Revelle

Dewey pulled me closer as I bit back a scream. He’d warned me about the lights, but between the armed guards, the handsome imposter, and my family glaring at me all night, my nerves were frayed.

With an ominous, high-pitched whistle, the sky erupted as a riot of fireworks exploded overhead, painting the crowd’s shocked faces in red, white, and blue. Dewey chuckled beside me. How I longed to tap into my secondary magic, to see what he was hiding behind that calm, confident exterior. But I couldn’t risk it, not with so many Edwardians here.

I glanced at the crowd again, easily spotting the tall imposter, the only person staring at the stage instead of the sky. His face seemed so honest. So hauntingly familiar. Dewey caressed my bare shoulder, and the handsome imposter’s jaw tightened. As if twenty minutes together were enough for him to give a damn who touched me.

Twenty minutes of sugar-coated lies. All the liquor in the world.

Dewey released a shaky breath. “Here goes nothing.”

In a fury of explosions, the fireworks crescendoed, and the crowd gasped as enormous golden letters pierced the dark sky over the harbor, bold and bright enough to be seen all the way in the Day District.

DEWEY CHRONOS FOR MAYOR

A reluctant round of applause spread through the crowd. Mainlanders, mostly, and several of the wealthy business owners. A few Edwardians clapped politely, their stony faces betraying no emotion. Most of them were staunch supporters of Dewey’s father, but some had come tonight anyway. The Effigens whispered furiously behind their hands while the Strattoris glanced at each other warily. Only a few had accepted Dewey’s invitation, and they hadn’t touched the food or the drinks, nor left their small huddle.

And the Revelles? They laughed, none louder than Nana.

Dewey bristled. It would be so easy to charm him into overlooking my family’s blatant contempt—if I could use my magic. Uncle Wolffe had agreed to Dewey’s proposition, but no one else knew how close we were to collapsing, how desperately we needed an alliance with the kid bootlegger. The prospect of a winter theater had piqued their interest, but Dewey’s lawyers made the lease contingent on his winning the election. Judging by the muted response to his campaign announcement, it’d never be ours.

“I’ll keep this brief.” Dewey’s eloquent voice turned every head back to the stage, his youthfulness lending him an eager quality not often seen in politicians. “A few hours ago, my father announced that he is stepping down as mayor. A special election will take place on August first, twenty-five days from now. He’s endorsed my brother, George, to take his place.”

Not a soul flinched. The mayor had been grooming George for the position for years. He was young for public office—even younger than Dewey, though George looked a decade older.

“For far too long, my family has put their own interests before everyone else’s. Night District children starve while Chronos children eat from silver spoons. Night District businesses are the backbone of Charmant’s economy, yet Day District pockets grow fat from your taxes.” He paused, letting the crowd absorb his words. “That all changes when you elect me mayor. I promise to use my wealth, my connections in New York and beyond, even my magic, to better all of Charmant. Not just the wealthy. I promise we will never be surprised by any misfortune, from a hurricane to a visit from the Prohibition police.”

“Have your balls even dropped?” someone heckled.

Dewey leaned into the microphone. “You’re welcome to come up here and check.”

That earned a laugh. My family, though, remained unimpressed.

“I have no interest in growing old before my time, but I’ll do it, if it means Charmant will prosper.” He tilted the microphone toward him. “As a show of good faith, the unused refreshments from tonight’s festivities will be delivered to needy Night District families. Eat up, my friends. There’s plenty for all.”

Murmurs of approval rose from the crowd.

With a snap of his fingers, waiters began passing out champagne. Dewey motioned for me to join him at center stage. Back straight, chin up. This was a performance like any other.

He handed me a flute of bubbly, his diamond-shaped clock painted on the golden glass.

“To new beginnings.” Though he spoke into the microphone, his gaze fixed on mine, unwavering, as heat rose to my cheeks.

“And to Charmant!” He turned to the crowd and lifted his glass as the band belted out a celebratory tune. The resounding cheers were much more enthusiastic, especially as Dewey raised our clasped hands. Plenty of Big Tent regulars were in the audience.

His assistant, Trevor Edwardes, escorted us down the stairs. Dewey accepted a towel and patted his forehead. “Well?”

“You did great,” I said, surprised that I meant it. “Truly inspirational.”

“And the crowd? What did they think?”

“Hard to tell.” I stole a glance at the dispersing audience. “I’ll do some digging.”

“Thank you, my sweet.” He lowered his voice. “If you use any jewels, be discreet. I don’t want anyone to accuse me of cheating.”

As if everyone here hadn’t taken one look at us onstage—a charmer and a time traveler—and wondered how we’d use our combined magic to our advantage. “I recognize a few Big Tent regulars. I’ll do my best.”

I slipped into the crowd, Fake Dewey’s gaze burning into my back as I made my rounds among the rich tourists and the Big Tent regulars. If he tried to ask me about that beach again, I was going to lose my cool, and I couldn’t afford to be anything less than perfect tonight.

Fortunately, the imposter stood by the bar with Colette and Millie—my cousins had hardly said a word to me tonight, but they had all the time in the world for the blue-eyed fraud—though his stare followed me like a spotlight in a dark theater.

Nana lounged at a glass table by the beach with Lucy Effigen, their silvery heads bowed in their usual gossip. I draped my arms over the back of Nana’s chair. “Well? What do you think?”

She patted my arm. “The house is gaudy. And the band’s bland.”

The band was far from bland. Dewey had hired the best jazz musicians from Harlem so no Revelles had to work tonight—our only night off all summer. “I meant about Dewey’s speech.”

“A Chronos running for mayor?” She dropped her jaw in exaggerated surprise, earning snickers from the nearby Effigens, who were accustomed to Nana’s antics. Their Night District restaurants and nightclubs were major tourist attractions, eclipsed only by the Big Tent. Over the years, deep friendships had formed between our families. A few romances, too, including Roger and Margaret’s. But that had ended in literal flames, shattering Lucy’s and Nana’s dreams of sharing great-grandchildren with the power of potency and emotional manipulation.

Lucy leaned closer. “The mayor’s two sons running against each other is new, though. Do you trust him, Luxe?”

“I like him,” I said honestly, meeting Lucy’s discerning gaze. “He means well. And he’s our best chance at getting out from underneath the thumb of the current mayor.”

“With another one of his sons.” Nana stifled her yawn. “How clever.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport.” I hugged her over the back of her chair, nestling against her upswept hair. “You’re in such a mood tonight! Have you eaten yet?”

“Are you trying to kill me, child?”

“For the last time, he didn’t poison the food,” I hissed, flashing a practiced smile at a nearby server. “Can you at least pretend to be enjoying yourself?”

“I stopped faking pleasure once your grandfather passed.” Her face brightened. “Look! Roger!”

My cousin waved to Nana and Lucy as he trotted down the grassy hill, his tall friend beside him. They had already rebelled against their tuxedos: jackets discarded, bow ties dangling precariously around their necks. The handsome imposter had undone three shirt buttons, hinting at the smooth muscle underneath. Skinny-boy muscles, Millie had called them, licking her lips.

With a quick squeeze of Nana’s shoulder, I slipped away, not daring to look back. Dewey was my focus tonight—real Dewey, not tall, fake Dewey.

I found him with the Strattoris, who glanced warily in my direction as I approached. The holier-than-thou healers disapproved of our lifestyle, but there was no real bad blood between us. As I took my place at Dewey’s side, they said their goodbyes.

Dewey sighed as we watched them leave, their crisp white tunics out of place in the sea of black and gold. “The Edwardians left right after my speech. It’s not even midnight, and I’ve lost two magical families.”

“They still came,” I reminded him. “That’s more than I ever imagined possible.”

“Right again. What would I do without you?” He took my arm, wheeling me back toward the crowd of waiting sycophants. “Have you met my sister yet?”

Trysta Chronos had been trying to murder me with her eyes all night. “Why don’t you grab her, and I’ll grab drinks?”

He squeezed my arm in gratitude.

Once he slipped away, I gripped the chair in front of me. The Edwardians were gone, except Trevor, who would expect me to use my magic to ensure the party was a smashing success. My jewel magic, of course. But Dewey was too smart to give me any gems.

I could do this. I’d done it countless times before.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I imagined Dewey’s lightstring—and mentally slammed my head into a wall of pain, as cold and hard as ice. That was new. Apparently, my little inkwell didn’t like working overtime these days. I hurled my mind against it, digging deeper into the pain. Blinding lights flashed behind my eyes. Not lightstrings, but warnings, warnings—

The cold wall crumbled, and I was flooded by a stabbing headache. Brutal, but familiar.

The soft glow of lightstrings drifted toward me. Bright pinks and yellows. Three hundred people having a grand old time, Dewey included, though his lightstring was veiled by tremendous caution. He was wise, not getting his hopes up. Twenty-five days was hardly enough time to win an election.

You’re having an excellent time, I whispered down his lightstring. Everyone loves you.

Cool drinks in hand, I cut across the lawn to— Whoa.

The world swayed, the music suddenly off-key, the grass off-kilter . . .

Let go, my magic urged. Let go, let go, let go—

Leaning against a lawn chair, I tried to breathe, to give my body a moment to acclimate to the pain. Now was not the time for a magical hissy fit.

Like sand settling in the ocean, my vision cleared.

“Well, well.” Roger stood in front of me, his lips twisted in perpetual amusement. “If it isn’t the Radiant Rainbow Ra-Ra of Revelle, or whatever you’re going by these days.”

He had a way of exonerating himself with a single grin. My irritation with his absence all week, with his new habit of surrounding himself with outsiders—it was all melting away.

He held out his arms, and I sank into them, the stinging sensation behind my eyes surprising me. When was the last time I’d hugged someone?

“Colette’s looking for you.”

“For me?” I stood taller, glancing around.

“Of course. She still loves you, you know.” Even though his easy smile betrayed nothing, his lightstring shone with concern. But that was Roger’s way. Underneath all the jokes, all the mischief, he had an enormous heart that bled for his family.

Sure enough, Colette was looking at us as she cut through the crowd, Millie by her side. They both looked beautiful in evening finery, but Colette looked particularly stunning tonight, with her hair elegantly coiffed atop her head and the cut of her beaded gown accentuating her toned shoulders. Her eyes met mine as she announced, “This party’s missing something.”

“A fire-breathing tequila contest?” Millie suggested. “Effigen drinks?”

Colette’s lips curved in an all-too-familiar challenge. When we were little, she’d look at me like that before daring me to jump off the docks in my knickers. “There are newcomers with us tonight and we haven’t done the Swap Trot.”

Oh no.

Millie clapped excitedly.

“What’s the Swap Trot?” Dewey asked, sidling up beside me. Trysta followed close behind.

Colette took his arm. “It’s a beloved Revelle tradition. A dance to welcome new friends.”

More like a hazing. Revelles despised outsiders.

Trysta had the wherewithal to appear skeptical. “You want us to dance?”

“It’s a partner dance-off,” Roger explained. “We Revelles pair with a newcomer, and we do most of the work. All you have to do is stay on your feet, and you win.”

“That sounds easy enough. Especially since my partner’s the star.” Dewey wrapped an arm around me. Sweet, ignorant fool.

“She’s the star, all right. Hey, Pops!” Colette called, though her glittering eyes found mine. “How about a Swap Trot?”

“Excellent!” Uncle Wolffe boomed. My family never turned down a dance competition—or any competition, really. As they cleared a space on the beach, Revelle musicians grabbed the band’s instruments. “Partner up, kids!”

Roger rested his arm atop Trysta’s head. “You up for this?”

She tossed her cane onto the sand. “Worry about yourself.”

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” I asked. Trysta was right; he still had my broken ribs.

“You just don’t want me to beat you,” he teased. “Who wants to dance with Jamison?”

So the imposter had a name. A good one—not that it mattered.

Millie looped an arm through Jamison’s. “I will!”

At the same time, Colette said, “I will!”

They grinned at each other. Jamison’s cheeks turned as red as they had when he’d realized he was in the Fun House.

“Share him like the French do!” Nana called.

Colette took Jamison by his other elbow. “You know I can’t let my brother win. He’ll be insufferable, especially because he’s still injured.”

Except she wasn’t out to prove she was better than Roger.

Releasing Jamison, Millie scanned the crowd. The rich mainland men stepped forward, puffing out their chests, but Millie looked right past them. “Ooh! I’ll take the Edwardian!”

Heads swiveled toward Trevor, who froze by the refreshments, midbite.

We took positions: Dewey and me, Roger and Trysta, Colette and Jamison, and Millie and Trevor. Four Revelles, two Chronoses, an Edwardian, and a mainlander. Every round, we’d switch partners. Unless Jamison was eliminated early, I wouldn’t be able to avoid dancing with him.

“Are you okay?” Dewey asked. “You look a bit peaky.”

I flashed him a serene smile. “I just don’t like losing.”

“When you’re with me, you’ll never lose.” He caressed my bare shoulder. “I promise.”

If only it were that simple.

The band played the first few notes. I draped an arm around Dewey’s neck and clasped his other hand.

“Any advice?” He leaned closer, his lightstring glowing with desire. So our relationship wasn’t entirely a ruse for him. Interesting.

“Let me lead,” I said.

“A girl leading?” He tipped his head back and laughed. “My dance instructor would roll over in her grave.”

“Trust me.” The tune was mournful, but the saxophone was about to change that. “Just try to stay on your feet. When we switch partners, they’re going to spin you faster than—”

“Begin!”

I could almost hear my mother’s training. Back straight. Chin up. With a firm hand between Dewey’s shoulder blades, I guided him through the steps. Once he ceased trying to lead, he caught on quickly. Somewhere behind us, Colette giggled with Jamison. If he fell in the next two rounds, I wouldn’t have to lay a finger on him.

The music quickened. “And spin!” Uncle Wolffe called.

Here goes nothing. Crossing our arms, I took Dewey’s hands, leaned back, and spun us. Dewey laughed, his lightstring flaring with excitement. The golden torches, the silver moonlight—everything blurred as we turned and turned.

When we were too little to perform, we used to Swap Trot backstage during shows. Millie used to spin me so fast, I’d have to sit in my mother’s lap with my head between my knees afterward. Even then, we rarely beat Colette and Roger.

“And switch!”

If I fumbled the timing, Dewey would go flying into the audience. Or the surf. Or to the wrong partner. As long as he stayed on his feet, we’d survive the round.

I let go of his hands. Colette high-kicked over his head, flashing me a wicked grin before pulling him closer. Show-off. I hardly had time to register the strangeness of that duo before Trevor barreled into me.

I caught him by the back of the shirt, gave him a little whirl, and led him through the steps. His eyes were dizzy, unfocused, but he was smiling.

“You’re enjoying yourself?”

“Yes. Your cousin Millie is . . . Wow.”

I stole a glance at her and Trysta, their cheeks red from laughing. “She’s great.”

“Her thoughts are like cotton candy. So sweet and fluffy. Such a refreshing mind.”

That familiar longing tugged deep in my chest. God, how I missed Millie. Even though the chasm between us was my fault, she’d never snapped at me. Not even once.

“I could put in a good word for you.” An honest guy like Trevor would be an upgrade from the tourists usually competing for my cousin’s affection.

His smile faded as he glanced at her. “Courtship with a mind reader is far from appealing. No secrets. No mystery.”

What an incredible power, to hear all conscious thoughts. But it came with an incredible cost: Edwardians had to speak the truth, no matter how much it pained them. They couldn’t even keep their mouths shut. Whenever an Edwardian was directly asked a question, they had to respond honestly. The Chronoses were smart to hire them.

“No lying, either,” I pointed out. “That’s a perk.”

Just as he was beginning to get the hang of the footwork, the music shifted again.

“And spin!”

I crossed my arms and gripped his hands, spinning us both so fast, he turned green. This was a competition, after all, and I was a Revelle. I hated losing.

“And switch!”

I angled him just left of Colette, then let go.

Trysta Chronos barreled into me a moment later, nearly knocking us both over. If she wasn’t Dewey’s sister, I might have let her fall. Next round, I would.

Next round . . . with Jamison.

Trysta glared at me as I took her hand and her waist.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” I said. “Dewey has told me so much about you.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“What? I was just—”

“I see the games you’re playing. First with my friend and now with my brother. So save your affectations for someone else. I don’t like you.” She gifted me a fake smile of her own.

Seven hells, she was blunt.

Cheers erupted as Colette helped Trevor off the ground. His lightstring beamed with happiness as Millie pulled him off the makeshift dance floor, laughing. Roger scrambled to replace Millie as Jamison’s partner while Colette grabbed Dewey again.

“And spin!” Wolffe boomed.

Trysta groaned. The spinning was hard on both partners, but I’d had much more practice. To her credit, she remained firmly on her feet, even as we spun and spun.

The music sped up, a frenzy of trumpets and clarinets and racing drums. “And switch!”

Colette spun into a dramatic pirouette as Trys arrived, catching her with ease.

Jamison nearly spun by me. I should have let him whirl into the foamy surf.

But I wanted to win.

My hand caught one of his firm biceps, and traitorous sparks flitted over my skin. All week, I’d been trying to forget about him. Kissing him had been like mistaking a stick of dynamite for an ordinary candle. I’d nearly blown up all my careful plans.

As if reading my mind, he stepped closer, daring me to back away. Jerk. I draped my arm around his neck, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. He was just another dance partner, no different from a customer. Or a stranger. Really, it was like dancing with a statue.

“I’ve walked every beach in the Night District. Twice.” His hair fell over his forehead as he leaned even closer.

“Then you’ve seen the one you’re looking for.”

From this close, his blue eyes were startlingly bright. “I need you to show me, Luxe. No one else seems to know where it is.”

My name on his lips sent a thrill down my spine. If only Dewey had the same effect. No, better that he didn’t. With Dewey, my mind needed to be sharp and focused.

“Please,” Jamison pleaded.

“Why does it matter to you?”

“It’s hard to explain.” A whirl of purple swept into his lightstring, as dark as a bruise. The blues of sadness and the maroons of love, woven together. Grief, as familiar to me as my shadow.

Who had he lost?

The music grew faster and faster. He kept his warm hand on my waist, his feet not missing a single step. Roger must have taught him.

“Fine,” I found myself saying.

“Really?” His lightstring was so earnest, his relief instantaneous.

“Come by tomorrow, after rehearsals,” I muttered. “Then we’ll never speak of it again.”

“And spin!”

Crossing my wrists, I took his hands and leaned back. Bloody hell, this was dangerous, especially with a stranger. All he’d have to do was let go, and I’d break my neck.

His strong hands tightened their grip on mine, the world blurring as we spun faster.

One trip to the beach. Nothing more.

Our audience roared. Someone else had been eliminated. Dewey or Trysta?

“And switch!”

The world continued to spin, even as I dug my heels into the sand. Aiming Jamison was impossible. I let go and tried not to tip backward.

Dewey bumped into me a moment later, and I threw my arms around him. No heady rush, no sparks where his skin met mine. Good riddance to that feeling.

“Don’t fall on me!” He laughed.

“I’m a Revelle,” I reminded him. “We never fall.”

Roger helped Trysta to her feet. Only Colette and Jamison remained. Our feet blurred—

Someone let out a bloodcurdling scream.

I halted and let go of Dewey, the beach tilting dangerously as I looked around. Colette lay on the sand, clutching her foot. Revelles crowded around her, Roger among them.

Oh no.

Dewey threw out his arms to catch his balance. “Does this mean we win?”

“It’s her ankle,” Roger said grimly. “She’s twisted it.”

Colette covered her head. No tears marred her pretty face. “I wasn’t even dizzy yet!”

Roger and Millie helped her stand. As Colette put pressure on her foot, her face twisted.

One week into the season, and our best performer couldn’t walk.

Uncle Wolffe clapped his hands. “Everything’s fine, ladies and gents! If you head to the bar, a special treat will be waiting for you.”

Once the audience dispersed, Colette tried her ankle again and groaned.

“How did this happen?” Uncle Wolffe demanded.

“There was a ditch in the sand! I stepped right into it.”

“Did no one think to smooth out the ground before our headliners danced?”

Colette’s face squeezed with pain. “I checked the ground. Twice! It wasn’t there before.”

He rubbed his temples. “Let’s get you to Dr. Strattori.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You can’t walk,” he said gently. “And tomorrow, you must fly.”

Colette’s face crumpled. Her solution to every setback was always to work harder, to train longer, just like her mother had done. And she never, ever showed weakness.

Aunt Caroline scooped her up before the first tear spilled.

The crowd cheered as she carried her toward Dewey’s mansion. Colette waved to them from her aunt’s strong arms, smiling as radiantly as ever. Injured or not, she was still a performer.

“Terrible,” Dewey muttered beside me.

Uncle Wolffe was already scanning the family for a volunteer. The children froze. Only Clara dared move, stepping in front of her little brother. Brave, headstrong Clara. My stomach performed its own acrobatics as I imagined her bony little ankle, twisted and bruised.

Roger stepped forward, but Jamison blocked his path. “I’ll do it.”

“Jamison!” Trysta hissed, grabbing his arm. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” He straightened, wiping off the sand from where he’d knelt beside Colette.

I gaped at him. Outsiders usually didn’t know about Strattori magic. And they certainly didn’t take pain away from the Revelles. What was his angle?

“You’re volunteering?” Uncle Wolffe exchanged a glance with me. I’d told him about the mix-up in the Fun House. All week, he’d been keeping tabs on Roger’s friend.

“I can do it, sir. Unless Strattori healing requires me to have magic of my own?”

“I’ll do it.” Dewey stepped forward, clearing his throat.

Dewey, take Colette’s injury? Before I could protest, he clapped Jamison on the back. “I’ve got this, Mr. Port. You have enough to worry about already.”

Jamison shrugged. “I can be poor and injured at the same time, I assure you.”

That earned him some chuckles. Dewey’s lightstring—wait, when had I dropped it?

Without my magic, his excitement had evaporated. There was dread and uncertainty, along with that pervasive caution that seemed to be his default. He never let loose, especially not around my family. I smoothed his discomfort while my uncle appraised him.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Chronos.”

“I insist. Have your Strattori meet me inside with her healing kit.”

Helen Strattori never bothered with the incense, candles, and prayers the rest of her family used, but Uncle Wolffe didn’t correct him. I widened my eyes in warning, but my uncle shook his head slightly. Were we really going to let Dewey sacrifice himself for Colette?

I pulled Dewey to the side. “You don’t have to do this.”

His gaze fell to where my hand still gripped his arm. “No Revelle harmed on my watch, remember?”

Our deal. Without using his magic, he was still keeping up his end of the deal.

“Don’t look so surprised! Your cousin is important to you, so she’s important to me.”

I’d never even mentioned Colette to him, nor the fact that we’d been close. He’d done his research.

“Thank you,” I said honestly. “You don’t understand how much this means to me.”

“I’ll always keep your family safe. And you.” His arms circled my waist, pulling me to him. This close, his confident facade cracked, revealing the uncertain boy in the politician’s suit.

His forehead met mine. His eyes fluttered shut, the moment stretching longer.

Dewey Chronos was going to kiss me. Here. In front of my family.

You wish to go inside, I whispered down his lightstring. You don’t want Colette to wait.

He pulled away, searching my face. “Time to have my ankle sprained. Meet me inside?”

“In a moment.” You feel happy. Desired. And you wish to go without me.

He tugged on his lapels, checked his watch, and sauntered away.

Someone cleared their throat behind me. Trevor Edwardes.

Bewildered, he stared at me.

He knew.

“Were you listening to my thoughts?” I managed to ask.

Trevor’s throat bobbed. “Yes.”

No! What a fool I’d been, using my magic tonight.

“He gave me a jewel.” My voice remained even, despite my growing panic.

He looked down at his feet. “I can hear the truth in your head.”

Bloody hell. He knew what I could do.

Worst-case scenario, he’d reveal my secondary magic to Dewey, who’d never trust me again. No, worse was the Chronoses discovering what I could do. If pain allowed me to avoid the cost of my magic, they wouldn’t rest until they found a way to avoid the cost of their magic. If they couldn’t, they’d kill me rather than risk me charming them. And if they could, then they’d travel whenever they pleased, without aging—

“Are you going to tell Dewey?” I asked quietly, my heart pounding in my chest.

Trevor’s face paled. “Not unless he asks. Then I won’t have a choice.”

Interesting. He couldn’t lie . . . but he wasn’t jumping to reveal the truth, either. Was Dewey’s dutiful assistant not as loyal as he seemed?

“Is he suspicious?” I pressed.

“Not at all.”

Sweet relief coursed through me. Trevor stepped closer, keeping his hands raised as if I were a feral animal about to sprint away.

“Mr. Chronos is a good man,” he murmured, “but your . . . talent can never get out. If the Chronoses find out what you can do, it’ll be bad for all of us. Magic needs checks and balances.”

I could have cried from relief.

“I can teach you how to control your thoughts,” he continued. “It’s not foolproof, but it’s better than nothing.”

“That’s possible?” Uncle Wolffe had never mentioned it.

“The Chronoses train their children. Dewey’s quite good at it, but I can still hear how often you’re on his mind. He likes you, you know.”

And now I was receiving dating advice from an Edwardian. “The feeling is mutual.”

Trevor didn’t look convinced. “It can’t be easy for you to trust a Chronos. But Dewey is different. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for the people he cares about.”

It didn’t matter if he was a good Chronos. If he found out about my magic . . .

No more mistakes. I wouldn’t let it happen.