamison?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

I jumped to my feet, the world spinning, my steps faltering.

“Where are you going?” Millie steadied me, but I slipped from her grasp, my sights set on the front entrance, the firefighters gathered there.

He went back for her. I hadn’t tried to stop him, hadn’t offered any parting words as he ran back into a wall of flames.

Colette’s arms flailed wildly as she argued with her father. With the fire’s roar, and the firemen shouting orders, I only picked up bits of what she was saying. Trys. Die. Useless pricks.

I grabbed her. “What’s going on?”

“Trys is still inside. And these assholes,” she practically spat at the firefighters, “are refusing to get her.”

“Like we told you, miss, this thing’s about to collapse.” The fireman tugged at the collar of his heavy gear. “I can’t send my men on a suicide mission for one person.”

“Two people!” I exclaimed.

Uncle Wolffe’s stern face froze. “Who?”

“Jamison.” I squeezed Colette’s arm as horror washed over her. “He went back for Trys.”

“Even if there were a dozen people trapped inside, we’re outta time.” The fireman winced. “I’m sorry. The most we can do is soak it from the outside so it doesn’t take out the whole block, but this thing’s gonna fall any minute now.”

I could hardly hear myself think, couldn’t breathe. “No.”

Colette surged toward the flames, but Uncle Wolffe grabbed her. “I can’t allow you to kill yourself for—”

“For a Chronos? If they were Revelles, you’d never let them die.”

“They’re already gone.” Uncle Wolffe’s grip tightened around his daughter. “I’m sorry.”

Gone.

The fireman caught me as the world spun, darkness blotting the edges of my vision.

Jamison couldn’t be dead. There was so much we hadn’t said, so much we hadn’t done.

You’re not powerless. Not even close.

I couldn’t hear my family as they pulled Colette and me away, as they screamed for Dr. Strattori. Couldn’t see my home burning as I dug deeper into my empty inkwell, reaching for any wisp of power, my chest burning, my head shattering . . .

Lightstrings blinked into existence. Pain, so much anguish, the sad blues of the Revelle auras as dark as the noxious smoke. I tried to block out their suffering, looking past an ashen Dr. Strattori as she screamed noiselessly in my face. I kept my focus on the furiously burning Big Tent, searching for the two lightstrings that had to be inside.

I only found one. An earnest one I knew too well, its golden hue stained with anguish.

He was giving up.

“Lie down!” Nana barked. “You’re bleeding! Why is she bleeding?”

Dr. Strattori gaped at me as she tried to examine my chest, but I pushed away her cold hands. “He’s alive,” I rasped.

“What?” Colette gripped my arm. “How can you tell?”

“He’s in the kitchen. We have to help him; we can’t just—”

“I know. I know.” Ignoring Dr. Strattori’s protests, she helped me to my feet. “What about Trys?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see her.”

“But how can you—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

Millie grabbed our hands. “What are we waiting for?”

“Where are you three going?” Nana called after us.

I didn’t have enough magic to charm her into letting us go. Instead, I bowed my head, doing my best to look downtrodden. “I just need a moment alone.”

“Me too,” Colette mumbled.

Millie dipped her head. “Me three.”

Nana shook a fist at us. “If you take one step closer to that tent, I swear on your grandfather’s grave, none of you will see the light of day again.”

“Yes, Nana,” we said together.

Her suspicious eyes bore into our backs as we walked down the street. Slowly, too slowly, with that tent about to collapse . . .

At the corner, I broke into a sprint.