Revelle

Jamison was a fool. A big-hearted, bright-eyed fool who’d ignored every warning I’d given him. Who’d stayed, despite the eleven ferries he could have taken by now.

A fool who needed to run faster.

The crowd surged after him and Roger. They were fast, but Jamison kept turning back, searching for me.

The Revelles hate you. They never want to see you again. I never want to see you again.

His lightstring dimmed and dimmed, its golden hue obfuscated by deep rejection. Still, I dug into my magic, fighting the bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to pull me under. I grabbed more Revelle lightstrings to erase their doubts about his role in the fire. I focused on their pain. Their anger. Their need for someone to blame.

No matter how much time passed, no matter if I had days or weeks or decades left to live, I would never, ever forgive myself for hurting him like this.

But he’d live. And so would my family.

Dewey chuckled beside me. “They’re going to kill him.”

“Trys won’t let them.”

His nose scrunched with distaste. “That does make him rather hard to dispose of.”

Catherine Revelle alive, Jamison Jones dead, his journal had said. Colette is the star, but Luxe’s magic is weak and Catherine keeps her from me. George wins.

Those scribblings had kept me up all night. Dewey had been playing God, trying to find the right combination of life and death to seize power. And with my help, he was on his way to the mayor’s office. All morning, he’d dragged me from one polling center to the next, ordering me to use my magic to charm everyone into voting for him. Each time, he asked Trevor to confirm I was doing as he said.

So I did.

You’re on borrowed time, the Strattori had said. But I was still here.

“Well done, my sweet.” Dewey patted my cheek. “You took a play right out of my playbook.”

“What do you mean?”

“He loves you.” He scoffed, and I fixed my ruthless smile to match his. “Love is the greatest weakness. Once you find out who someone loves, you can make them do anything.”

Like Rose Effigen and her son. Or Frank Chronos and the son he’d left behind.

If only I could carve Dewey’s smirk off with my bare hands.

“Look.” Dewey chuckled as he pointed down the block. “They have them trapped.”

The crowd surged forward, pinning Jamison and Roger against a wall. A fight broke out, someone’s fist connecting with Jamison’s handsome face for the third time this summer. He wasn’t even trying to fight back.

Seven hells. They were supposed to scare him away, not actually hurt him.

Pushing through my fatigue, I grabbed more of their lightstrings, the Strattori’s warning blaring through my mind. But I’d whipped the crowd into a frenzy. I needed more magic.

Jamison had to get out of here, no matter the cost.

Diving into my magic was like diving headfirst into a frozen lake. There was nothing left but hard ice and terrible pain. The pressure surged in my head, my chest. I stumbled, white lights blocking my vision as I gripped my head. I thought I heard Dewey call my name, but I couldn’t stop, not until I found the last drops of magic, somewhere—

My little inkwell shattered.

I cried out, my chest flooding with sharp pain, filling my lungs, drowning me—

“Luxe?”

Ice encased my lungs, and I coughed, the fluid surprisingly warm as it oozed down my chin, into my hands.

“Luxe, what’s happening? Are you all right?”

The mob’s lightstrings were still clutched in my mind’s fist. You don’t wish to hurt him. You wish to let him go.

“Luxe, damnit, talk to me!”

Dewey’s lightstring was dark and slick as oil as I gripped it. You’re not worried. You’re not violent. You’re happy and content and preoccupied.

His panic and his anger subsided.

“I’m okay.” Each inhale unleashed a flurry of fresh glass in my chest. But the mob was receding. Jamison was limping away, Roger beside him.

A dry, rasping cough seized me. Dewey rubbed my back, and I fought the urge to squirm.

“Should we fetch a Strattori? Can’t have you coughing like that tonight.”

“It’s the smell of all this ash. I can’t stand it.” You wish to leave me be.

He checked his watch. “I’m going to have the press get some photos of Wolffe and me on top of the ruins. I can see the headlines now: Dewey Chronos Vows to Rebuild the Night.”

Rebuild? My head whipped toward him so quickly, the world spun. “Do you mean that?”

“What does it matter?” He touched my cheek. “You don’t need the Big Tent anymore.”

I swallowed my rage. There’d be a time to strike back. Not yet.

“Clean up, will you?” He tossed me his handkerchief. “In a little while, we’ll go back to the polls so you can charm a few more votes my way. Not too many, of course. Don’t want my family suspecting what you can do.”

As if it could get any worse.

Once he left, coughs seized me yet again, and I covered my mouth with his handkerchief, his expensive cologne invading my nostrils.

When my coughing finally relented, I removed the handkerchief.

It was red.

Red like garnets. Like rubies.

You’re on borrowed time.

Trevor rushed to me, his brow creased with worry. “You need to stop using your magic.”

“I can’t.” I let him help me to my feet, every muscle in my legs screaming in protest. “Have you been reading Dewey’s thoughts?”

“Yes, but he’s much better at hiding them than I realized. Right now, he’s obsessed with the election. And with Jamison.” He leaned closer, his face pained. “I had no idea, Luxe, I swear. I really believed he was good.”

Trevor was truly shaken. How often was a mind reader wrong about someone’s character? “He fooled us both,” I whispered.

“The missing Strattori boys, Rose Effigen’s son . . .” He paled. “That was him.”

He’d gone after the magical families with the fewest allies, with members most likely to leave Charmant. “We need a plan.”

Trevor glanced toward where Dewey shook Uncle Wolffe’s hand, posing for pictures on the ashes of my family’s home. “What do you need from me?”

I hesitated. If Dewey asked him what we discussed, it’d ruin my ruse. But the Edwardians were the Chronoses’ closest allies. If anyone knew, it would be one of them. “How do you kill a time traveler?”

Trevor’s lip wobbled. He had cared for Dewey. Betraying him wasn’t easy—but I’d phrased it as a question.

“In their sleep. Using something painless and lethal, so they don’t wake up, not even for a split second. If they have a chance to travel, you’re as good as dead.”

I was already as good as dead.

No. I refused to believe that. As long as my heart continued to beat, I still had a chance to take down Dewey. Then I’d figure out the rest.

The Effigens likely had a poison that would do the trick, but what Effigen would help me now, after Rose was lost in the fire? All it would take was one overheard thought, and they’d be complicit in assassinating the future mayor.

But there was one Effigen who used to know me well. Who might take a chance on me.

That unrelenting cough seized me again, as if I’d swallowed mouthfuls of ash. I took Trevor’s hand and held on for dear life, all the while willing my legs to remain upright.

“Stop charming him,” he begged. “Take care of yourself.”

I squared my shoulders, steeling myself. “I will.”

Once everyone else was safe.

By showtime, Jamison was long gone. His lightstring had faded into oblivion as the ferry carried him from Charmant. It was the deepest, darkest blue.

Better for him to live with a broken heart than die with a whole one.

Trysta had been with him. Roger, too. When they were nearly out of reach, I’d sent one final charm down their lightstrings: You feel protective of him.

They were gone.

I should have felt something. Relief that he was safe. Shame for what I’d done to force his hand. Something, other than the unbearable pressure radiating from my chest. With my inkwell shattered, I couldn’t seem to turn my magic off. Lightstrings danced all around me, a taunting reminder of what I’d done.

You’re on borrowed time.

Uncle Wolffe knocked and poked his head into my dressing room. “You good?”

“Just peachy.” Each breath felt like shrapnel in my lungs, and I’d gotten winded just from fixing my hair, but I managed a smile. “Have they finished tallying the votes?”

“Almost. But my sources say Dewey’s lead can’t be beat. By midnight, he’ll be declared the winner.”

A Chronos with shadow magic was now the most powerful person on the island. And it was my fault.

“Dewey wants the audience in a good mood before I announce the winner. The plan is for you to perform, then join him onstage right after.”

Join him onstage . . . to marry him.

Uncle Wolffe’s brow wrinkled, the thick white powder creasing. “You don’t look good.”

“I’m fine. Just bracing myself.” I swallowed my nausea.

After a furtive glance into the hall, he lowered his voice. “You don’t have to marry him. You know that, right?”

Tears burned behind my eyes. I held my breath to keep them there. “I know.”

“Charm him into wanting to wait. There’s no rush.”

If only that were still true. But Dewey had all the time in the world, and according to that poor Strattori, I didn’t. “I want to do this, Uncle Wolffe. Trust me.”

“I keep thinking about your mother. What she’d say.” He exhaled slowly, his frown at odds with his bright, clownish makeup. “Showtime’s in ten, but you have all night to change your mind.”

His footsteps thundered down the hall, drowned out by my family’s abrupt laughter. Tonight was a celebration for them, a reprieve from the awfulness of the fire. The Big Tent was gone, but we were still performing. We were still alive.

Another knock on my door, this time so quiet I nearly missed it.

Margaret quickly shut the door behind her and tugged off the scarf she’d tied over her dark hair and ivory horns. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, her pretty face pallid but smooth. I’d only seen Margaret briefly in the immediate aftermath of her attack, but the memory of her festering wounds and bubbling skin was hard to shake.

“You came,” I breathed. “Thank you.”

“It’s the first time you’ve written in three years,” she said. “I figured it’s important.”

Important enough to interrupt her grieving. To put her life at risk, too.

She was a shadow of the sixteen-year-old girl who’d been a regular fixture backstage at our shows. No twinkling eyes, no easy smile. But she’d still answered the note, still come when my family needed her. “Are you okay, Luxe?” she asked.

I nearly laughed. I was the furthest thing from okay. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“You’re right. Here.” She handed me a clear vial, no bigger than my pinkie finger.

My heart quickened. The poison.

After glancing around the empty dressing room, she dropped her voice. “A few drops under the tongue is all it takes. It’s very potent and should work nearly instantly. But you have to be careful not to get any on yourself. And if you get caught—”

“I’d never rat you out.” I gripped the little vial in my fist. “I swear it.”

“I know. Lack of loyalty has never been a Revelle flaw.” Margaret didn’t quite smile, though her eyes softened. “Recklessness, on the other hand . . .”

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

She glanced around the dressing room as she retied her scarf. “I should get out of here before anyone sees me. I wouldn’t want to upset Roger.”

I opened the door. The hall was empty, though Revelle voices still sounded from backstage. “It’s Dewey’s guards you need to worry about. Roger left this morning.”

I’d meant the words to be comforting, but Margaret’s face fell. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

I made him, I longed to tell her. Roger was as stubborn as his father and sister, but being home and not seeing Margaret had been torture for him. He would have eventually gone to her. But I’d ruined that.

“Thank you.” I squeezed her arm as she turned to leave. “And I’m so sorry about Rose.”

Margaret paused in the door, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Make them pay,” she whispered. “And you be careful, Luxie girl. Whatever you’re up to, we’re all rooting for you.”

She hugged me with surprising strength, and then she was gone.

As the backstage lights flashed, I tucked the vial of poison in my vanity drawer, a little wedding-night present for my soon-to-be husband. I’d marry him. Celebrate his victory with him. Be nothing but the perfect wife all night. And then I’d take him to bed and use my magic to make him fall asleep. Once he was out cold, I’d slip him the poison and end this nightmare.

Till death do us part.

Alone, I walked to my starting position.

This was the moment I’d been dreaming of all summer. A brand-new theater. Expensive costumes and walls that wouldn’t leak on rainy nights. A rich benefactor sitting front and center, two dozen long-stemmed calla lilies in his lap. Yet, like a candle melted by the relentless sun, my dream was warped. The theater wasn’t ours, the Big Tent was gone, and whenever I looked at those purple blooms, all I saw was the Big Tent’s burning canvas.

Gossip was an elixir to my family’s woes, and hushed murmurs followed me to the trapeze ladder. All afternoon they’d whispered about how I was marrying a Chronos, how I’d been mistaken about Roger’s poor friend. Let them talk about me. Let them focus on anything except the harsh reality of our precarious existence.

We had no home, no backup plan, no second chances.

Nana kissed both my cheeks and held my face between her hands, searching. “We can insist on a long engagement and find another way.”

But there was no other way. Nana knew it, even if she wasn’t ready to admit that we needed Dewey. I smiled bright enough for our entire eavesdropping family to see. “I want to marry him.”

She leaned closer, those warm hands not leaving my face. “Don’t hide behind your pretty smiles with me, child. I know you don’t love the man. And I know Jamison didn’t set the fire.”

I climbed onto the first rung of the ladder and winked over my shoulder. “Who needs love? I’m going to be the mayor’s wife.”

The ladder to the trapeze platform was a cold, inflammable steel. At the top, Colette and Millie sat with their legs swinging over the ledge, taking in the crowd.

Colette’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized me. “They washed you out.”

My whole life, Colette had done my makeup for every performance, onstage or off. Having outside help was an insult to her work. To us.

“Day District fools,” I replied coolly. “They didn’t know what they were doing.”

She watched me from beneath her mink lashes. One blink. Then another. “Here,” she finally said, reaching for a small case she’d hidden behind a wooden beam. Grabbing her rouge, she went to work on my cheeks. “I can’t let our esteemed star go out there looking like a ghost.”

Millie grabbed my hand to examine my heavy ring. “Wow. How much did this cost?”

My cheeks burned. “I, ah, didn’t ask.”

“I’m not talking about money.”

Colette’s brush paused on my cheek. Waiting.

If the Strattori was right, would I spend my last days alone with my secrets, like I’d spent these past years?

“Jamison didn’t set the fire,” Millie said firmly. “You know that as much as we do.”

Sadness eclipsed Colette’s lightstring. Because of me, Trysta had left before she’d had time to heal, before they’d had a chance to say goodbye. It would be a long time before Colette forgave me.

“I’m sorry.” My voice was so small, I didn’t think they could hear me over the music. “I’m sorry Trys left. I’m sorry I said those terrible things about Jamison. And most of all, I’m sorry we grew apart.”

“Hey.” Colette reached for me. “We’re still here, okay? You’re our family, even when you act like an ass. Just tell us why you’re doing this.”

“Tell us the truth,” Millie urged me. “That’s all we ever wanted.”

With careful fingers, I wiped an escaped tear. I was so tired of lying. After everything they’d lost because of Dewey, after everything I’d put them through, they deserved the truth.

“Dewey’s time traveled. A lot. He’s reset time, over and over, to make sure he wins the election. And to make sure I end up with him and not Jamison. He wanted him either dead or gone, so I chose gone.”

Millie’s hands flew to her mouth. “What? How has he traveled so much?”

The urge to protect was firm and swift, but I’d lied so many times, and I’d still ended up here. Alone.

“Shadow magic,” I finally said. They deserved to know. And if something happened to me, better to arm my family with the truth.

Their eyes were as wide as opals. “Impossible.”

“It’s real. I don’t know exactly how he does it, but Dewey hurts people with magical blood—this allows him to travel, and they age instead.”

The color drained from Millie’s face. “But he has aged!”

“I know. But not nearly as much as he’s traveled.”

Colette covered her mouth. “Frank Chronos in the alley. That’s why he aged so quickly.”

“And Jamison said Rose turned old and gray in a matter of minutes.”

Jamison. The knife in my heart twisted deeper.

“Aw, Luxie, don’t cry!” Millie pulled me against her for a tight hug. “You did a very selfless thing, sending Jamison away. And this whole Dewey business . . . we’ll figure it out together. Trevor will help us.”

“We need to take Dewey down.” Already scheming, Colette glared at where he sat in the front row.

“He gave you that enormous diamond,” Millie pointed out. “That should buy you time.”

If only it were that easy. “He had Trevor put it on me.”

“Oh.” She crinkled her nose. “How romantic.”

I managed a smile. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Colette said firmly.

“Okay, maybe it’s not,” I admitted, “but Dewey is our landlord now. We sleep on his floors, perform in his theater, and charm customers in his hotels.”

Not a coincidence. Every misfortune pushed us right into his waiting hands.

I lifted my chin, just as my mother had taught me to do before a particularly daunting leap. There’s strength in pretending, Luxie girl. “If Dewey turns on us, we have nothing. Truly nothing. But I have a plan. You understand why I can’t tell you more. Not yet.”

Colette studied me, her lightstring eclipsed with worry. “What do you need from us?”

My heart squeezed. How quickly they forgave me; how eager they were to help. “Dewey can’t suspect I don’t want to marry him. So you two need to be by my side the whole ceremony because I don’t think I can stomach it alone. Okay?”

“Don’t tell me you hid ugly bridesmaid dresses backstage.” Millie shuddered. “I look terrible in pink.”

My lips quirked. “Wear whatever you want.”

“Good. I’ll make sure to ask Trevor how beautiful I look.”

“Well, I’m going to ‘accidentally’ spill my champagne on Dewey during the reception.” Anger seeped in Colette’s lightstring like smoke. And I hadn’t yet told her about Dewey’s role in our mothers’ deaths.

Catherine Revelle alive, Jamison Jones dead. Colette is the star, but Luxe’s magic is weak and Catherine keeps her from me. George wins.

“He’ll just travel before you have the chance.”

“That makes him hard to kill, doesn’t it?”

Very hard indeed. One wrong move, and he’d rewind the clock and leave me clueless about my failed plan. Maybe he’d even erase the last twenty-four hours, so I’d once again be in the dark about his shadow magic. Even if I managed to succeed, the Day District was full of time travelers looking for a reason to punish the Revelles. A dead Chronos, even one who’d turned on them, might be reason enough to retaliate.

Killing a time traveler was the hard part. Marrying him was far easier.

The saxophones’ brassy notes climbed higher and higher, whipping the audience into a frenzy. Showtime.

Colette helped me to my feet. “Are you ready?”

I’d gotten dizzy just from climbing the ladder. But I was a Revelle. I’d bury my pain, bury whatever sinister magic was ravaging my lungs, bury whatever scraps of my tattered heart remained, and I’d do it with a pristine smile.

One more night. Once Dewey was asleep, I’d end this, once and for all. And if fate granted me a little more time, I’d spend it with my cousins. And maybe, if by some miracle he forgave me . . . Jamison.

Millie threw her arms around me before she dove for her trapeze swing and leaped from the rafters. Colette followed on her heels. The awestruck crowd craned their necks as my beautiful cousins twisted and flitted, graceful birds diving in sync.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for,” boomed Uncle Wolffe.

The crowd roared for me. For Luxe Revelle, the Radiant Ruby of the Night. Colette signaled me from the opposite rafter. From far below, Dewey grinned with predatory pride.

The drums went rat-a-tat-tat. Faster, faster, as the music reached its crescendo. Gripping the swing, I leaped from the edge.

Time to go out with a bang.