

### WANDER DUST

### By Michelle Warren

### Smashwords Edition

### © 2011 by Michelle Preast, Michelle Warren.

### ISBN: 978-0-9846621-0-4

### For sales information, please contact

### wanderdusttrilogy@yahoo.com

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### All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

### This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

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### Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Lady in Black

Chapter 2: Transfixed

Chapter 3: Disappear

Chapter 4: Unexpected Move

Chapter 5: Chicago

Chapter 6: The Gang

Chapter 7: My Stalker

Chapter 8: Act of Idiocy

Chapter 9: A Meeting

Chapter 10: The Truth

Chapter 11: Fireflies

Chapter 12: A Tour

Chapter 13: Impossible World

Chapter 14: Extended Contemplation

Chapter 15: Legends

Chapter 16: Confrontation

Chapter 17: The Academy

Chapter 18: Tornado of Death

Chapter 19: First Time

Chapter 20: Angels

Chapter 21: The Lecture

Chapter 22: Relic Archives

Chapter 23: The Relicutionist

Chapter 24: Horseplay

Chapter 25: Bridge of Sighs

Chapter 26: Chasing Answers

Chapter 27: Unexpected Return

Chapter 28: Selfish

Chapter 29: Meditation

Chapter 30: Deepest Desires

Chapter 31: A Compromise

Chapter 32: Walking Shadows

Chapter 33: Friends for Life

Chapter 34: A Choice

Chapter 35: A Painful Silence

Chapter 36: A Secret

### Chapter 1: The Lady in Black

Sixteen candles sparkle in front of me. Guests around the restaurant join in singing "Happy Birthday" with our waiter. As the end of the song climbs into a finale, I reposition myself in my chair, grab the table's edge and lean in, preparing to inhale. Right before I blow, the air around me stirs, suffocating the flames. Each light sputters and then vanishes into darkness.

Shocked, I jerk back in my seat, staring at the cake. _No wish?_

### Everyone breaks into rowdy applause. Perplexed, I glance around at the unfamiliar smiles and cheering faces. I realize, no one but me noticed the flames extinguishing on their own.

This has to be a bad omen.

### There's no way my dad, Ray, noticed the candles because he's too busy flirting with Maddi, his über-annoying girlfriend. He probably hadn't even bothered to sing, and I hadn't bothered to check. With Maddi constantly at his side, he's had even less time for me.

I want to be jealous of Maddi, but mostly she just annoys me with her plastic looks and superficial personality. The first conversation the woman ever initiated with me was about lip gloss. Then she blew me away with her follow-up discussion about her collection of yard gnomes.

Maddi lifts her hand and traces her long, fluorescent pink fingernail down Ray's shoulder. Charmed by her attention, he giggles with his entire body. The movement causes his glasses to slip from his nose. He pushes the wire rims back up with a single finger. Then he spins and grabs her bronze hand, planting a sloppy kiss on the back.

When he's around Maddi, his rigid facade softens to an irritating mush. But when we're alone, I only see his reserved side, the steel-layered version; the one that only notices me when I do something unacceptable—which in his eyes, is almost all the time.

Disgusted, I look away from them and shake my head, hoping to dislodge the image of adult foreplay. The inappropriateness of this whole scenario isn't something he's caught on to quite yet.

Returning to my isolation, I block them out and focus my attention on my cake. Slowly, I pluck off each candle, one by one, and lick the sugary globs of frosting off the ends.

For the final candle, I drag the end through the cream cheese icing, revealing the red velvet cake underneath. When I flip the end of the candle toward my mouth, the wick's flame suddenly flickers back to life. The small blaze burns my hand.

Startled, I drop it. It lands in my lap and I jump up, pushing my seat away from the table. The burning candle tumbles off my skirt and drops to the floor. I stomp on the small flame, smothering it beneath my shoe.

My heart pounds in my chest at the excitement, but I'm not hurt, just stunned. Without another thought, I pick up the pile of candles on my plate and drop them into my glass of water—just in case. The water splashes out of the glass, over the tabletop, and onto my skirt.

When I look down at myself, I'm not only soaked, but I find a large singe mark on my hem. _Great._

Ray is too enthralled with Maddi's flirting to have noticed my small dramatic event. If the flames had spread, engulfing me, would he have noticed? Of course not. If I'd set the fire myself, the answer would be yes. But in that event, I would have received a lengthy lecture, followed by yet another grounding. I huff in annoyance.

"I'm going to the ladies' room," I announce, leaning onto the table.

Neither responds. Neither flickers the slightest glance in my direction. _I'm invisible to them._ I roll my eyes and walk away.

I weave through the tightly packed tables of the restaurant. Farther away, in another room, dance music blares. Behind flowing white curtains, beautiful, scantily dressed people dance around a bar, drinks clenched in their hands. This is Miami Beach after all. I've gotten used to everyone looking like models: the men, the women, all perfect, all tall. My small frame shrinks, just standing in their proximity.

Through the undulating crowd, I lock eyes with a woman. Her cropped, jet-black hair frames her pale face, which instantly differentiates her among the tanned bodies. Her red lips contort into a frightening smile that sends uneasy chills racing down my spine.

I scowl and look away.

I push through the crowd and into a long, empty hall. I think I'm alone, but the sound of high heels clicks the tile behind me. This noise puts me on edge, and I turn to look, but no one is there. Strangely, the hall is empty.

I shove open the door marked Damas and walk in. The creaky door swings shut, instantly muffling the dance music.

At the sink, I run water over a paper towel and then repeatedly dab the wet brown blob to my skirt, trying to wipe away the blackened scorch mark. But the burned spot only crumbles into ash under my touch, leaving a gaping hole in the fabric. My favorite skirt is ruined.

Irritated, I launch the balled-up paper towel into a wastebasket. Of course, I miss. After I retrieve it from the floor and try again with better success, I turn my attention to a mirror. Two loose strands of hair have escaped my bobby pin. One strand is dyed purple. Not surprisingly, Ray hasn't noticed. I wonder when he will and how long he will ground me when he does. At least, _eventually_ , it will make him see me.

The bathroom door crashes open, knocking me out of my personal pity party. Two girls, drunk, fall into the room laughing. They hold each other up as they wobble across the room and smash into a stall.

Deciding nothing more can be done with my skirt, I turn to leave. The lady with red lips stands, guarding the exit. She crosses her arms over her chest and gives me a curious expression.

Even though she makes me nervous, I don't look away. I know that it's a sign of weakness, and I'm not weak. At least, I pretend not to be. So I stare back, giving her the expression of defiance I normally reserve for Ray.

Under the flickering lights, her black patent leather jumpsuit shines. It covers everything but her shoulders and long arms. She drops her hands to her sides and steps forward aggressively as though she might hurt me.

Panicked, I step back, trip over the trash can, and stumble into the wall. I look away to catch myself, but when I look forward again, she's gone, completely disappeared.

Confused, I spin in a circle looking for her, but only the two drunken girls remain. They giggle in their closed stall. One bangs against the dividers, and drops her clutch on the floor. A hand appears and scoops up the purse, and they continue laughing.

Where is she? Am I crazy?

I run for the door and shove it open. On the other side, the music and chaos hit me again. I wind my way back to my table, nudging past dancing models, all the while nervously looking over my shoulder for the Lady in Black, but she never reappears.

Maddi might as well be sitting on Ray's lap when I return. She kisses his ear and flips his dirty-blond hair, combing it over his bald spot with her fingers. Then she rubs his chest, pawing him like a piece of meat.

I throw myself back into my chair, wishing my friend Beth were here. At least she would have distracted me from Ray and Maddi's grope-fest.

"She's back!" Ray exclaims from across the table, gesturing toward me.

_You're back._ I force a smile.

"Sera, did I ever tell you about my collection of holiday hats for Mr. Whiskers," Maddi asks in her high-pitched, baby voice.

"Yes, I believe you have," I reply. _A few hundred times._

This doesn't stop her from detaching from Ray and pulling her massive, sparkling handbag from the floor. She rummages through the contents, piling the entire inventory of a pharmacy on the dinner table. Finally, a rhinestone-encrusted phone appears in her hand. Her pink claws scratch at the glass buttons, searching for a photo of her cat.

"Look how cute!" She holds up her phone, wiggling it around, making it impossible to focus on the photo of the costumed animal. An orange blur is all I can make out.

"Nice," I say through gritted teeth.

My gaze falls to the cake. They cut it without me, and a large portion is now missing. My lips turn down. Across the table, Maddi turns and feeds Ray a small chunk. A puff of icing sticks to his lips. She playfully kisses it off and they giggle, noses touching.

_Please, someone, make this night end!_ My fingers grip the sides of my chair. I want to lash out. I look for the cake candles, this time seriously, halfway, sorta, contemplating setting something on fire. The tablecloth? Myself? Anything that will get me out of here will do.

The thought is quickly replaced with another—disbelief.

The candles submerged in my ice water glow, blazing with flames. I lean in and squint to focus on them because I can't believe my eyes. Fire flickers from their wicks under water. _Fire under water!_ Smoke breaks through the water's surface and rises above our table, coiling gracefully through the air.

My eyes quickly scan the room to see if anyone else notices. That's when I spot her again—the Lady in Black. She sits perched on a bar stool, watching me. She tosses back her head, laughing as though she has something to do with the inexplicable flames. I blink a few times to make sure I really see her. Five blinks later and she's still there. Staring.

Who is she? And who does she think she is? I grimace. It's as though she's trying to scare me. Test me. Annoy me. What bravado I have kicks in, and I intensify the confrontation with an equally menacing stare.

One sculpted eyebrow lifts. The Lady in Black seems intrigued by my response. She slides off her bar stool and saunters toward me. Immediately, the crowd parts away from her, dancing out of her evil path.

When her onyx eyes lock on mine, a vile sensation overcomes me. Golden flames erupt within her eyes, instantaneously igniting matching, excruciating flames within in my own mind. Our eyes, our minds are now somehow bolted together, and I don't know how it's possible. When the fire intensifies, throbbing, burning, and racing through my thoughts, I want to hurl my body into the nearby fountain to extinguish the fire, just like I did with the candles. But I'm mysteriously paralyzed—frozen in hell.

The flames sear, crackle, and torment until they've reached what they've come for. A vague notion tells me they're intended to obtain information. A secret. But what it is or if the Lady in Black will find it, I can't tell.

Sparking blazes provoke my memories further, asking them to dance to life, and I try to scream. _Help me!_ But my internal emotions do not mirror my face, which is smooth and lifeless. Inches away, Ray and Maddi sit flirting. They're utterly ignorant to my suffering. I realize I'm on fire, impossibly burning from the inside out, but Ray still doesn't notice.

The Lady in Black pauses and cocks her head. Her red lips roll into a malicious smile.

I fight harder to untangle myself from her snare, wrestling for freedom. I want to get away before the fire and pain devour me, but when I mentally tug away from her, the strain leaves me nauseous and faint. Black dots multiply until they consume my sight. My body temperature plummets and, finally, I black out.

### Chapter 2: Transfixed

When I wake, I'm on the floor. The person standing over me is our waiter—I think. He's kind of blurry, and my head throbs with a headache. His manicured eyebrows pinch together as his mouth moves, but I can't decipher his words. I rub my temples with my fingertips, massaging them until the sounds return.

A moment later, Ray and Maddi stand over me. Maddi snaps a picture of me with her phone. The flash temporarily blinds me, confusing me further. I pray that she won't post the photo on the Internet, but I know she already has.

Ray looks concerned. _Is this what it takes to get his attention?_ He grabs my arm and pulls me from the floor. He and the waiter drag me onto a chair.

"What happened?" Ray asks. My face reflects back from his glasses, and I look as confused as I feel. "What happened, Seraphina?"

"What happened?" I repeat, but more for myself as I try to remember how I blacked out and landed on the floor.

_The Lady in Black._ "The lady!" Launching forward to stand, I scan the restaurant, every crevice, every shadow, but she's gone. Vanished.

"What lady?" Ray jolts, his eyes scour the faces, trying to understand.

"Calm down, Raymond." Maddi giggles, and smoothes down the shirt on his shoulders.

Drained, I collapse back to my seat. The waiter returns with a new glass of water and offers it to me. I drink it, all of it. The hydration seems to subdue my headache. It no longer pounds out of control. When he refills my glass, I chug again.

Ray's already forgotten about the lady, but I haven't. Her flaming black eyes are burned into my brain. I wince, recalling the searing pain.

"Are you all right?" Ray puts an awkward hand on my shoulder. He doesn't normally show affection toward me, so this is a breakthrough. And all this time I thought being difficult was the way to get his attention. Now I know I just have to pass out every once in a while. This revelation should make me chuckle a little, but it doesn't because my relationship with him is a sad one. I don't hate him for it. It's just the way things are.

"I'm okay." My voice sounds uncertain, even to my own ears. I exhale, trying to calm my mind. _The Lady in Black is not real. What happened, didn't happen._ These are words I want to believe, but I'm still not positive.

Ray hovers for a few moments longer, but Maddi has already returned to her glass of wine on the other side of the table. She sucks icing from each of her long fingernails. Gross. I close my eyes, unable to watch.

"I think this will make you feel better." Through squinted eyes, I see Ray walk back to Maddi. A small birthday bag appears from her handbag. He grabs it and places it on the table in front of me.

Polka-dotted tissue paper sprouts from the top of a hot pink gift bag. I know Maddi wrapped it because the closest Ray has ever come to wrapping something is leaving it in the bag he originally brought it home in.

Even still, Ray is clearly excited for me to open the bag. I can see it in his eyes. It must be the booze that's relaxing him—the booze and Maddi.

"Thanks, Dad." I called him Ray to his face once, and he grounded me.

"It's something special for your sixteenth birthday." He steps back and places a hand on Maddi's shoulder.

What I want is keys to a car. I perk up slightly, but only because the bag is about the right size, and I've been dreaming about it for months.

My hand plunges in, and I fish around the tissue paper. My fingers find what they expect—cold metal. I pull the object out as fast as possible. All the protective tissue flutters to the floor.

"Uh—thanks." My gaze drops to the gift, hiding my intense disappointment.

"It's not just any bracelet," Ray says with a wave of his hand. "It belonged to your mother." He sounds pleased with himself. He sits back down and leans onto the table, gesturing toward my gift.

"Oh!" My forehead creases as I scrutinize the bracelet closer. Although unexpected, I'm thrilled to have something, _anything_ , of Mom's.

"Thanks, Dad—it's perfect." I feel slightly guilty for hoping for anything else. "I didn't know there was anything left of Mom's."

"Well, your Aunt Mona borrowed it from her sometime before...before...you know. Anyway, she sent it to me last week, so you would have it for your birthday."

I'm caught off guard with Ray's token—a great gift—not a car, but something better. Sitting in silence for several moments, I study the bracelet, wondering about its previous owner, a person I never had the opportunity to know. Sighing, I tuck the newly cherished prize into the side pocket of my tote where it will be safe; a place where I can steal glances at it without anyone noticing.

My mind barely has time to enjoy the thought of the family heirloom before Maddi brings me back to the issue at hand. Her mouth takes off, lips racing, chatting with Ray about my fainting drama. This marathon continues all night until we exit the restaurant and wait for the valet to bring our car around.

We pile into the car and drive away. Maddi's finally on to a new subject, but I'm not. She's sufficiently worked me further into a paranoid frenzy. Now all I can think about is the reason for my blackout: the Lady in Black. The fire in her eyes will not leave my thoughts.

Resting my forehead against the car's window, I attempt to focus my attention elsewhere. I watch the colorful light display from the roof of the restaurant reflect off the night sky. The neon colors mesmerize me as they switch from blue and green to hot pink and orange, and back again.

Quaint little cafés and gelaterias dot the walkways through Miami Beach. The lush, tropical landscape around them sparkles with a million white twinkling lights. Racing down Alton Road, everything streams by us in a glorious golden light display. But the lights only remind me of the fire and the Lady in Black.

Her image continues to haunt me when we get home.

Instead of sleeping, I've nestled myself into the corner of my window seat. I position my body in such a way that I can see both my bedroom door and the front yard, just in case she decides to visit again.

The chair railing jabs through my pillow and into my back. The cushion beneath me constantly slides off the seat and onto the floor. In the middle of the night, I manage to accidentally rip down a curtain. It's wound tightly around my body like a blanket when I wake early in the morning. My face smashes against the window, drool drips down the glass, and I'm exhausted, stiff with cramps.

Through sleepy eyes, the bed across the room looks more reasonable than before, even though I'll have to give up my lookout. I take one quick glance out the front window, searching for the Lady in Black before I jump into bed and under the covers. When my head hits the pillow, my muscles instantly relax. Exhausted, I close my eyes, and ever so slowly, I drift to sleep.

•

A slow ache fills my lungs, and I cough several times. When I attempt to breathe again, the tainted air, thick with smoke, forces me to cough once again. My eyes pop open. Black clouds hover in angry swirls above. The snapping and popping of flames crackle nearby. My heart stops and immediately races in one short second. I vault from my bed, realizing our house is on fire.

Darting for the door, my only thought is that I must save Ray. _He's all I have_. When I grab the metal doorknob, its searing heat instantly singes my palm. I recoil, hissing, and let out a scream. That's when a malicious laugh ricochets through my room. When I turn to find its owner, the only thing out of the ordinary is my window, which is now wide open. Smoke races toward it, funneling out into the night sky.

Coughs shudder through my lungs, and I make a run for the window. Doubling over, I heave my body over the sill, retching until my lungs clear, and I breathe fresh air.

When I glance across my front yard, the Lady in Black stands with her head thrown back, sending a wicked laugh through the air. A slight whimper escapes my lips. I know she's come back, to finally finish me off.

"Sera!" Behind me, Ray screams my name.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Sera, are you awake?"

I suck in an agonizing breath of air and lurch forward. In shock, I grab my bedsheets. They slip between my grasping fingers. My pajama shirt sticks to my drenched back, and sweat-soaked hair coils around my neck. My heart races as though my dream continues.

It was just a dream.

The purple walls of my bedroom come into view after I blink several times. The room is bright with sunlight, not flames. Through a blurry sideways glance, I see Ray standing at my door.

"Bad dream?" he asks.

Breathless, I look around, confirming what I know has happened. I've dreamed about the Lady in Black.

"You were screaming in your sleep," Ray explains, and leans on the door frame.

"Was I?"

"Do you remember why?" He adjusts his stance and tucks the Sunday newspaper under his arm.

"No," I mumble, even though I do. There's no sense in alarming him. I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress. My bare toes skim the carpet.

"All right. Well, I'm getting ready to run to work for a few hours. What do you have planned for the day?"

"Just hanging around."

"Sure you're okay?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, sure." I look over my shoulder and smile, hoping to dismiss his concerns. I've come to the conclusion that I'm delusional, and the Lady in Black never really existed.

"Okay, I'll see you in a few hours." He turns to walk away, but comes back. "Oh, I forgot. You've got some mail downstairs on the kitchen table—from yesterday."

"'Kay." I nod.

Ray taps the newspaper to the wall a few times as a gesture of good-bye and turns to walk away. His footsteps disappear down the stairs. He opens the front door and leaves.

Yawning, I stretch my arms high above my head, lengthening my muscles and tensing my hands into fists.

"Ow!" I yank my hand back down to my eyes. A circular burn mark, red and raw, the same one from my dream, covers my palm. I squint, holding my hand up in disbelief. I gently glide a fingertip over the skin to make sure it's really there. The burn suddenly fades into a healthy pink, completely disappearing in seconds. I poke at the skin, thinking it will still hurt. But it doesn't because the burn mark is gone.

Outside, Ray's car door slams shut.

For some reason I decide I need to talk to him about this, show him my hand, and explain that I need psychiatric help. So I jump up from bed, rush down the hall, the stairs, and finally into the entry hall. By the time I burst through the front door, Ray is driving away. He looks over, honks his horn, and waves goodbye.

"Wait!" I yell, but he keeps driving.

I exhale with a moan, telling myself I'm not sure what I would have told him anyway. The conversation doesn't play well in my head. _By the way, Dad, I'm completely insane and see things that aren't there. Specifically, a lady in black, combustible birthday candles, and now burn marks on my hand_.

Another car drives by, and I remember I'm standing in the front yard braless and sporting rumpled pajamas. I quickly run back into the house and slam the door, turn the dead bolt, and fumble to chain the door. Next, I make my rounds through the house to verify that every door and window is locked. When I'm happy with the security of my fortress, I plant myself on the couch in the TV room. I don't bother with the remote. I burrow under a quilt, jolting at every creak the house makes until I fall back asleep.

When I wake up, I'm happy that I managed not to dream. Or, at least if I did, I don't remember it. I inspect my hand again, but of course, nothing is there because I'm crazy.

I stand up and head for the kitchen with the quilt wrapped around my shoulders. Its length drags on the floor behind me. I pour myself an orange juice and walk to the kitchen table to sift through the mail. There's one envelope marked Miss Seraphina Parrish.

The envelope is weathered but the paper is a lovely, shimmering silver-gray. Beautiful navy blue calligraphy scrolls across the front. When I turn it over, there's a wax seal with a fancy B embossed on it.

After shuffling back to the couch, I place my OJ on the coffee table and settle back into the cushions. Upon closer inspection of the envelope, the origin is impossible to make out. The stamp isn't from the U.S., the postmark is smudged, and there's no return address.

Flipping it over, I slide my finger under the back flap. The wax seal pops, releasing its hold. I slide out a piece of paper and unfold it, only to see that it's blank. On top of the paper sits a photo, one that immediately transfixes me.

### Chapter 3: Disappear

His eyes sparkle green, the color of a deep tropical ocean. A thick fringe of dark lashes surrounds them. His face pulls at me, even though I don't know who he is. He's beautiful on so many levels that I wonder if the picture is part of a dream, one infinitely better than the one I was having.

I stare at his face and see kindness. A charming grin stretches across his square jaw, abruptly ending at a dimple. One so small, I have to squint to see it. His hair is a disheveled chocolate brown, and there's a certain air of confidence in his posture. A confidence that far exceeds his age, which appears similar to my own.

I flip over the photo. There's no name, date, or any other inscription, so I tip over the envelope. Nothing further falls out. It's just a picture of a boy, one that instantly makes me want to know him.

I slide my finger down one edge of the photo. It's been trimmed from a larger photo. As far as I can tell, there's an arm of another boy draped across his shoulders. However, I'm just as unsure about why the two have been separated as I am about having received only this piece of the photo.

As perplexing as the photo is, I look at him for hours because I realize when I do, I feel safe. He helps me to forget about the Lady in Black and every other inexplainable thing that's happened. Even though I'm unsure who's sent it to me, what their reason, or if I will ever meet the boy, I'm grateful for the strange peace he brings me.

•

Ray comes home, and I'm still lying on the couch, cocooned in a blanket, slipping in and out of consciousness.

"So what's this?" He grabs the envelope from the coffee table and waves it in the air.

I sit up and yawn. "Oh, ah..." I stumble over my words. I can hardly tell Ray about a picture of a boy when I have no idea who he is. "An invitation for a holiday party," I lie.

"Oh, looks fancy," he says and tosses it back on the table. "But remember, you're grounded."

"I _know_ , Dad." I throw my head back and roll my eyes.

"Just want to make sure you remember."

How could I forget?

After making a pit stop in the kitchen for coffee, Ray meanders to his office. He stays there all day, working. I stay on the couch, taking advantage of the fact that I'm able to sleep peacefully.

•

Another week slips by uneventfully. I go to school, come home, do my homework, sleep, and get up and do it all over again. On Saturday, I rehang my curtain and manage to talk Ray into allowing me to return to practicing with my band members, despite the fact that I'm still grounded in every other way.

When school starts on Monday, I'm feeling pretty good. As flaky as it sounds, I acknowledge that the boy's photo might, somehow, be keeping me sane. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened since it appeared.

I manage not to peek at the photo all day, but by my fifth period government class, I can't help myself. I slip it from my pocket, just far enough to see his smiling eyes. _Crushing on boys you see on TV is okay, so this is reasonable, too. Right?_

Mr. LaSalle walks past toward the blackboard, his pants leg brushing against my desk. I quickly return the photo to my pocket, cross my leg, lodging my foot on my knee, and begin doodling on my Chucks.

The teacher paces in front of the classroom. His arms gesture with animation as he babbles about government structures. He calls on several students, awakening them out of their glassy-eyed daydreams, and finally his attention turns to me.

"Miss Parrish, please tell the class the definition of a communist government," he asks, after scribbling communism on the board in yellow chalk. He spins around quickly, trying to catch me off guard because he's decided I'm not paying attention.

I take a deep breath. "It's a totalitarian society structure which dictates all government policies, property ownership, jobs and wages, and distribution of goods based on the collective economic needs of the state with the goal to abolish social class divisions."

His mouth hangs open. "Where did you read that, Miss Parrish—from your tennis shoe?" Mr. LaSalle asks with a snort. All the students turn to look at me.

"No—I memorized it from our government book." I sit up a little straighter, happy that I studied last night.

He regards me for a moment, tapping a piece of chalk to his lip. But before he has time to respond or question me further, the bell rings.

Thirty kids, including me, immediately catapult from their chairs and rush to the classroom exit. The halls buzz with laughter and chatter. Locker doors squeak open and bang closed. I weave through the madness, heading for the outdoor courtyard. When I push through a set of double doors, releasing me to the daylight, I inhale and relax my shoulders on a deep exhale. For me, leaving school is like coming up for air. Somehow, I always manage to escape right before drowning.

I amble to my usual lunch spot, the furthest location allowed on school grounds. When I reach it, I settle on the grass beneath a low palm. The precise angle of the canopy of fronds protects me from the Florida heat.

Words for new song lyrics have circled around in my head all day. The only way they'll go away is if I write them down, so I poke around my tote for my pen and journal to make notes for my band members. When the pen eludes me, I dump the bag's contents out onto a patch of grass. As everything spills out, tiny lizards, previously camouflaged against their surroundings, scurry away in all directions.

Instead of a pen, a glittering object coiled around my sunglasses catches my interest—my birthday gift. With all my obsessing over the Lady in Black and my general insanity, I've forgotten about my mom's bracelet. This instantly makes me feel guilty.

Taking my time, I eat my sandwich and inspect the bracelet. Clearly, it's an antique—old, but in decent condition. A large square emerald sits in the center, complemented by a floral wreath of metalwork on either side of the gem. Diamond chips intertwine the details. I place it over my wrist. The hard convex shape resembles a cuff but in three linked sections. It fits perfectly. As I start to latch it, my thoughts are with my mom, Eliza.

After fighting with the clasp for several minutes, I remember myself and look across the courtyard to the clock. "Crap."

If I don't leave for Chemistry now, I'll be late for class. With today's impending test, I can't afford that. On top of everything else, Ray will kill me if I receive another detention.

Scrambling, I repack my bag then sprint across the courtyard, while trying to fasten the stubborn bracelet clasp on my wrist.

"Geez, Mom, how did you deal with thi—"

The last word never makes it from my mouth. A freezing gust of wind sucks the breath from my lungs. The ground shakes, violently jolting me from side to side. The earth twists and screams in a hideous, grinding noise under my feet. Behind me, trees crack in half, grass rips, and building foundations crush into themselves as the earth lifts high, rolling up into the blue sky. The land, which has turned into some kind of monster, hovers like a gigantic piece of paper folding over me.

Scared, I run faster, covering my face from the flying debris, but when I look up again, I freeze. The roof of my school building races down from the sky, ready to crush me underneath. I crouch down under its massive shadow, terrified, knowing I'm about to die.

The world slams shut over me, and an invisible force launches me forward at the speed of light into what can only be a wormhole. Confused, I struggle to reorient myself as a kaleidoscope of colors streaks by. Sounds become distant, muted, and warp into eerie whispers that call my name. When I recoil from them, my body bounces off a rubbery wall and explodes in a new direction through forceful winds. When I think it will never end, I abruptly collapse in a pile on firm ground.

Terrified and shaking, I remain doubled over on the grass for several moments. My lungs ache with ragged breathing. I force air in through my nose and out my mouth to calm myself.

I lift my head from my trembling hands. I expect complete silence because I'm certain lunch is over and sixth period has started by now. _Mr. Carver's door is already shut!_ "Uhh!" I groan and roll onto all fours, grasping long blades of cool grass between my fingers. Even though I'll miss class, I'm happy to feel the earth below, instead of racing downward from the sky to kill me.

People are laughing, talking, and moving nearby. And I decipher a curious new noise—city sounds.

Fuzzy objects slowly reclaim their shapes as I struggle to stand. My equilibrium is still off, so when I swing my tote over my shoulder, I stumble.

Worried, I grab my wrist and check for the bracelet. _Still there_. At least this relieves me.

My eyesight sharpens as I focus on my new surroundings. In the distance, a couple snuggles under a tree, but not a tropical palm, like in South Florida. I glance behind them, taking in the unfamiliar historical building. Turning, I see an exceptionally tall gold obelisk, similar to the Washington Monument. As I look up even higher, behind it stands a one-hundred-story-tall building, the John Hancock Center.

I gasp. My eyes open wide in disbelief.

I'm familiar with Chicago from my sporadic visits to Aunt Mona's, and I realize I'm looking at it right now. Shocked and perplexed, I scan again, still confused beyond understanding because Miami is gone—completely disappeared.

There are cars parked on a nearby road—old cars. I recognize their approximate age from a car show I attended with a friend. Then I notice that all the cars zooming past on the bustling city street are old, at least by twenty years.

My focus whips back to the couple in love. They're teenagers, but dressed like rock stars from twenty years ago, before I was even born. _Is that some new fashion trend?_

Cheerleaders practice handsprings on the lawn nearby. Their long, retro-style skirts touch their bare kneecaps.

Right now, I can't believe what I'm looking at. It's not only a different city, but it's also at least twenty years before. The thought is absurd. Ridiculous. Impossible. Because I can't even begin to process my predicament, I will my feet to run away.

I take off, racing away from the scene. The ground shakes below my feet. I increase my stride to escape it, but the quake worsens, jostling me from side to side. When I glance back over my shoulder, the menacing land rolls up toward the sky, blocking the clouds, the escaping birds, and finally the shining sun. It hovers above, like a crashing wave, and I'm beyond terrified. I pump my arms and run faster. _This cannot be happening again_.

The earth moans in pain as it collapses in on itself. Horrified, I crouch down where I am. I cover my ears, protecting them from the awful grinding sound.

When I glance up at the moving earth, I know I'm about to be crushed. But this time, the obelisk that once stood at the center of the courtyard, slices down from the sky, dagger sharp, ready to stab me. Just as its pointed apex skims my shoulder, I throw my body out of its path. The world snaps shut, and I drop through another wormhole.

My body tumbles through a prismatic haze of colors and whispers. Motion sickness takes over. I close my eyes. I don't want to see what happens next.

Slam.

•

I awake to a buzzing noise.

Am I dead?

My head hurts. Something crunches when I move. It's a bed covered with a roll of stiff white paper. Pungent disinfectant lingers in the air. I flinch at the same time that I heave myself into a sitting position. My wide eyes scan the cramped space. I'm sitting, ramrod, on a cot in my nurse's office at school.

The bell rings.

I jump, still on edge.

Even though I'm light-headed, I hop off the bed, tripping over my own feet. I grab my tote from a plastic chair and dart from the room, hoping to escape before Nurse Perez returns. How can I even begin to explain to her what has happened, especially when I have no idea how I ended up in her office in the first place?

The hallway surges with students. They chatter and laugh, heading to their next class. Disoriented, I receive a few shoves. Just as it occurs to me that I have no idea how many classes I've missed, someone's arm latches onto mine. Before my body can respond, my friend, Beth, pulls me forward.

"Quick!" she says and looks back. "We'll never make it to Carver's class if you move at this pace. We have a test—remember?" Her eyebrows arc over her brown eyes.

As confused as I am, I understand this: somehow, although I don't know how, I haven't missed anything. Beth drags me all the way to Chemistry because, under the present circumstances, making it on my own in my rattled state is impossible.

I collapse into my desk seat, toss my bag on the floor, and drop my head in my hands, rubbing my forehead. Despite a pounding headache and a nagging suspicion that I might be beyond mental, I need to focus on what I know is real—science.

Mr. Carver distributes the tests, and the quiet scribble of pencils begins.

For the next fifty-five minutes, I power through my chemistry exam, often dazing off in the middle of a problem, thinking about how the earth can fold over itself. Is that scientifically possible? No. Still, I finish in a timely manner and drop the test on Carver's desk.

The bell rings, and I exit the door, rushing to Beth's side. "I need to get out of here."

"Sure. Where to? The roof?"

I nod.

Together we creep into a hidden staircase behind building D, which empties three floors up and out onto a tar and paper rooftop. After determining the best spot, far away from the edge, we plop down with our bags in the shadow of a large air conditioning unit. From our hiding place, we have a wide view of Miami Beach.

Beth taps a single cigarette from a pack. She traps the cigarette between her lips and pulls it from the box. After two quick flicks from a lighter, she's puffing away. She blows a long trail of smoke into the air and then coughs a few times.

I slide the photo of the boy out of my pocket. He smiles back, but I quickly put him away when Beth glances over. There's no way for me to explain him to her. Besides, there's something I need to decide. Should I tell her about how the earth inexplicably rolled over and knocked me to Chicago? _No. Probably not a good idea._ How can I explain something I don't understand? Now, only a short time later, it just seems like a dream—an impossible dream.

Instead of revealing my insanity, I give her my "stop smoking" speech. I almost convince her to quit after explaining that her lungs will resemble the large pile of black tar that sits two feet away from us.

The sun disappears. I think that it's gone behind the clouds, but there are no clouds today. I look up. Mrs. Wilson, our school administrator, stands nearby, casting her large shadow over us.

Her beady gaze flickers between Beth's cigarette and me. Mrs. Wilson clears her throat and crosses her arms. Beth's hand sinks until her cigarette is hidden behind her back. She moves her arm back and forth, scratching it out on the ground.

"Nurse Perez has been looking for you, Miss Parrish. I hope you have a good reason for leaving her office." Mrs. Wilson frowns. Then one hand-drawn eyebrow lifts in question.

"There's always a reason," I say. "It's just not a good one."

Beth sniffs at my comment.

"Your dad has arrived to retrieve you." Mrs. Wilson's angelic voice continues, ignoring my remark. "I suspect he's here to take you to the hospital for your possible concussion. However, it seems as though you're healthy enough to skip class."

"Concussion? Hospital?" Beth questions, confused.

"Don't ask," I say under my breath.

I glance up at Mrs. Wilson. In the blinding sun, her stance tenses. She's waiting for my explanation, but I only shrug and look down. Arguing is such a waste of energy when you're caught red-handed. And what would I tell her? I needed to skip class because the earth crushed me at lunch?

Mrs. Wilson speaks into her walkie-talkie. "Tell Nurse Perez that I've found Miss Parrish, and she _appears_ to be fine." Her eyes give me the once-over.

"Miss Parrish, Miss Sanchez—let's move it to the principal's office. Now!"

### Chapter 4: Unexpected Move

"Sera, why do you find it so incredibly hard to keep yourself in class? You're too smart for this kind of nonsense!" Ray's shouts bounce around the interior of the car as we drive home from the hospital.

"You're right, Dad. Sorry." I don't bother defending myself. I simply admit guilt and accept whatever punishment he dishes out.

Ray just shoots one of his disappointed sideways glances and continues his rant. The intensity of his yelling seems directly disproportional to his driving skills. As he works himself into a frenzy, he becomes reckless, weaving in and out of traffic, cutting off other cars, and nearly sideswipes a tractor trailer. When I grip the dashboard with both hands and screech out loud, he takes the hint and finally slows down. The needle on the speedometer drops below sixty, and I relax into my seat.

He jumps across three lanes and veers off the highway onto our exit. The car slows to a stop for a red light, and the color of his cheeks fades from bright red to a normal color. Still, he's not done reprimanding me. He only moves his speech into more familiar territory: parental cliché. "I'm so disappointed in you. What would your mother think? Not under my roof." And my personal favorite, "You're grounded for life!"

I am, in fact, already "grounded for life" for at least the fifth time this year, and I would _love_ to know what my mother would think.

I try to play the obedient daughter, listening to his babble, but I've just found a new distraction: watching the sunlight reflect the most beautiful prisms off of Mom's bracelet.

As I trace a rainbow on my arm and tune out Ray's yelling, I contemplate my sanity. Did my little trip to Chicago actually happen? Or could it have been a dream, the result of being knocked out? At the time, it seemed so lifelike, except the part where the earth folded over to crush me.

I shiver in my seat.

That's it. I'm definitely insane.

Thinking back to the Lady in Black, the candles, and my burned hand, I wonder if this is how it starts for people who are going crazy. They slowly become delusional. Honestly, I just want to forget anything ever happened, so I picture the photo of the boy in my head, hoping he will send the crazies away. Since he showed up, I truly believed I was getting better.

The light turns green, and Ray takes off. I roll down the windows and let the warm air hit my face. The wind roars in the car, dulling the sound of his rants. _This is real life. What happened is impossible. There's a reasonable explanation._

After further contemplation, I side with common sense. Nurse Perez's story is completely possible. She explained that I have a humongous welt on my head from when a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound senior playing football tackled me in the courtyard at the end of lunch, knocking me comatose. Somehow I escaped without a concussion. I don't remember any of it, but it sounds good. Better than what I believe happened.

Chicago was a dream. It didn't happen.

Finally Ray drives into our neighborhood, Biscayne Bay Estates. When we pull into our driveway, music pours into our open car windows.

In my garage, Todd, my bandmate, wails on his guitar. He jerks in angular and rigid moves, flailing himself all over the orange shag carpet. His lanky body rolls around the floor. For drama, he kicks over an amplifier.

Beth beats on a set of drums in the back. Her moves, so fluid, look as though she's conducting an orchestra. When the beat of the music intensifies, she twirls her drumsticks between her fingers then thrashes her flat, dark hair.

Now that I'm re-grounded, I won't get to practice with the band for at least another month, so I take advantage of the moment. Ignoring Ray's threats, I jump out of the car and run in and grab the mic stand. Instantly, my body sways to the rhythm of the music. My lips brush against the woven pattern on the head of the microphone, and I sing. When I whip my hair into my face, strands stick to my mascaraed eyelashes. Lunging toward the ground, I sing louder, letting my music become my escape.

Ray yells from the car, but I ignore him; just for this song, I tell myself. I need this to forget. I need this for my sanity.

He turns his attention to Todd and Beth, scolding them from the open car window. Their music abruptly stops, and they scramble to pack their bags and quickly escape out the side garage door. The two run halfway down the block before Ray even hoists his body from the driver's seat.

"Seraphina Parrish—I _just_ told you, you're grounded!" He stomps up with a briefcase gripped in his hand and suit jacket flung over his arm.

"And what in the world is _this_?" His nubby fingers snatch a piece of my hair. "What did you do to your hair? When did you do this?" He flings the strand back down to my shoulder after he inspects it. "It's—it's purple!"

"Hair dye, Dad. Just a streak of color. No big deal," I sass. _It only took him a few weeks to notice_.

Thank goodness he can't see the belly ring I got on my birthday with Beth. He would lather himself with disinfectant at the mere sight of the less than respectable tattoo parlor on Washington Avenue.

Ray sighs, rubbing his forehead. He readjusts his glasses and glowers.

"Remember, grounded for another month," he says sternly and points to the house. When I nod with acceptance, he turns and stomps away, mumbling to himself about being "just like Eliza." He looks back a few times to give me the evil eye before exiting the garage into the kitchen. Like a child, he slams the door.

Truthfully, I'm not positive if I'm _like_ my mom, Eliza. Even now, all these years later, my mom remains an abstract memory. I'm not sure if the very few memories I have are more Ray's than my own.

In any case, I'm not dejected to be compared to her. It makes me feel closer to her to discover any personality traits we might share, even the stubborn ones.

•

At dinner, Ray still sulks. To keep chatter light, I drive the conversation clear of the afternoon's events. It's enough that he's talking and not yelling.

With the subject of school off limits, finding a topic to discuss is nearly impossible. Even his top secret, classified government job is off limits.

He exhales from across the table. His brow furrows, and he appears to be in deep contemplation. He takes a bite of his pizza, leans back, and chews, but he doesn't look at me. I know he's purposely ignoring me.

I take a gulp of water and turn my head away, letting my eyes focus on anything else but him. I feel guilty, but I always do after an "incident." Sometimes I do things without thinking. But mostly, I know he will finally give me the attention that I want when he catches me. If he just did that in the first place, things would be different. At least, I hope they would be.

In today's case, though, I'm innocent. I hadn't planned on skipping class. There was no malicious intent on my part. I truly considered it an honest act of self-preservation. At the time, I needed to sort out my personal craziness.

My glance shifts back to Ray. Our eyes meet uncomfortably, and I look away. I grab the Parmesan cheese and dump a pile on my pizza.

He's not a bad dad. He's just—I don't know—disconnected. For the most part, we get along, but for whatever reason his brain lacks an emotional connection to me. I don't hate him for it. He's always been the same. I just accept it. We're just two people who cross paths on occasion, but most often when I need discipline.

I do try to win his affection in other ways—normal ways. Although, I'll admit, it hasn't won me any points yet. Basically, I clean the house, make dinner, and maintain straight A's. So all this makes me wonder: who really cares if I dye my hair purple if I must juggle being a teenager and an adult all at once? At least when I do lash out, it reminds Ray who's the child and who's the parent.

"I like this pizza," he says unexpectedly. My mouth drops because usually, after a day like today, he'll give me the silent treatment. "But it's nothing compared to a Chicago deep dish," he muses, then steals a mushroom from the box and drops it on his tongue.

We've had this conversation a million times, but I engage him regardless. It will lead to a subject I _am_ interested in talking about—my mom.

"I think they both have something different to offer," I challenge. "You can't fold a deep dish in half like this." I cringe as I say the words, zoning out as I imagine the earth folding over on me.

"Sera?" Ray waves a greasy hand in front of my eyes. I snap out of it. To hide my mental lapse, I grab the slice from my plate, fold it longways, and cram half the enormous cheesy triangle into my mouth. My cheeks bulge so far away from my face that I can see them from the corners of my eyes. I chew in slow motion, smiling at him as tomato sauce drips from the corners of my lips.

"You look like a chipmunk!" He snickers. "A purple-haired chipmunk." He crunches his forehead and sighs, probably remembering he's still mad.

After some thought, he begins again. "Yeah, I suppose they both have their place, but there's nothing like the pizza I grew up on," he reminisces, brushing his greasy fingers through his thinning, dirty-blond hair. This makes the little hair he has left stand straight up. I cringe, scrunching my nose, and try to finish chewing. I want to laugh, but I hold it in because I know it will embarrass him, and cause him to stop talking. When I compose myself, I segue as stealthily as possible into the notoriously taboo subject—Mom.

"Did you and _Mom_ have a favorite pizza joint in Chicago—you know—when you were dating?" I take another bite.

"Nope, no. She, she—she—she didn't like pizza." He takes a slurp of his drink, curtailing the subject.

He's lying. I can tell when he repeats his words in a stutter, becoming nervous. It's how I learned the tooth fairy doesn't exist.

"Dad! _Really?_ She didn't like pizza? I don't know if I've ever met anyone who doesn't like pizza!" I raise my voice. The fact that he will never tell me anything about her annoys me.

He throws his napkin down and pushes his chair away from the table. I think he might jump up and leave to escape my questioning, but instead he folds his hands behind his head and leans back in his seat. He stares at the ceiling as though it holds all the answers.

"All right—if I recall," he pauses, sucking his teeth, "she liked Louis Guarino's Pizzeria. There's a location not too far from that fancy high school she attended. Are you happy now?"

"Immensely. Was that so hard?" I ask.

Ignoring my question, he jumps up from his chair, walks into the kitchen, tosses his napkin in the trash, and drops his dirty plates into the sink with a crash. He escapes to the adjoining family room. Falling back in his easy chair, he kicks up the ottoman, and stretches his legs. Next, he does what I expect him to—he takes out his phone and calls Maddi.

Her voice is so high-pitched, I can hear her squeaks from across the two rooms. He tells her he misses and loves her. The words sound soft and comforting. He has never told me either message with the same amount of conviction. I guess I should be sad, but I'm not. In a strange way, it gives me hope. Hope that there's some part of him capable of real emotion, even if it's not toward me.

To avoid further cross-examination, Ray dodges me for the rest of the night. So I spend the evening in my room. Alone. I'm used to it.

Despite having had the weirdest day ever, I adhere to my normal routine. Since I've come to the conclusion that I'm crazy, and the Lady in Black never existed, I unlock and open the window, allowing a warm breeze to roll through, ruffling the curtains.

As I do every night, I blast music and ransack my closet for a suitable outfit to wear to school the following day. After much deliberation, I settle on a pair of black jeans and a lace-embellished shirt. For shoes, I choose a pair of low pumps. Graffiti art wraps from the tip of the toe to the heel. A few months ago, I bought them from a street artist in the Miami arts district. Ray argued the selection, but of course, I bought them anyway.

I try everything on. When I step in front of the mirror, the ensemble pleases me. "Ray will see now just how great these shoes look," I mouth to myself. I twist in front of my reflection with my hands on my hips.

He has no imagination. He also bears no resemblance to me. Somehow I managed to dodge every dominant trait the man claims. My dark brown hair and athletic build were inherited from Mom. Curiously, no one claims the color of my eyes—a soft violet that people often mistake for blue.

Or—maybe—Mom did have violet eyes. I don't know for sure, and I have yet to ask Ray. Not that he would answer without a fight.

I own one black-and-white photo of my mother. It sits on my dresser, and I glance over at it. Our striking resemblance comforts me.

In the photo, she holds me in her lap, her laugh bright and frozen in time. Melted chocolate Easter bunny smears my chubby cheeks. I remember her cold silk pajamas brushing my skin, her warm breath on my head as she kissed me, and her fingers brushing my baby-fine hair. That memory, I know is my own. I have proof.

How different would my life be if she hadn't died? Would Ray have settled in one spot? You'd think he was running from something if he hadn't been moving for work.

I glance over at the boxes still stacked in the corner, yet to be unpacked from our recent move. Miami Beach is only the latest in a long chain of former homes: New York, Rome, Boston, Portland, D.C., and too many small, podunk towns in between to remember.

Even though I've made random friends I've made all over the world from Ray's haphazard relocation exercises, we rely on each other. I never intended to hurt him today. My guilt grows and I'm fighting a lump in my throat. It's not his fault I'm losing my mind.

I need to apologize.

After leaving my room, I tiptoe down the stairs toward his home office. To gauge whether his mood will allow for an interruption from his current enemy, I spy on him first.

When I near his office, I hear that Ray is on the phone. As I peek through the crack of the door, he appears shaken. His worried face hides, buried in his cupped hands. The phone sits precariously wedged between his ear and shoulder.

He whispers. Only parts of the conversation are audible. "I think you're right...it's time for her to come stay with you...something's happened...yes, yes, I know...she needs discipline...just like her mother...I've failed..."

### Chapter 5: Chicago

Ray waits weeks to tell me he's sending me to live with Aunt Mona in Chicago, and I know why. This allows less time for me to react. Even though I know the news is coming, I'm hurt when he tells me. I fight with him over the decision, but he's already made up his mind, and there's no changing it now. _He doesn't want me._

"Look, you love Chicago—you love Aunt Mona. Honestly, Sera, it'll be more of a treat than you deserve after being grounded so many times this year." His eyes plead with me to agree.

His statement is true. This, I don't argue.

Even with my heartache, I'm not completely put off by the thought of living with Aunt Mona. I've spent time with her in the past. And, as Mom's older sister, she's the closest thing I have to knowing my mom. Ray claims they're nothing alike, and I wonder about the truth of that statement. Mona doesn't bear any resemblance to me. But how different can she really be? They are—were sisters.

Although I don't show Ray, the thought of getting to know her better raises my spirits. In my mind, I resolve to soak up every moment with her, just as if she were my own mother. Sadly, I find myself reaching for anything that will let me hang on to my mom. I tell myself this is normal. I need someone to hang on to, even if that person is gone.

For Ray, I pretend to be overwrought with anxiety—but just for fun. It seems an appropriate farewell gift for him. He believes I have "teen angst." I'm happy to oblige. The new arguments I create give me more face time with him. And extra time is better than no time.

•

The day after New Year's, I pack one suitcase. It contains all my warmest clothes. Still, they won't be warm enough for Chicago's Siberian winter.

We drive west on the Dolphin Turnpike toward Miami International Airport. I recline my seat, stare out the window, and focus on the perfect cerulean-blue sky. In my mind, I say my farewells, but not to the city. I didn't live here long enough to grow attached, but I do enjoy the weather. The beaming sun, the palm trees—I relish them for now. I'm committing these images to my memory for later when I'm freezing in Chicago. Soon enough, I know I'll need them.

At the airport, Ray checks me in at the reservation counter. He gives me an awkward pat on the back and kisses me on the forehead. Even though I crave his affections, they don't feel right when I receive them. They feel forced.

"Try to be on your best behavior, Sera. I really would appreciate it. I don't want Mona to think I'm a complete failure at keeping you under control." He gives a weak smile.

I think he's happy to get rid of me. Now, nothing will distract him from Maddi. "I'll make sure she knows you're the best dad in the _whole_ world." My smile is overly bright, and my face scrunches with emphasis.

He cringes at my facetious comment.

"Really, Dad, you're the best. I'll be on my best behavior." I look down at the floor, guilty. This is the last thing I can offer him, my last shot at redemption in his eyes. I want him to ask me to stay, but I know he won't.

"All right, then." The smile on his face makes it seem as though he appreciates the gesture, but it still isn't enough. "Go jump in the security line. Call me when you get to Mona's. Have a good trip." He nods, then pushes back on his heels and turns to walk away.

•

Three nauseating hours of flying later, I arrive at Midway Airport. I'm not sure if I feel sick because I hate flying or because I'm leaving Ray. Either way, I'm depressed.

When I finally make my way to baggage claim, the conveyer belt never spits out my sticker-covered luggage. The empty carousel makes several rotations as I watch in horror.

Sadly, my only possessions now are the clothes on my back. My cell phone, winter coat, clothing, the boy's photograph, and Eliza's bracelet and photo are lost in travel limbo. My nose burns, threatening tears for the last few items. I hold my fingers to the bridge between my eyes and squeeze them away.

With the waterworks pushed back, I become angry with myself. _What a stupid thing for me to do, leaving the bracelet and photographs in my suitcase! What was I thinking?_ Annoyed, I pinch my lips together.

I spend an hour with the airline's baggage recovery. The snarky woman behind the counter informs me that my bag's whereabouts are unknown. In the end, I walk away seething and head off for my next connection.

After a long, freezing walk to the L train, a single seat remains in the last car. I wedge myself into it. I lean away from the large woman next to me and push myself against the fingerprint-covered plastic wall on my left.

The train takes off, wheels screeching below us.

With the train doors directly across from me, freezing cascades of air assault me at every stop when commuters enter and exit. I shiver, shoving my bare hands farther up into my long-sleeve cardigan, wishing for my winter coat. My teeth chatter.

Just a few more stops.

I glance over my shoulder out the window. The city grows larger on the horizon. Gray fog wraps the building tops. To forget my gloomy surroundings, I close my eyes and meditate on thoughts of the Miami weather. Maybe I'll feel warmer if I pretend hard enough.

Just as I'm about to relax on my imaginary beach, a grumbling, singsong noise disturbs my dream. I open my eyes to see a filthy bum charge through the adjoining car's door. He stumbles and falls with a thud at my feet. Commuters glance over at the man, but they quickly avert their eyes.

The bum lies on his back and breathes heavily. He laughs as though he's the only one here, and his throaty singing begins again. A pungent smell of alcohol and garbage permeate his stained clothing, tweaking my senses. I want to pinch my nose to block the stench, but that just seems rude.

The man rolls over and clumsily hauls his overweight body from the metal floor. That's when his eyes meet mine. He coughs wretchedly in my direction. I recoil, covering my face, but he takes his time to look me over. The doors open behind him. Freezing air rushes in. Commuters exit swiftly. The bum steadies himself.

"Wanderin' without yer coat, are ya?" he asks in an accent I can't place. He laughs hoarsely and wipes his runny nose on his sleeve.

The bum turns away and mumbles something. It sounds like, "Looks jes' like me." I'm not sure if I hear him correctly through his snot-covered words because I'm positive we look nothing alike.

Thankfully, his interest in me is fleeting. This relieves me and I relax, leaning my head back against the glass. Through a sideways glance, I watch the bum move on. His large body fumbles by annoyed riders. He grabs the car's poles for support when the train jolts. With unsure footing, he stumbles off into the next car. When he does, I swear I hear a strangely familiar voice say, "Hel-loo, Francis."

The train jerks again, bringing me back to reality. I realize I've missed my station. "Ahh! Stupid old man," I mumble. After a moment, I relax and remind myself that I can get out at the next station.

The train screams around a bend in the rail. I jump up early to stand at the doors. The train shudders to a halt. When the doors unfold, not only does the bitter cold hit me, but I also get an elbow-jab to the lip from someone who rushes past me from behind. The collision sends me flying through the doorway and onto the train platform's floor. I look to see the direction I know they've gone, but only freshly embossed footprints trail away toward the stairs.

Shocked, I lie in freezing snow. When I roll over on my back, exiting commuters trudge around me. Not one person offers to help me up. _I'm invisible to them too_.

The train doors slam shut, and the car screeches away. Rolling onto my knees, I push myself from the freezing floor with my numb, bare hands.

Three symmetrical drops of blood fall to the snow. I reach for my lip and run my fingertip over a gash. "Perfect!" I growl to myself and wipe my bloody mouth with my cardigan cuff.

This might be my worst day—ever.

My journey continues through the slush-covered city streets toward my next train connection. The relentless wind whips powdery snow through my hair and into my face, making my skin numb and my eyes dry and irritated.

Every so often, I dab my cuff to my lip, but the blood has stopped oozing. It's probably a frozen scab by now.

Tired of my chattering teeth, I take a detour through the Marshall Fields building. Inside, tourists blissfully absorb all nine floors of shopping while I walk through, attempting to regain feeling in my body. I'm tempted to stop and shop, knowing it will improve my mood, but Mona will be worried if I don't show up soon.

Reluctantly, I exit the department store onto State Street. After treading past commuters' bundled shapes, I duck into the entrance for the underground L, being careful not to slip on the slushy stairs. Below the street's surface, the temperature is just as cold, but at least the wind isn't blowing.

Sterile tiles cover the station walls. Buzzing fluorescent lights, with their putrid glow, suck the color out of every passing face. Colors here are bleak and depressing, the complete opposite of Miami. It will take some getting used to.

I stop at a glass-encased map to find the correct train platform. When my bare finger slides along the red line route, a reflection in the glass catches my interest, so I turn to confront it.

A million shimmering flakes float from a nearby darkened hallway. At first, they roll gently into the cold air and then faster as the seconds pass. Each particle finds a spot, but not on the floor as I expect. I watch, fascinated by their mysterious beauty, as the molecules solidify into a solid framework—a shape. Now that I see what they form, I'm confused and scared.

### Chapter 6: The Gang

My jaw falls slack because there's no way to contain my awe. The flakes form into a group of people—a gang. They take one step forward in unison. Steadying themselves, their furious gazes fall on me.

Confused by their presence, I focus on the short boy in front dressed in dark, dank clothing. He mouths something so slowly that his snarling lips articulate the sound of each and every letter, but I read them as though his silent words blast as loud as a battle cry. "Kill her!"

The group accelerates in my direction. No, not just toward me, but after me! I hesitate for a split second, my brain slowly realizing their intentions. _They're coming after me. Run!_

Sucking in a forced breath, I pivot to run in the only available direction, toward the packed train platform. I plow into oncoming commuters, now thankful for the lost bag that I should be towing. My hands clench, and I pump my arms, willing my feet to pound the pavement faster.

I just begin to gain ground when the oncoming crowd of commuters thickens, slowing my movements to an agonizing pace. When I look over my shoulder, the gang closes in.

With new determination, I dart around a corner. Mercifully, the wall of bodies parts into a valley, and I dash through the divide, praying it will close up behind me, blocking my attackers.

Rushing forward, I vault over a set of ticket machines. My feet slam the ground on the other side. The landing sends a piercing pain up my shins and into my knees. Before I take off again, someone grabs the back of my cardigan. I pull forward, trying to get away, but their greedy fingers stretch my sweater like taffy.

Instinctively, I turn to look at the person holding me captive. As I do, my palms and knees hit the floor in momentary shock. _My boy_ , the one from the photograph, stares back with his sparkling green eyes. With a flustered expression, he lifts one finger, pressing it to his lips, urging my silence.

I'm confused and relieved all at once. Somehow his image calms me, just as it has before. As I begin to smile at him, the gang yells at us from a distance.

"There she is!"

The boy's chin juts in their direction. When I follow his line of sight, I see the gang is closer. My eyes dart back to my boy in confusion. _Is he one of them?_ I don't have time to figure it out.

I look down at his hand. He's clenching my sweater, so I strain away from him, pulling farther, twisting and turning until my arms extract from my sleeves and I'm free. With my bare arms now exposed, they swing freely by my sides as I launch into a full sprint. Glancing back over my shoulder, the gang descends on the boy, but before I see what happens, I hurl myself back into the crowd, hopefully disappearing from their view.

A new train rolls to a stop. If I time my escape correctly, I can jump on and ride away before the gang catches up again. I race to the front car and take a quick glance back.

I collide with someone. Their arms fling themselves around me in a cage grip. In response, I tense my muscles and thrash my body, willing myself to break free. The person won't let go. I'm trapped.

"Seraphina—Seraphina, what's wrong? It's me."

When I recognize the voice, I look up at her, my hands still clenched, and I'm on the verge of tears. Aunt Mona's hands release me and move from my waist to rest on my shoulders. She attempts to calm me by placing her face level with mine.

"What's wrong?"

I stand, confused, staring at her lightly crinkled eyes. It takes several seconds to really see Mona, to understand she's really here.

I need to protect us.

I turn, shifting square in front of her, to defend us from the gang. They must be right behind us by now, so I'm ready to punch or kick anyone that nears. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I start to shake. Trembling fingers brush tangled hair away from my face so I can scan the crowd over and over. I quickly realize they're gone. Vanished.

When I turn to face Mona, my body starts to shake uncontrollably. Mona defines the tremors as hypothermia because she instantly rubs her mittens up and down the length of my naked arms to warm them. Right now, I wish the friction would start a fire, but the thought makes me think of the Lady in Black, and I know if I had to choose, I'd rather be cold.

"Where's your coat?" Mona demands.

I remain silent, still confused by the serendipity of our meeting. Jittery, my eyes flicker around. I'm sure the gang will appear again at any moment.

"Where's your luggage? What's happened? I was worried, so I came looking...you didn't answer your phone." Her questions and concerns come faster, but I'm still nervously scanning for trouble.

Mona pulls my face toward hers. "Seraphina, are you okay?" she asks. Concern flashes in her eyes, but I can't answer. I realize I'm still breathing too hard from running.

Mona shimmies out of her coat and wraps it tightly around my body. She pulls me into her arms and guides me through the open train doors. She takes a final glance over her shoulder at the station, probably to ascertain what I was running from.

I know she won't see them. The gang has disappeared, just like the Lady in Black. I force their images out of my head. _The gang is not real. I'm crazy._

Mona and I sit in silence on the train. As the city speeds past us, she studies me. I stare blankly out the window, failing to understand what's happening. The lady, the candles, my hand, the boy, the moving earth, the gang—if one more unexplained thing happens I might crack in half. With chattering teeth, I burrow farther into her quilted coat, wishing I could hide away.

"Where's your luggage?" Mona's questions begin again.

"The airline lost it," I mumble.

She nods.

"My cell phone and coat—they're in there," I explain. "Sorry, I should've found a pay phone and called. I didn't think it would take me this long to get to your house." I look down at my feet.

"What happened to your lip?" She points, her eyebrows knit with concern.

I already forgot about that.

"Commuter in a rush to get somewhere, I guess." I shrug. "They elbowed me." I place a finger on my lip. It throbs under the touch of my freezing skin.

Her eyes soften. "Well, we'll get some ice on it when we get home." I cringe at the thought of purposely putting something frozen on my body after today. Mona leans in to look at the wound. She eases back and crosses her arms. She must be getting cold by now as well.

"Why were you running back at the station?"

This question is difficult to answer. Should I worry her and tell her the truth: _I'm crazy._

"I thought I was going to miss the train." My lips press into a tight line. I hope she won't see through my lie.

"Well, I'm just glad you're here." Her voice is sincere, in a gentle, parental way, a way in which Ray would never speak to me. She wraps her arm around my shoulder and squeezes.

"Me, too." I tuck my head into the corner of her neck. For some reason, I know I'm safe with her.

Thirty minutes later, we exit the L train and walk to Mona's home in the city. Thankfully, it's only a few blocks away.

She lives alone in a Victorian brownstone. The facade is pine green and heavy, but the windows arch, looking like a face with surprised eyes. Although covered in snow, her city-size front yard reveals her passion for covering everything with mosaic glass.

I consider Mona a free spirit.

"Hippie," Ray called her once.

She's well read and well traveled; one can easily make the assumption upon entering her home. Items collected from all over the world make up her eccentric decor.

A well-worn red Persian rug lays centered in the main room underneath a Venetian glass chandelier. A rust-colored velvet couch and two opposing modern chairs complete the seating area. The extremely high-reaching ceiling and mayonnaise-yellow walls act as a quiet backdrop for her fifteenth-century medieval tapestries and modern Kandinsky painting.

An old trunk serves as a coffee table. Amazonian shrunken heads, a Neolithic fertility goddess, white marble busts of her favorite poets, and tenth-century Chinese porcelain decorate the living room like everyday tchotchkes. Finally, a ten-foot-high totem pole, carved from red cedar, sits in the corner, guarding the bright, lofty space.

I only know about these things because Mona has told me the story for each.

Mona leads me to my room, up two flights of stairs and past her library, which houses an expansive collection of antique books. We pass several closed doors, rooms that I had never bothered to investigate in the past.

"Well, here it is," she says as she pushes her way through the guest room door. "It gets nice light." She walks over and pulls open the curtains. "And it has a fabulous view of the city." She gestures out the window, then tucks a lock of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear.

"This is great, Mona. Thanks." I smile back, hiding my sadness.

"We'll pick up some necessities from the store tomorrow to replace what you've lost." She crosses the room to the closet. "I guess we're lucky you'll be wearing uniforms to school. I picked them up yesterday." She pulls one out for my inspection and holds it up.

"Cool." I nod, but it isn't. The uniform is ugly. I'll have to do some serious accessorizing.

"Also," she adds, "ignore the box of Christmas lights on the floor. I'll put them in the attic tomorrow." She gestures toward the pull-down stairs at the ceiling. "I just took them down earlier."

"Sure, no problem. I'll help."

"That would be great." She hesitates. I can tell she's gauging my mood. Then she continues cheerily, "So, I'll run downstairs, grab an ice pack for your lip, and call Ray. He'll be relieved you finally arrived." With that, she slips into the hallway. Her footsteps disappear, descending the stairs.

On so many levels, I'm lost. Lost in my new space. Lost in my thoughts. Lost from my father, my mother. Each thought pushes me further into depression.

Because I have nothing else to do, I walk the room, inspecting the furniture, the photos, and the view. Finally, I sit on the bed. If my travels had gone as planned, I'd be unpacking my suitcase, settling in with some sense of permanence. Instead, I'm confused about my sanity.

Turning, I crawl into the sea of throw pillows scattered on the bed and collapse into mush on my stomach. Although I don't want to, I need to mentally catalogue all my strange occurrences over the previous months. Just thinking of them brings tears to my eyes.

First, the very scary encounter with the Lady in Black. I've tried to forget about her since my birthday, convincing myself that our meeting never transpired. The thought of her fishing through my mind, burning my brain from the inside, makes me shudder. The candles, the nightmares! _Ugh—moving on..._

Secondly, my unplanned excursion to Chicago. The "trip" happened before Ray ever decided to exile me to Mona's house. After being knocked unconscious, maybe I dreamed about the trip? Or maybe I experienced some kind of freaky psychic premonition. Something to consider, no matter how unlikely, I suppose.

Thirdly, the gang of dirty teens. I exhale heavily, remembering the physical effort it took to outrun them. Should I add the boy from the picture to this group? I have a feeling I shouldn't because I've spent all this time allowing his photo to console me. Even after today, it seems as though he came to help. But still, I'm unsure.

What did the Grungy Gang want? I had no purse, nothing to steal. The most perplexing, impossible part seems to be their arrival: sparkling flakes of dust. How could something so beautiful turn into something so terrifying? _I must be losing it._

My eureka moment fails to arrive before Mona strolls into the room to baby me with an ice pack. It's a perk I would never receive from Ray, so I accept her attention with gratitude.

She sits down, and the bed creaks. "I hope you don't mind using a bag of peas." She hands over the frozen produce. Only Mona's rich voice can make such a statement sound sophisticated.

"Works for me. Thanks." Placing the bag on my lip, I flinch. It's freezing.

"I'm so happy to have you here. It'll be great fun to have some girl time. Sometimes it gets so lonely by myself." She squeezes me with one bony arm. "There are so many fabulous things to do in the city—" Her eyes light up with excitement. "Art galleries, Millennium Park symphonies, and the music festivals. Oh, the music festivals are amazing!"

"Sounds pretty cool."

We chat for some time, warming up to each other. Being around Mona is easy and unforced, the perfect balance between guardian and child. This is the exact opposite of my relationship with Ray. Maybe this is how life would've been with my mom? I smile, letting this one thought make me happy.

I ask Mona the color of Mom's eyes.

Mona peers deeply into my own. "It looks as though," she pauses, seemingly pulling the memory from her mind, "they were just a shade darker than yours." She smiles. She never denies me any info about Mom, and I'm grateful to her for that.

"I figured, but wasn't totally sure. Ray—I mean, Dad—doesn't talk about her much, ya know?"

"Yes, I know, and I'm quite sorry about that. He truly loved her, and I fear it's still very painful for him to bring up the old memories. So try not to hold it against him."

I ponder her statement. Ray has been through quite a lot, but I was too young to remember the life-altering events: a tragic car accident took Eliza's life, then not much later, a house fire claimed all their possessions. His consolation prize for a life turned upside down—me.

•

Ray disowning me between semesters works to my advantage. I can now make a fresh start at the prestigious Washington Square Academy. More importantly, it's the same high school my mom attended.

I suspect the establishment will be about as boring as their navy blue plaid uniforms, which, if I might add, don't look too horrible with some vintage costume jewelry, courtesy of an early morning raid on Mona's jewelry box.

After a short, body-numbing walk with Mona through the winterized city streets, we turn the street corner, revealing the campus in the distance.

I stiffen with shock.

For some reason, I hadn't thought too much about what the school would actually look like, but I should've known. Simply connecting the dots would've allowed me to mentally prepare because this is now the _second_ time I've laid eyes on the golden obelisk, its courtyard, and the surrounding buildings.

Mona doesn't notice my hesitation, and I quickly catch up with her. Inwardly I want to cry, but on the outside, I force the acceptance of another ludicrous occurrence.

Walking into the campus, I compare it to my memory—which is surprisingly hazy. I dismiss this fact because, with a supposed knock to my head, I hardly had a chance to take in my surroundings clearly. _Wasn't this part a dream?_

Contrary to the first encounter, a heavy layer of windswept snow nestles around the structures. Two large French-inspired buildings mirror each other. The golden obelisk stands between them, pointing upward into the heavens. The configuration, minus the snow, reminds me of a piazza in Rome. Curious students peek out at us through the ornate arched windows of the east building.

"It's a beautiful campus, is it not?" Mona asks, misinterpreting my awe-struck face.

"Beautiful—and huge." I look between both buildings. "There must be tons of students."

"I believe it's the grand architecture that makes the school appear larger than it really is. Fortunately, all your classes are in the west building. So it will be quite easy for you to navigate."

I follow Mona up the overwhelming front staircase, under the columns, and through the ornate entrance doors. The interior is even more exquisite, feeling like a five-star hotel rather than a school.

An intricately woven royal blue and gold rug extends the length of the building. It abruptly ends at a roaring fireplace. I can feel the heat radiating from a hundred feet away. Instantly warm, I slip off my coat as I walk around, taking in the murals and the marble columns lining the hall.

Mona delivers me to the first glass-etched door on the right. She hands over my schedule, a photocopied map, and then wishes me good luck with a hug. She leaves, heading to her office in the library. She's the head librarian for the Academy.

I take a deep breath and open the door. When it creaks open, I stop in my tracks, taking time to soak in the room. Its decor challenges any preconceived notions I've ever had about what a classroom should look like. A fireplace sits on the far wall, smaller than the previous, but with more intricate stone designs. Large wingback chairs with fold-down desktops wrap around the room. A Victorian-style chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling. If there's a chalkboard, or anything else that resembles a classroom here, I can't find it.

"Hello, you must be Miss Parrish." A bug-eyed teacher with wiry hair scurries to greet me.

"Yes." I nod.

"Welcome, Seraphina. I'm Señor Belmont. Why don't you take the empty seat in the corner?"

Nodding in acceptance, I walk to my new seat. The other students' eyes follow me. My face flushes, but it shouldn't. I've walked the path of the "new girl" a thousand times before, so I do what I always do: I stand up straight and look ahead. After gingerly taking my seat, my eyes drift out the nearby window until everyone's attention returns to their previous activities.

The girl next to me struggles to inch her chair closer to mine. She leans into my personal space and introduces herself.

"Heya, I'm Macey DuBois." She makes the statement more with her huge, expressive chocolate eyes than with the actual words.

"Sera Parrish." I lean back. Her large dark curls touch my arm. With my chair pinned against the wall, I can't move back any farther to escape her.

"So—tell me—where do you hail from, Sera?" she asks and bites on her pencil.

"All over, really." I lean another direction, to hide my unease. "But most recently, Miami Beach," I add.

"Oh—my—gosh—Miami? That is sooo much better than this arctic freezer. You have to tell me all—about—it. Is it true that all the celebrities have mansions there?"

Before I can answer, Mr. Belmont begins Spanish class. Still, this doesn't stop Macey from making me promise to tell her every single "oh-my-gosh" detail at lunch.

•

The school week goes by, but not as I expect. The elegant decor of the Academy still overwhelms me, but the fact that I almost feel as though I fit in scares me more. Until now, the feeling of belonging has eluded me in every place Ray and I have tried to call home.

This place, it's different. The school, the people, and the city—they draw me in as though I'm on the cusp of something important, and I'm here for a reason. However, I can't completely explain this feeling to myself. Something skims past me daily. I feel it. What it is, I don't know. I just know I'll find it soon.

The new sense of belonging is further aided by a sense of permanence because Ray has agreed to let me stay here until I graduate. I no longer look at my situation as temporary.

With the winter weather so hideous, I even find the will to stop skipping class. For now, at least, sitting and listening to lectures while soaking up the warmth of a toasty fireplace is preferable. There's one in every classroom.

Macey, despite her personal space issues, turns out to be pretty cool. Her sunny and energetic personality attracts lots of friends, which I benefit from. Through her I've already met Xavier Blackburn, Agnes Lane, and Scarlett Thierry. The three play in a band and have invited me to jam with them.

For two weeks, my craziness seems to subside. I find myself completely content with my new surroundings—happy, even. In fact, everything's great until I see _him_ again.

### Chapter 7: My Stalker

It's Thursday. Señor Belmont stands in front of the class conjugating verbs. When I glance out the window, _he_ stands in a brown corduroy pea coat, staring up at me from the courtyard. A black beanie covers his head, while his warm breath exhales silvery clouds that swirl around his face—his very beautiful face.

The thought of him outside my window should put me on edge because I'm still unsure whether he falls into the category of friend or foe. However, I'm completely calm with him here. I realize this is a completely irrational, irresponsible thought with so many unexplained questions. How has he found me? Who is he? Who sent me his photo? And why is he here?

When I sink into my chair, heat rushes into my cheeks. I lean into my schoolwork and try to concentrate. Before I realize it, my eyes drift back to the frost-rimmed window, and I'm staring back at him. His face isn't as unreadable as it was at our first meeting. In fact, he smiles back in a crooked way, the same charming way he did in his photo.

When Mr. Belmont walks past, I pretend I'm working, but really I'm thinking about the boy, wondering about him. Something pulls me toward him, and even when I look away from the window, I see him in my mind. Here, while I sit in class, his perfect image blocks any attempt at studiousness.

Now that I can inspect him from afar, he doesn't really appear to be dangerous. I decide that when he grabbed my sweater that day at the L, he must have been trying to conceal me from the Grungy Gang. He really meant to help.

He's visited every morning this past week. I try to ignore him. Despite his good looks, his daily appearance is starting to creep me out a little. It should be, anyway.

The thing is, every morning he just stares, like he's trying to communicate with his eyes. He waves this morning, and I'm so sure his gesture is not for me that I hunch back into my seat, mortified. When I get up enough nerve to look back out, he's still there, digging his hands into his pockets, looking back up at me with those eyes. Even from this far, they leave me unhinged and giddy. Quietly, they ask me to join him, and I decide that tomorrow, I just might.

•

I'm a block from the school when the morning bell rings in the distance, making me late for first period Spanish. But timing is essential if I want to accidentally run into Stalker Boy.

Maybe this is a mistake. He seems friendly, but what do I know? I do call him Stalker Boy for a reason. What if he is dangerous, like a real stalker? Or he really is part of the Grungy Gang? There's no way to be completely sure.

My brain is off, running in frantic directions. Now I'm positive this is a stupid idea. I'll confront him and he'll kill me, or I'll go and find he's really been staring at someone else every day. That would be extremely embarrassing.

When I finally step into the courtyard, my nerves are wound so tight I might explode. I decide to let the meeting play out. Whatever happens, happens. This is the best I can do. He's just a boy, and I'm just a girl. A very stupid one.

I stop in my tracks and scan the snow-covered courtyard. He's not here, anywhere. I relocate to the corner of the school, lean against the building, and crouch behind the bushes. I'm freezing, but from this vantage point, I can get a clear view of the boy if he shows up, without him knowing.

Snow crunches nearby. I hear one step and then another. Someone walks up behind me, and I know I'm busted. _Crap!_ What will it be? Detention? Expulsion? A teacher? The principal? Mona will be so ticked.

I refuse to look up right away because I'm formulating an excuse in my head. Quick, I need something. But it's too late. A strong presence stands over me. The towering person casts a shadow around my feet.

Whatever the penalty is, I can take it. So I look up as though I have nothing to hide.

Stalker Boy stands just inches from my face. His ocean-green eyes hold such intensity, I'm not sure if I should be scared or mesmerized. The bright green of his eyes contrasts with the darkness of the thick fringe of eyelashes that surround them, making them appear even greener, if possible. They remind me of the sea glass. The kind I'd find on the beach in Miami when I'd skip class. Little shards of milk chocolate hair peek out from under his beanie cap. From this close, I realize he's much taller than I, and his features are mature.

His perfect, square jaw moves to say something. His words roll through the cold air in silvery clouds and land on my face like a soft, warm kiss. Everything moves in slow motion. I blink. He's even more beautiful up close, but there's no sound where his words should be. I've tuned out everything completely to focus on his sublime face.

There's a magnetic force pulling me toward him, and I realize the charge has scrambled my mind, altering my attention span.

_Wait. What? What did he say?_ "Huh?" I ask, stupidly. I refocus on his words. My brow furrows.

He enunciates the words slowly this time. " _I said_ , what the bloody hell are you doing here? Are you trying to get me in trouble?"

"What?" _Is he serious? Strange for him to accuse me of getting him in trouble! I'm the one skipping class._ I stand speechless and keep staring. I think he might start explaining himself and his stalking ways. He doesn't. Instead, he grabs my arm, yanks me around the corner of the school, and shoves me into an exit alcove.

"Don't move!" He points a finger in my face. By this time, I'm in too much shock to do anything else but stand here. I realize he is dangerous, and no one will see if he kills me now.

Scared, I shake. Stalker Boy paces back and forth.

"If you don't tell me what's going on, I'll scream!"

His expression instantly switches to shock. He rushes toward me. "No, please!" He places his palms on my arms and pulls me close. It's hard to concentrate again.

"Why?" I mumble.

"They can't know that I'm talking to you," he says. Something in his eyes says he's not here to hurt me, and I realize the thought is one I fabricated on my own from almost no information. I've blown everything out of proportion, as usual.

His eyes plead for my silence, instantly making me melt. For some reason, I grab his hands. They're warm and bare despite the weather. Heat pulses through them and into me. Locked in another world, we just stare at each other, saying nothing, but silently sharing everything.

After a long moment, he clears his throat, drops his grasp, and digs his hands into his pockets. I use my hands to straighten my coat and compose myself as though nothing's happened.

"You're not going to hurt me?" I cross my arms. I want to confirm it, regardless.

"Of course not!" He chuckles as though it's a funny thought.

"Why can't you talk to me, then?" All I want to do is talk to him—to know everything about him.

A door slams in the distance. His head jerks anxiously back and forth from the front to the back of the building. _He really is afraid of being caught with me._

"Have you wandered yet?" He ignores my question and asks one of his own. An edge of desperation creeps into his voice.

My eyebrows pinch together at the question. I'm not sure if I hear him correctly.

"Have you wandered?" He repeats the question, rushing his words as though he's running out of time.

I stand speechless at his choice of words. Even though I have no idea what the question means, I sense that "no" is the wrong answer.

"What do you mean, _wandered_?"

"I guess that's my answer," he says, looking wounded. Even still, his velvety British accent makes his distress sound beautiful. He shoves a piece of paper into my hands, pivots, and quickly retreats.

He's upset. Somehow, I've hurt him, and I don't even know how.

"Wait! What's your name?" I call after him and reach out my arm as though I want to pull him back. He only glances back with sad eyes. They ask me to understand, but I don't. Our meeting only confuses me further. He disappears behind the Academy building and into the trees.

My mouth hangs open. How can he leave when he hasn't explained anything about his photo, who the gang is, or what wandering is? As I reflect, I realize he's the second person to use the term "wandering" since I arrived. The disgusting bum on the L train, Francis, someone called him, said the same word—wandering. What does Francis have to do with this? He isn't on my list of weird occurrences. Should I put him there?

Now there are only questions and no answers. Annoying. What the freak is "wandering?" And why are the now-renamed _British_ Stalker Boy and Francis Germ Bum asking about it? This creates a new category. Together, they fit neatly in it, but my list of weird is growing:

Lady in Black

Chicago premonition

Francis Germ Bum

Grungy Gang

British Stalker Boy

Wandering

I exhale, frustrated.

I look down at my hand. The piece of paper the boy gave me crunches in my grasp. It's an envelope, a piece of mail. When I look closer, I see it's one of Aunt Mona's electric bills. What's the boy doing with this? How does he even know where I live? My stomach twists, leaving me queasy.

A green sticky note hangs from the back of the bill. On it, crappy boy handwriting scratches across the paper. I scan the notes. They are directions of some sort.

1. Stand in the front, east corner of the Strovels' yard. (Address - 125, next to Mona's house)

2. Hold this piece of mail and concentrate on Mona, and only Mona. ("Mona" is your keyword)

3. Run as fast you can in a straight line going west.

4. Sit down behind the hedges, be very quiet, and listen.

5. Return after you hear what you need to hear.

6. Repeat number two while running in the opposite direction to return home.

The only thing I'm sure of is that British Stalker Boy intended to give this to me today, but what it means, I'm not sure.

### Chapter 8: Act of Idiocy

It would be nice to spend a day at school where I actually get to think about, well...school. Instead, I sit in class and find myself contemplating a stupid note and its very hot messenger. Just the thought of his silky voice warms me all over.

Why would I want to run around the neighbors' yard with Mona's mail? And why is someone I don't know instructing me to do so?

Is this some strange prank everyone is playing on the new girl? I glance around the class, taking in each individual student's face, to see if anyone breaks into as little as a smirk, but no one does. I hoped someone would because a prank would be easier to deal with.

Macey leans over when the teacher walks out of the room in sixth period. "What's with you today? You've been in a funk all morning." She pulls her hair back into a low ponytail. With a few quick movements of her fingers, she secures it with a rubber band.

"I dunno. Just got a lot on my mind, I guess."

"Like what?" she pushes, picking up her pencil and playing with it.

"You know, the usual girl drama." I give a weak smile because I know as soon as the words leave my lips, this information will set her off.

"Oh—I _love_ drama. Tell me more," she insists, leaning in with interest, the way she always does.

Hmm, which absurd thing should I share with her? The part where the Lady in Black burns my brain into a crispy critter, or the part where a Grungy Gang materializes out of thin air to try to kill me? Everything sounds so ridiculous, so I stick with the tamest. No need to scare my new friend away.

"Well, for one, I kinda have a thing for a guy," I say. Macey's eyes light up.

"But?" Her eyes grow larger, if that's possible.

"But, I have no idea who he is, and—well—he's kind of mysterious."

"Hmm, that's definitely a drama problem, but I love mysterious boys." She leans closer and tips her pencil to her chin. "Is he in this class?" she whispers. Her eyes shoot around the room, surveying the options.

"Uh—no. I'm not even sure if he's a student here—don't know anything about him."

"That sucks," She harrumphs. Her lips form a pout.

"I know, tragic, right?"

"Anyway, did you notice how many students were absent from Spanish earlier? Even this class looks pretty slim," I say and glance around, looking to change the subject. Despite my meeting with the boy this morning, I did manage to make it for part of the class.

"Yeah, I did. Really weird." Macey scans the room, obviously counting the empty chairs.

"You ladies know that some of the students switch to the east building, right?" Chris Kwan, the boy nearby, chimes in.

"What do you mean—they switch? Isn't it the same school?" I ask.

"Yeah, of course, but the east building is for boarders. You know, like a boarding school," he explains.

"A boarding school?" I hadn't taken much notice of the other building. There never seems to be any activity there. I guess I've been too caught up in my own craziness to consider it noteworthy.

"Yeah, they have dorm rooms and take classes there. Kinda blows if you think about it. They're always hanging around the same building," Chris continues.

"Seriously, that does suck. You'd have a hard time skipping wouldn't you?" I say, and we all laugh together at the east building's unfortunate boarding students.

Our teacher, Ms. Ames, slips back into the classroom, and we return our attention to her lecture.

•

After school, Macey and Xavier walk home with me. Having them around to talk about normal things makes me think it's impossible that the Lady in Black or anything else that has happened is real.

Macey swoons over a boy in her biology class named Quinn Hayes. Since we don't share the class, she insists on describing him in great detail every day. She rambles endlessly about his "perfect surfer bod, and dreamy blue eyes," and how completely devastated she was when he hadn't shown up for class today. When she sighs dramatically, Xavier and I exchange a look.

She continues rambling, but when I look over at Xavier, something's wrong. He cringes at every remark she makes. I realize that he probably likes her, but he may be too shy to act on his emotions. He quietly listens to her babbling every afternoon. For this, I consider him sweet. It makes me sad that Macey is too caught up with Quinn to notice him.

"You should come jam with the band later, Sera," Xavier says, changing the subject. The Quinn topic is getting old, even for me.

"If you're going, I'm going too," Macey adds, waiting for my answer.

Xavier perks up and gives me a look of desperation. _Yeah, he totally has the hots for her_. "Sounds like fun. What time?" I ask, shifting my backpack.

"How about in an hour?" Xavier suggests.

"Cool, see you then," I say.

They turn away, and I watch them leave. Macey towers over Xavier by at least a foot. Her dark curls brush the top of his black knitted hat.

I continue toward Mona's on my own, pumped about this afternoon's jam session. It's been a while since I've had time for my music, and I really miss my bandmates.

My hands are cold and I shove them in my pockets as I step off the curb to cross the street. The fingers of one hand brush against the envelope I'd stuffed in my pocket earlier, and I mentally debate whether following its instructions would make me officially insane.

Regretfully, I decide to make a fool of myself by running around the neighbor's yard per British Stalker Boy's suggestion. I pray no one else will be home to see my act of idiocy.

A few minutes later, I stand in the Strovels' front yard, gripping the now crumpled piece of mail. I've already read and memorized the directions, so I shove the green sticky note in my pocket.

I focus on Mona because this is some kind of keyword. For what, I'm not sure.

Mona. Mona. Mona.

I take a deep breath and run as fast as I can across the front yard, hoping something will happen before I plow through the opposing snow-covered hedges.

Mona. Mona. Mona.

Lifting my knees to my chest and extending my stride, I fly. I look back over my shoulder, alarmed by a hideous sound of the earth ripping and moaning in protest. Townhomes and buildings crush in on themselves as they lift high into the sky. An oversized shadow of the earth spits debris and hangs above in a dark cloud. Finally, the earth races down to crush me. When the land closes like a book, slamming shut, I catapult through the familiar wormhole.

The wintry muted colors stream past. City sounds disappear through a whirlwind of crisp air, transforming into eerie whispers that call my name. The ghostly words escalate into a high-pitched whistle. My body rolls around in uncontrollable weightlessness, whipping various directions before finally landing inches away from Mona's snow-covered hedges.

This time I stick the landing, because I know the end of the tunnel is coming. Now, I realize, I have done this before—twice. My unplanned trips through whirling vortexes weren't dreams. _They were real._

I sit quietly below the hedge line, wondering if anything has changed. I pop my head up to assess the situation. Mona stands on the opposite side of the yard, toiling with the front hedges.

Is this what I'm supposed to see? She shouldn't be home yet. It's too early.

Someone strolls past on the sidewalk. I can see bits of their dark blue pant legs through the hedge wall.

"Hey, Mona. Taking down the Christmas lights, are ya?" the man asks.

"Hello, George, lovely to see you," Mona says cheerfully.

"I've got your mail here."

Ruffling paper exchanges hands. I look down at Mona's mail in my hand, the piece British Stalker Boy gave me. A connection, maybe?

"Thank you, George. Have a fabulous day."

"Thanks, you too." The mailman's footsteps fade into the distance.

Mona's front door creaks open. Someone cautiously walks down the stairs and out onto the snowy sidewalk. Through the branches, I can only make out a pair of olive green pants with distinctive bronze buttons on the seam.

"Are you leaving already?" Mona asks. I hear her kiss and hug the person. Does Mona have a secret boyfriend? Wow, I didn't see that coming. Unfortunately, I can't see much from across the yard.

"Oh, wait, hold on. I'm getting a call," Mona says to the person. I hear her phone flip open.

"Hello, Terease. Yes, Seraphina is on her way as we speak. I'm very excited. We all are. Oh, wait one moment." She pauses.

"Bye, love." I hear another peck, and the mystery person walks away. I picture Mona waving goodbye to someone tall and handsome, while holding her cell phone to her chest.

"I'm back," Mona starts again. "Sorry, yes...I know...it should appear any day now...I think, eventually, it will be our best defense against CC...yes, Samantha...Max can't wait...I most definitely expect Seraphina to have her mother's gift of wandering."

I jump unconsciously at that word—wandering.

"Oh—hold on. Let me call you back." Mona's phone slaps shut.

"Oh crap." I cover my mouth. Did Mona hear me?

Mona's slow, deliberate footsteps move toward me on the sidewalk, and I realize there's nowhere to run.

### Chapter 9: A Meeting

Mona's heavy footsteps cross the sidewalk and turn into her front yard. She pauses, I suspect, right on the other side of where I'm hidden. My body stiffens, and I hold my breath. I hear her spin in place, most likely scanning the yard. After a long moment, she walks up the stairs. The front door creaks open, and she slams it shut behind her.

I exhale. _That was close._

I turn around and jump to my feet, gripping the letter. I take a quick breath of relief. Then I run—fast.

Mona. Mona. Mona.

British Stalker Boy was right. I needed to hear that. I'm not sure how he knew, but I don't care because I finally have an answer to something. My November "trip" to Chicago wasn't a premonition or a dream. I think I have some kind of freaky supernatural gift—my mom's gift. _Wandering._

I'm too busy deliberating on what I've just learned to focus on a graceful landing when I return from my trip. The clumsy crash into the Strovels' front hedges dumps a pile of hardened snow all over me. Pinpricks of pain jab my legs as I untangle myself from the scratchy limbs. Each stab punches holes through my new tights.

A multicolored mitten grabs my arm and yanks me out of the shrub with unexpected force. Mona.

I stand dumbfounded, unsure if I'm in some kind of trouble. She glances over me, assessing the situation. "What's going on?" She folds her arms. Her forehead crunches into a V, and her hazel eyes pressure for an answer.

She puts her hand over her mouth and turns away. I realize she isn't angry; she's just suppressing a laugh. "However did you end up buried in the hedges?" A giggle escapes.

"Uh..." I fumble over my words. It's harder to lie to Mona when I haven't prepared for it.

She squats down and picks up the letter. I must have dropped it when I landed. "What's this?" She holds it up.

"Oh—uh—I ah, saw it in the hedges and tried to reach in to grab it. That's when I lost my balance and fell in." I lie and point toward the crumpled mail, forcing a smile.

"Looks like it's been here for about two weeks." She flips it from side to side, eyeing the postmarked date. "I wondered where the electric bill went off to." She smiles.

"Mona, do you mind if I go hang with some friends?" I brush the snow off my coat, acting casual.

"That's fabulous. I'm so very glad you're making friends." She puts her arm around my shoulder as we walk toward the house.

"You're home early," I say.

"Yes, I have a friend coming over. I want to tidy up before they arrive. When will you be leaving? I was hoping you would be here to meet them."

"Actually, I'm leaving to go over to Xavier's now."

"Oh." She seems surprised. "Okay. Is that Xavier Blackburn, then?"

"Yes."

"He's a nice boy." She reaches up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "When will you be home?" she asks just as I'm spinning on my heels to walk away. "Don't you want to change your tights? They're all ripped from the hedges." She points to my legs.

"Nah, they look cool this way—right?" I twirl once, and then I jog. I want to dodge her first question. When I'm far enough away, I skip toward the end of the block, waving goodbye over my shoulder.

"What time, Seraphina?" Mona's question carries through the wind.

I twirl and shrug in her direction, then dart around the corner before she can press the issue further. Better not to be held accountable for any particular time. I know there's less chance of getting in trouble that way.

On the chilly walk to Xavier's house, I carefully catalogue the names Mona mentioned while on the phone. I say each name aloud, adding them to my list of weird. "CC, Samantha, Max, Terease." And then my current list. "Lady in Black, Francis Germ Bum, the Grungy Gang, British Stalker Boy, and Wandering."

My memories dance around the boy. I remember his lovely green eyes—perfect, upset, laughing, and finally disappointed. Amazing how all those expressions were conveyed in our last meeting.

_With so many terrifying and unexplainable things bombarding me, how come all I can think about is a stupid boy? A stupid, beautiful boy._ I harrumph aloud and try not to think about his voice, his eyes, or his one lonely dimple.

I force my attention to a song, letting the melody float through my head and allowing it to consume my thoughts. However, he never really goes away. He lingers at the edge of my mind. Without paying attention, I find myself composing a new song, one that reminds me of him.

Several blocks away, I turn and walk down an alley. Garages and trash cans line the street, stray cats dart between them, and white clouds of steam seep from rusted manhole covers. I follow the music of Xavier's band. It leads me into the side door of a run-down, two-car garage. When I walk in, the music stops. Space heaters buzz, warming the room. Band equipment commandeers the center of the floor. Old furniture and yard tools litter the edges.

"Hey, guys." I wave.

"Hey!" I receive a collective nod.

I take a seat on a brown plaid couch with coarse fabric. Macey, already here, rushes to greet me, gives me a hug, and drapes herself on the opposite side of the sofa. She throws her feet on my knees and lounges back to position her hands behind her head.

"Comfortable?" I ask, smirking.

"Very," she insists, then turns her attention to the band.

The count of the drumsticks sends Xavier's band into their next song. To my intense surprise, they're really good. In no time, the music takes us over. Macey and I jump to our feet and dance. When they finish playing two hours later, we both clap and jump with excitement.

"That was amazing!" I say.

"You think?" Xavier steps away from the equipment and toward us. His band members, Scarlett and Agnes, continue playing, working out the details of the music.

"Oh, it definitely was," Macey adds. There's a new sparkle in her smile when she looks at Xavier.

"Awesome!" Xavier says, but he seems more pleased with the new attention from Macey than the compliments on his musical abilities.

"Sera, you wanna jam with us for the next set?" Xavier asks.

"Tempting, but I think I have to pass. I need to get home. Maybe next week?"

"Cool. Next week." He turns to Macey, "Are you leaving, too?" His voice trails off.

"No, I think I'll hang a little longer, if it's okay with you?" Macey bites her lower lip and flips her large brown curls.

•

Night hangs over the bright lights of the city when I step into Mona's yard. From outside I hear her rich laughter, even before I open the tall Victorian front door. I will try to make my meeting with Mona's friend quick, and excuse myself to my room. There's a lot to mull over with the information I secretly obtained today.

I drop my coat on a wall hook then kick off my salt-encrusted boots in the vestibule. Teacups clank, returning to their saucers. Mona and her friend become quiet. _Maybe I'm going to meet her secret boyfriend._ I smile. _This should be good._

Mona stands to greet me as I walk into the living room. But I freeze in place when I meet a second pair of eyes—the horrible, controlling, onyx eyes from my memory—the Lady in Black. She stands five feet away and in dangerously close proximity to Mona. My gaze flicks back and forth between the two figures.

How has she found me?

My breathing quickens. I step away slowly, both palms facing down as though I'm balancing between life and death.

The Lady slithers, uncoiling her darkness.

Mona assesses the situation and walks toward me with her arms open, but the gesture holds no comfort. She wraps her arms around my waist in a hug, but I'm still tense. Over Mona's shoulder, I lock eyes with the Lady in Black.

"Seraphina." Mona speaks softly into my ear. "This is my good friend, Terease Ivanov." Mona turns and gestures to the lady.

I mentally remove the Lady in Black from my list of weird as Terease reaches out her pale hand. I step back two paces to maintain a safe distance. I avert my eyes to the side, remembering our last agonizing encounter. "Who are you?" I ask, staring at the ground.

"This is Terease. Didn't you hear me?" Mona's voice cracks.

"No, I mean, _what_ are you?" I demand. My jaw tightens.

"Ah, she remembers. As I mentioned, Mona, I'm not sure how this one works. She perplexes even me." Her voice is thick with an accent. I peek up quickly. Terease smiles, but not in the way I remember. Her curled lips read as feigned friendliness.

My gaze skitters back and forth between Mona and Terease, remembering they're "friends."

"How can you be friends with her?" _How is that even possible?_

Stepping away, I hold one hand out behind me, searching for the stair's banister, an escape. "She's evil—a devil," I say, looking at Mona.

Mona reaches for me and pulls me close. She's trying to comfort me, but I'm not having it. "No, that's not the case. If you will sit, we can explain," Mona says.

Angrily, I break away from her and step back. The witch-snake slithers closer. Her pupils enlarge, and I gasp out loud as my gaze locks with hers again. I see the flames. The horrible, excruciating flames burn my thoughts into slaves. I try to push her out but, as before, she plants herself in my mind, feeding the fire with her ink-blotted eyes, violating my soul. Beads of sweat drip down my neck. The air thickens with humidity. Sulfur laces my tongue. Paralyzed in pain, I drop to my knees.

"Terease, stop!" Mona yells.

Terease unwillingly releases the fire. Her hesitation burns in my mind as I collapse to my side on the floor. I'm sweating, shivering, and so weak that I can't even lift my hand to rub my pounding head. A moan escapes me.

"What are you doing?" Mona demands of Terease.

"Merely a test, Mona." Terease's voice darkens with an edge of pleasure.

"How dare you. Get out!" Mona screams, pointing to the door.

"I definitely cannot figure this one out," Terease hisses. She leans down. Her black eyes drill into mine. "I've never met anyone who could feel my presence when I'm searching. We must chat about it...when you are composed, of course." Her red lips twist, and she laughs deeply in the back of her throat as she stands, towering above me. She steps over my body and slinks away. She grabs her caped coat and swings it through the air. It lands, draped, across her shoulders. Finally, she ducks into the shadow of the front alcove to leave.

The front door slams behind her; its glass windows rattle. The house pulses a breath of relief. Wood and stone within the structure release the tension of her presence, moaning as though the house is alive. The room opens into airiness. I hadn't realized that the atmosphere had been so dark and bleak.

Mona kneels beside me. Confused, I search her face, looking for answers. "What's happening to me?"

### Chapter 10: The Truth

Mona's eyes meet mine. She sighs, but doesn't answer my question right away.

"Feeling okay?" she asks, her face weary.

"Headache," I mumble.

"Let's get you an aspirin and some liquids."

Still in a daze, I can't argue. She hoists me to my feet. I lean on her for balance as she guides me to the kitchen. She lowers me onto a couch, then fluffs a pillow and props it behind my head.

She leaves to drift around the kitchen, but remains silent as she riffles through the cabinets for pills and a glass for water. With the two in her hand, she returns to my side with a look I can't place. Pity. Pride. I'm not sure which.

I toss the aspirin on my tongue and chug the freezing water. At first, it shocks my system, but it warms as it fills my empty belly. My stomach gurgles.

"Hungry?" she asks, stroking my aching forehead.

"A little."

She jumps up and runs to inspect the pantry and refrigerator. She's in no rush to supply answers, which I'm okay with for the moment. I lean back onto the pillow, allowing my body to relax.

The weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders. No, bigger—the weight of the universe. Maybe because to some degree, my secret is finally out? Maybe because my secret is possibly Mona's secret, as well? And maybe, most importantly, because it's proof that I'm not going insane. Mona saw what Terease did to me, and that fact makes it real. _The Lady in Black is real_.

Mona returns with a plate arranged with a hodgepodge of finger foods. She doesn't actually cook—ever. I think it's because she never has had anyone to take care of...no kids, no husband. When I ask her about her unusual love of appetizers, she merely claims, "The most delicious flavors are the simplest ones." And then again with some thought, "Cooking takes too long. I'd rather read or attend to my arts and crafts." She laughs very loudly at herself.

A medley of roasted peppers, olives, crostini bread, mozzarella, and tomatoes sit on the hand-painted dish. Italian seems to be the theme tonight.

"Isn't this plate lovely? I bought it in Sicily on one of my painting excursions."

"Love-ly, dar-ling," I say, mimicking her rich, sophisticated voice and flinging my hand in the air.

"Oh, stop it, Seraphina." She lightly smacks my arm. "Feeling well enough to make fun of me?"

"Yeah. I guess. I'm just glad she's gone." The word "she" hangs in the air as we both remember the tense encounter.

Mona clears her throat. "Yes, well, I'm very sorry about that. I very much wanted to tell you everything, but it's forbidden."

I stop chewing and stare, eyes wide. "You can't tell me _anything_?" The words escape in a squeak. "You're kidding—right?" The thought of still not having any answers leaves a dry lump in my throat.

"I mean, _before._ Before we knew whether you had wandered or not. I would have been forbidden from discussing it with you. It's the one rule I disagree with. I believe guardians should be able to tell their children, so they know that change may be coming. And when and _if_ it does, they can embrace it, instead of being scared."

"I'm not scared," I correct her abruptly.

"No, _of course_ you're not." She looks as though she isn't buying it. "I just mean that it really makes for a stressful beginning when a young person first experiences their gifts. I remember," she pauses, looking at her hands twisting in her lap, "I thought I was going nutter." Then she smiles. "But enough of that. You have wandered, haven't you?" Her eyes search mine.

"I think I have, but—" I pause. "I'm really confused."

She drops everything and hugs me. Tears well in her eyes. "Yes, I know. This is exactly what I mean. It's very confusing. I remember."

"Who is she, Mona?"

"Terease?"

"Uh-huh." I place an olive in my mouth.

"Well—she's one of my oldest friends. We met at Washington Square Academy. She, your mother, and I attended together."

Now she has my full attention. I see her face registering my interest. "We attended your school and then the east school. The one that mirrors yours," she continues.

"The boarding school?"

"Yes, exactly." She smiles. "But it's a different kind of boarding school—a special one. One for those with gifts and abilities not known to the rest of society." She looks at me seriously and places her hand on mine.

"Sera, you must promise to keep everything I disclose a secret." I start to talk, but she hushes me by holding up her palm. "A secret from your father and all of your friends—especially your new friends at school."

"Um—I guess."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes," I say with more assurance.

"Okay then, Terease is what we call a Harvester. It's her unique gift and job, of sorts. She travels all over the world searching the minds of Wanderers' descendants to see if they were passed the gift."

"She travels around hurting children?" I shoot up from my seat, angry at the thought of that crazed lady running around, hunting innocent people.

"No. Sit." She gives a stern look, and I do as she asks. "You're the exception to her harvesting. She has never encountered a young person whose thoughts she couldn't search. She's merely peeking into their minds to sense their abilities and nothing more. Normally, it's very easily done without their knowledge."

"But in Miami, I felt her searching, looking for something. She burned my mind with her eyes, Mona." I look at her with intensity, hoping there's some way for her to see the pain in my eyes, but of course she can't.

"Perhaps, but she couldn't acquire the information she needed. Somehow you blocked her."

"But why does she try to hurt me?"

"I'm afraid, it seems, she derives a bit of pleasure in knowing she can affect someone. Her abilities are normally passive."

"Great." I announce sarcastically. "It figures that I would have to be the lucky one."

"Well, the good news is that since you've wandered, she hopefully won't have any need to bother you ever again." She smiles, but I take note of the carefully chosen word "hopefully." Terease is crazy with a capital C. And I don't mind if I never see that woman again.

"Ray doesn't know?"

"No, definitely not. You were passed the gift from Eliza."

"And what is the gift, exactly?"

"It's different for everyone, but in your case, I suspect, you have the ability to time travel as Eliza did. It's common to pass down similar abilities."

"Time travel?" I swallow hard. I didn't expect to hear those words. Although, I really don't know what explanation I expected.

"Yes. Some science fiction books call it jumping, but in the real world it's called wandering."

I sit, computing the new information. The ludicrous thought reminds me of science fiction movies or a comic book. "Are you serious, Mona? You know how ridiculous you sound, right?"

"I know it's going to feel very surreal, but once we switch you to the other school, you will understand the full weight of your gift."

"The other school? I'm switching schools _again_?" My voice rises with an attitude that seems to take Mona by surprise.

"I promise, you will absolutely love it." She rubs my back.

"Are you going to make me live there?" I fold my arms across my chest.

"I won't make you, but I suspect that after you see it for yourself, you will change your mind."

"I really, really doubt it."

She laughs loudly. "Okay—well—we'll see." She throws her arms around me, disarming my bad mood.

"You said you attended with Mom. So you—um—wander also?"

"No, I have a different gift. The gift of sight. I'm a Seer." She pauses with some thought and then mumbles, "But the skill doesn't work well anymore. That's a long story, for another day."

"Uh, Seer? Sounds lame," I say, making fun.

"Definitely not as fabulous as wandering, but it's still wonderful, I assure you." She smiles, grabs a piece of bread, and dabs it into a saucer of olive oil.

"So, wait a second. If Terease would've seen my gift back in Miami, how would you have talked Ray into letting me come to Chicago for school?"

"I worked on Ray for quite a while. Apparently, you both had a bad day back in the fall, and he finally called me that night and gave in. Even if you didn't have the gift, it still would have been a great opportunity for you to attend the west academy, even if it was merely to have some stability. I hate that he's moved you around so much. The west academy is still a wonderful school on its own."

"That was the day it happened. I mean, the first time I wandered—the day Ray took me to the ER." I replay the memory in my mind. It doesn't seem possible for the earth to move the way it has, but I've seen it for myself, several times now.

"Where did you go?" She grabs my hand in hers again. It feels warm and secure.

"To the Academy," I pause, "about twenty years ago—I think. I'm not even sure what happened. I was really freaked out—ya know?"

"Twenty years? That's remarkable. That's not normally possible for one so young."

"Well, I can't be sure—just guessing. It's not like I asked someone the date." I thought back to the day. "How did I even get there?"

"The portal is opened by three things: the Wanderer, a relic, and a keyword you hold in your mind." She taps her head. "The energy from the relic you are holding, mixed with your concentrated thoughts of the keyword, will send you back in time, specifically to when the keyword and the relic crossed paths," she explains.

"I was running."

"Yes, that's typical. You will learn to control your gift so you won't fly off into the unknown. It's the reason you need to go to a school dedicated to the study of wandering. It's a brilliant gift that should be used wisely."

"I was putting on Mom's bracelet." I realize when I say the words that my mom could have been in that courtyard—somewhere. "Oh, wow—I could have seen Mom. Oh, Mona, if I had only known! I could have found her and talked to her." Tears instantly fill my eyes, and my nose burns. I can't stop the waterworks now. I'm too emotional at the thought, the possibilities.

"It's better that you didn't interact with her. She may not have known at that point that she was a Wanderer. You could have changed history."

I don't care. I cry harder and drop my head onto her shoulder. She wraps her arms around my back and pulls me tight. She strokes my hair, comforting me.

"Seraphina, it's possible that you may see her in the future, but only after you have been properly trained."

I breathe deeply and pull away from her. "It's just...just knowing I was so close, ya know?" I wipe my tears away with my sleeve. Mona hands over a tissue, and I blow my nose.

"Yes, I know. Think of it this way—your mom left you a wonderful gift, and I think you should learn to use it properly. You will find her again, I promise."

I nod and then stifle the forthcoming sob. I want to believe every word she says.

"So, what now? It's like I'm some kind of _freak_ or something."

"Oh, yes. You're the best kind of freak."

We both laugh, and I rub away the dampness under my eyes with my fingers.

"You should get some sleep," she says, looking at her watch. "Try to rest. You have a big day tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?"

"I'm taking you to school—your new school."

### Chapter 11: Fireflies

I'm lying in bed, restless, waiting for the moment when my new identity will sink in and, more importantly, stay there. My thoughts whirl around the fact that it might be possible to see my mom again. I'm edgy and can't stay still. I roll from one position to another, pulling the sheet with me each time. Finally, I throw the sheet on the floor, then press my face into a pillow.

My mind won't stop racing. Multiple scenarios play over and over. If only I had Mom's bracelet, I could go back and find her now.

By three a.m., the only thing I know for certain is that I've made a promise to myself to save my mom from the car accident that killed her, no matter what.

I have endless questions for which I have no answers. They repeatedly scroll through my mind. Where did wandering originate? How did Mom keep it from Ray? Who are the others on my list of weird? Wanderers too? How does British Stalker Boy play into this? Will I see him again? My heart races at the thought. I hope, in the days to come, I will find answers. _All the answers_.

Even though I've experienced wandering for myself, I still find the concept difficult to believe. I can't say the instances themselves feel like dreams because they're real—real life, to be exact. They could be just another part of my day. The unreal, dream-like parts are the in-between, morphing between two time periods, dark limbo wrapping around my body and catapulting me through space—that will take some getting used to.

My aimless examining tires me to the point that I can no longer think. Finally, I shut down and succumb to a deep slumber.

•

I find myself in the most glorious dream. It's night, not a cloud in the sky. A zillion stars trail across the far reaches of the heavens. They kiss the edges of each horizon.

The cool, dry landscape of undulating earth sits void of any human structure. Hearing a rustle in the light breeze, I turn. A field, as far as I can see, stretches behind me. When I turn and step forward, my foot presses upon cool sand. Grains sift between my toes. I look to my left and then right. I'm standing on the line between contrasting environments: a field and a desert. I can't help thinking that one is my past and the other my future.

I inhale a large breath. My nostrils flare, pulling in the scent of mint. The breeze swirls around my white cotton dress, billowing it around me. I smooth down the fabric flat with my palms onto my bare legs.

Farther away, an alluring light grows from the inner reaches of a long trench. Its beams dance around and spread far into the sky like the northern lights. They're beautiful, glowing in yellows and greens. Fascinated, I walk on to look closer.

Crickets chirp at my bare feet. Dry plants scrape my ankles. These details remind me that this is a dream because if I were awake, I know that walking barefoot through nature would bother me, but here it doesn't. It feels natural, like something I've done a million times before.

The long trench makes me wonder what could be making the magnificent light display. I have to know, so I walk closer to the edge of the cliff. I stop, remembering I'm afraid of heights. Looking over means that I will have to look over the edge and down into the canyon. Uncomfortable tingles race up my arms.

I want to see more, but I can't. I'm too scared. Finally, I talk myself into taking baby steps. Closer and closer, inch by inch, my heart and breathing tighten. I can do this. I want to see more. Then I hold my breath. I imagine my toes curling over the edge. Tingles shoot down my legs with anxiety. I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and reason with myself. _The spot where I stand now is no different than ten paces ago._

Finally, when I look down into the trench, a blast of intense light as blinding as the sun overtakes my vision. The light cools as my eyes adapt. The trench sits long but only a few feet deep. I chuckle at my stupidity. I had imagined it as deep as the Grand Canyon. I always make things worse than they really are. When I'm brave enough to face my fears, they're never as bad as I imagine.

Stepping down into the trench, the light ripples away like water. It's not just one source of light, but millions that make the whole, many acting as one.

Kneeling down, I touch the light again, but the illuminated beings recoil. They lift into the air and swirl around my body, separating into a million little lights. Raising my arms into the sky, I feel them. Fireflies skim the edges of my skin, enveloping me in a vortex of shimmering sparkles. They surge off into the night sky, melding with the stars. _Beautiful. A million fireflies. A million beautiful possibilities_.

•

"Seraphina!"

The next morning, I'm dragging myself down the stairs when Mona calls for me. Because I'm so tired, I don't respond. Instead of yelling back, I just stomp down the final staircase to alert her of my arrival. Raising my voice might make my headache worse.

"Didn't you sleep well?" she asks when she sees me at the top of the stairs.

"What gave it away? The huge purple bags under my eyes, or the fact that you informed me that I can time travel?" My hand slides down the banister with each step. "Just so you know, that information isn't conducive to a good night's sleep." I smile weakly.

"Sorry. It didn't go exactly as planned, but I suppose it never really does." She forces a smile. The edges of her mouth crinkle into a frown.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing." She looks away for a moment before she speaks again. "It's silly, really. It's just you're growing up so fast." Mona tears up and wraps me in a hug when I reach the bottom step.

"Mona, you're acting like I'm going on my first date or something." Actually, she's acting like a real mom.

"I know. You're right. I guess I'm a little emotional. In our world, it's a coming of age thing. I only wish Eliza was here to share it with you."

I don't respond, but of course I wish the same. I wonder if Mom's reaction would have been like Mona's. I hope so. The thought makes me happy.

My mind flutters with dreams of a life with the woman I never had a chance to know, but I push them back, controlling my emotions. I can't go down that road of thought again. I spent the entire night thinking about her. That's why I'm so exhausted...and too hyper. I might break out in manic laughter or tears. I'm an emotional basket case waiting to explode.

Mona pats my back. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." I press my lips together. I'm eager to get the day started.

•

Déjà vu hits me when we reach the Academy. I'll be starting a new school—again. Windswept snow carpets the campus as before. But this time, a lifeless courtyard sits before us. It's 7:30 a.m. on Saturday, after all. Most every one of my new friends are still nestled in their beds, sleeping.

When we reach the stairs to the main entrance, they're perfectly clear of ice and snow. The building is a stately and beautiful replica of the west building. The inscription above the columns reads Tempus Rerum Imperator. I don't know what the Latin words mean, but the phrase gives me a wave of unease. I'm reminded of the seriousness of my new situation...I have no idea what it really means to be a Wanderer. My stomach turns. _Focus, Sera. Just think about Mom_.

When we reach the top of the stairs, Mona places her thumb on a recognition pad next to the front door.

"Seriously? They make you scan your thumbprint to get in?"

"Yes, of course. We can't allow just anyone to enter."

The door beeps approval. Together, we push the ornate door open and enter a vestibule. We continue through another set of doors and into the main lobby.

I'm not sure why I assumed that this building's interior would be the same as the west building's. Maybe it seemed a reasonable expectation on my part, but I should have realized that nothing from now on would be, well...predictable.

The room opens, airy, with a high ceiling. A glass dome and elongated archway allows early morning sunlight in, making silhouettes out of every object before us.

It's so similar to the Galleria Umberto in Naples, Italy, that I can't look away. Ray and I took a short weekend trip to Naples when we lived in Rome. For hours, I lingered in the shopping arcade, snapping photos of every possible architectural angle, yet never truly capturing the beauty.

I exhale, in total awe of its elegance.

Two birds playfully flutter in the dome above. They swoop to the bottom of the room then rest on two sweeping staircases. Statues of women, with baskets sitting at their feet, guard the steps that lead to several levels of arched windows and terraces.

Mona grabs my arm and pulls me forward. Our steps echo. With the acoustics, I suspect that if I whispered something to her it would easily be heard on the top floor.

Nylon wheels rolling across the floor capture my attention. Their rotation reverberates through the hollowed-out space. A silhouette of a boy on a skateboard heads toward us from a distant corner. When he kicks up his board in front of us, I recognize him immediately from Macey's description—Quinn Hayes. She'll be so devastated when she finds out he won't be in biology class anymore. I hope it might help Xavier's cause, at the very least.

"Hey, Ms. Mona." He pushes back his blond dreads and leans on his board. It's not like any skateboard I've ever seen. The three-wheel design looks like an old, funky spaceship with cogs and pipes.

"Quinn." Mona nods her head. "How are you adjusting?"

"Dude, I mean, Ms. Mona, it's awesome."

"This is Seraphina, my niece." Mona gestures to me.

"Just, Sera." I wave my hand in an arch.

"Hey, _just_ Sera." His smile is brilliant against his bronzed skin, and I immediately understand Macey's attraction. He looks back at Mona. "Gabe sent me to ask you to wait in the study. He's running late." Quinn points to a room on the right.

Mona thanks him. He hops on his board. With two quick shoves from his free foot, he rolls away, melding once again into a silhouette. "Later," he yells back over his shoulder.

We sit quietly in the study for a while.

"Sorry, Gabe always feels he must make an entrance. I'm sure that's why he is keeping us," she explains.

"Why would he do that?"

"Doesn't everyone love an audience?" a man announces, as he appears at the door. He laughs as he approaches Mona and gives her two air kisses. "Don't you think, my Mona Lisa?"

"Oh, most definitely," she says. They turn, facing me. "Gabe, this is my niece, Seraphina," she says.

"Seraphina. I'm so glad to finally meet you. I'm Gabe, the activities director." He shakes my hand.

I look at Mona then back at Gabe, sizing him up. His elaborate outfit looks like something from a runway show in New York. You know, the kind of outfit where you ask yourself, "Who would ever wear such a thing?" I definitely have my answer.

"I plan parties, outings, and many other activities for the students. It's my job to make sure everyone's having a fabulous time," he explains with a flip of his hand.

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. You're absolutely going to love it here. I'll make sure of it."

"Follow me," he says, then bounces off around the corner.

When we catch up with him, he's primping in a nearby mirror, crunching his light yellow curls. He swings around to face us. "Sorry, just a maintenance check."

He clasps his hands together, signaling the beginning of our tour. "Here you see we have a beautiful indoor pool." He gestures toward the atrium.

The glass archway from the lobby extends into a T shape behind the building. The shimmering pool sits behind a wall of glass with iron details.

Gabe's hands flutter toward the ceiling. "This space is absolutely fabulous for parties—which, I, of course, am in charge of." He smiles his perfect, gleaming white smile and continues, "In fact, there's a soirée this evening for all the students to mingle. You _must_ attend, Seraphina." He grabs my hands in his.

"Um—definitely." I look at Mona for permission and she nods. "Cool."

"Now, first things first." He looks at his watch. "You're due to meet with the big cheese—five minutes ago." He quickly takes off through a series of halls.

As we follow him, I'm careful to take in my surroundings. Gold nameplates mark the owners of faculty offices. We pass a glass wall with a hundred TVs behind it. Obviously, it's some kind of security room. The word "compound" comes to mind. No matter the building's beauty, I feel uneasy. _Should I be wary of this place?_

Gabe pushes through a set of carved doors at the end of the hall. Anxious, I follow closely behind.

### Chapter 12: A Tour

"You're late," says a short, spunky woman from behind a desk. She ceases pounding on her keyboard when we enter. By the look on her face, Gabe agitates her.

"Oh, fluff, Ms. Midgenet." Gabe tosses his palms in her direction.

"He's been waiting for you." Her eyebrows pinch together in annoyance. She jabs her pudgy finger in the direction of a pair of frosted doors.

Two people hover behind an elegantly carved desk when we enter—an older man, seated, and to my intense displeasure, Terease.

I flash Mona a glance of disapproval. "What's _she_ doing here?" I don't bother saying it low. Terease already knows how I feel about her.

Gabe smirks at my comment but continues with the introductions. "Seraphina, this is our headmaster, Mr. Evanston. And I believe you've already met his _extremely_ irritating pet, Terease." He grins.

Mr. Evanston steps from around his desk, rolls his eyes at Gabe's verbal jab, and shakes my hand.

Terease's face expresses pained rage. Her dark eyes beam on Gabe's. If I had to guess, I'd say she's trying to burn his brain into a french fry, but he's not reacting. He's just smirking.

"Please sit," Mr. Evanston says. He hikes up his pants, showing his argyle socks, and seats himself on the front edge of the desk.

Terease slithers to a nearby window, acting uninterested in our exchange. However, I continue to watch her carefully from the corner of my eye.

"Well, Miss Parrish, we're very happy to finally welcome you into our big family." Mr. Evanston smiles through pristine dentures.

"We were very sorry about your mother. She was an extremely gifted Wanderer." His gaze drops to the ground.

I squirm in my seat. I'm not in the habit of discussing Mom with strangers. That conversation is restricted to Mona and Ray. "Thanks," I mutter.

"I realize that accepting your new life will take some time to flesh out in your mind. The faster we can get you acquainted with the other students, the more at ease you will feel," Mr. Evanston says.

"Excellent strategy," Mona offers.

Gabe stands quietly by the door, biting his nails.

Terease turns quickly. Her intense stare locks onto mine, but her eyes don't engage the fire as they have before. Instead, she saunters to sit by Mr. Evanston. "As Mona may have informed you, I'm the Harvester."

I nod.

"You see, I peer into the minds of students to determine if they have the capabilities to join us at the Academy." She appears smug about her gift. "And when the time is right, I go and—shall we say—collect them." She grabs at the air with her black claws.

"I'm sorry that your abilities don't work on me," I say, knowing it will annoy her.

Gabe snickers.

Terease stiffens. Her eyes slowly find Gabe. As she's staring at him, she begins to talk again. "All eligible students have a gift that can be broken down into one of three categories: a Wanderer—such as yourself, a Seer, or a Protector. It's possible for variations, depending on the student," she explains in her deep accent.

Terease stands up and paces the office in sinuous movements. "There are three categories for a particular reason." She turns to face me with her arms crossed. "You will be grouped with two other pupils and work as a team in your studies."

"A team? Why?" I regret the whine in my voice, but I hate depending on other people, especially for schoolwork.

"Your abilities work best in a group. It will be all right. I promise," Mona chimes in.

"Do we get to choose our group?" I ask, envisioning P.E. class, where all the boys are chosen for teams first.

"No." Terease picks up a ruler and smacks it against the bookshelf near Gabe. He screeches in surprise. Terease laughs darkly. "In fact," she continues and struts behind the desk, "it's already been decided. Fate decides." She leans into the desk, locking her eyes on mine.

"What's that mean?" I ask.

"Gabe, why don't you call in Seraphina's team so they might get acquainted," she says.

Gabe opens the door as requested. Seconds later, a poised girl with cascades of dark-blonde hair enters. Her eyes lock on Mona, and then more briefly touch on me.

"Seraphina, this is your Seer, Samantha James," says Mr. Evanston.

Samantha looks up and then crosses her arms. Her posture is flawless, and she can't be any older than thirteen. Cinnamon freckles dust her face, making her seem younger than she probably is.

Her apparent indifference to me doesn't matter. I feel a connection with her immediately. Not as a friend or even family member because this is, in fact, the first time I have ever laid eyes on the girl. Somehow, she's now an instrumental component of my makeup, like a limb. Fate decided. I understand; I don't have a choice because the connection was there before I ever could have protested it.

My mind trails to another thought. Samantha is most likely the "Sam" from my list. One more question answered and only a few more to go. Keeping a tally, I reel off the remaining names in my head: _CC, Max, Francis Germ Bum, the Grungy Gang, and British Stalker Boy._

"Hey," I say to the girl, but she doesn't return the sentiment.

"Where's your other half, Sam?" Mr. Evanston asks, concerned.

"Couldn't make it," she says in an irritatingly cheerful voice.

"Well, fine. I'll deal with that later." Annoyed, Mr. Evanston shuts the door. "Sorry, Seraphina. It seems your Protector is unavailable. You'll meet soon enough."

Without giving me a second look, Samantha takes a seat next to me. She's rigid in her chair, shoulders back, legs crossed at her ankles, hands neatly folded in her lap, perfectly ladylike. Attentively, she peers up at Mr. Evanston.

He hands each of us a syllabus. My eyes search for anything familiar. "What kind of class schedule is this?" I read off the categories: "Team Tactics, Relics, Defense Arts, Field Trips," and then the only thing I recognize, "History and Languages." The last two items sit separately, under a column marked "Night School."

"We do, in fact, have those regular classes, math, English, so forth and so on," Mr. Evanston adds, twirling the air with his hand, "but not in the traditional sense." He hesitates and slicks back his feathered white hair. "Let me ask you a question, Miss Parrish. Did it ever occur to you that school is less than a challenge? Somehow, amazingly, you kept perfect grades?"

"Ray says it's because I have such a great memory."

"Ray?" He looks to Mona, perplexed.

"Her father. He's a Normal," she says.

I look at Mona, realizing they have a title for everyone else in the world. How original, "Normals." It makes me uncomfortable knowing that I'm now _not_.

"Oh, yes, of course, well that would have been the only way he could have explained it to you, I suppose. The truth is that your memory works at its peak when you hear the information." He points to his ear, his voice rising with excitement.

I consider his explanation. I should have realized that my memory works this way. My methods for studying have always been to read aloud to myself. I never bothered with writing notes during lectures in class. Listening always seemed good enough.

"What does that have to do with the classes?" I ask.

"Well, instead of making you go to regular classes, we simply let you take those classes in your sleep."

"In my sleep?" My mouth drops open.

I look to Samantha to see if she believes this too. She only rolls her eyes as though I should know it's true.

"Yes, I know." Mr. Evanston snickers through his nose. "Seems like a cliché...'you can do it in your sleep,' but you _really_ can. Your regular classes and a few others, such as languages, math, customs, etiquette, and so on, are recorded so that you may listen to them while you're sleeping. Having expert knowledge of all these subjects will allow you to blend easily into other time realms," he explains while walking around the room.

"It's our duty to travel with responsibility, never disrupting the carefully balanced blocks of time," Terease adds.

Everyone looks at me in silence. They're waiting for a response, but I'm too shocked. "Well—I mean," I search for the right questions to ask, there are so many. "Are you saying I can remember _everything_ I hear?"

"More or less, if you choose to," he confirms.

"What about college? How am I going to be accepted based on my grades in—" I glance down at the paper, "Relics?"

"Very simple. If you choose _not_ to take your Oaths to the Society of Wanderers next year, and you want to attend a Normal's university, they will receive the transcripts for your Night Class itinerary. If you choose to attend a wandering university, they will receive your real transcripts."

"There are colleges, too?"

"A few scattered around the world. We're a small number compared to the rest of the population," he explains.

Mr. Evanston must see the incredulous look on my face, and he begins again. "Really, Miss Parrish, you'll find that you will be more prepared for university than most Normal students."

The information settles heavily on the outside of my brain, which seems impermeable to the possibilities at the moment.

Hesitating, I look over at Sam, searching for a normal reaction from someone else in the room. That's when I see something that can't be explained, and my heart absolutely stops.

### Chapter 13: Impossible World

All the impossibilities of my new world are waiting in line to beat down my personal wall of common sense. The stones crumble faster with each passing moment.

Standing, I gasp. Air sucks away from my lungs, holding my voice prisoner. I lift one finger and point at Sam.

There's no rational reason for what I'm looking at, but it puts me over the edge when I see it. Sam twirls a pencil on the palm of her hand—suspended ten inches in the air. Weightless. I just stand paralyzed, watching in a stupor. What else can you do when a thirteen-year-old defies the law of gravity?

When she finally lifts her eyes to mine and registers my reaction, the object drops to the floor. She casually leans down to pick up the pencil.

"What's with you?" she asks condescendingly. "Don't you know _anything_?"

I'm speechless. Apparently, I know nothing.

Mona steps between us. "Sam," she clears her throat. "Sera only recently learned of her abilities." Mona gives her a disapproving look.

"Right. I forgot." The girl's defense breaks. She gracefully recalls her previous pose, turns up her nose, and neatly folds her hands in her lap.

"Well, maybe you've had enough for one morning," Mr. Evanston quickly inserts. He rises from his desk. Terease saunters back to the window.

"Gabe, why don't you finish up with Seraphina's tour of the building," he requests.

"Aye, aye, cap-e-tain." Gabe snaps his legs shut with a quick salute, then ushers us out the door.

Mona pushes me out of the office and down the hall, navigating me with one hand latched on my shoulder. She leads me in the correct direction behind Gabe. Right now, I lack enough wherewithal to make the action of walking happen on its own.

Out of nowhere, I receive a shove from behind. Ramrod, with perfect posture, Sam speed-walks past us down the hall. She doesn't even look back to apologize. My face crumples. I'm not sure what her problem is, but I don't exactly care at this moment.

"She's been waiting for you for a while." Mona seems to assume I'm offended. She clarifies further. "Sam and your Protector, that is. They're only permitted to take Normals' studies until you arrive. You'd think she'd be happy that you're finally here. Right?" She looks nervous.

The anxiety that's been building all morning, and possibly my lack of sleep, cause a rush of blazing heat to my face. My palms become clammy, and I stop in the hall to face Mona. "I don't care about little Miss Snot, Mona." I take a deep breath and continue my rant. "What was _that_ —back _there_ —that _thing_ —with the _pencil_?" I point toward the office, my eyes wide open in question.

The marble hall intensifies the sound of my rage. Gabe spins around, surprise written on his face.

Mona takes a long breath. She seems taken aback by my angry expression. Her bony arms collapse over her body. "It's merely a part of her abilities," she says in a controlled voice. "And I realize that doesn't make it an easier pill to swallow." She grabs my shoulders and looks me square in the eyes. "Seraphina, from here on out, you will be seeing the impossible. It goes well beyond your gift of travel. Just promise me you will try to remain—" she pauses as she searches for the correct words, "—open-minded."

I stand rigid. My mind roadblocks on the words "the impossible." When my brain catches up to respond, it's too late. Mona is already walking away. I nod, but it's only to myself. There's nothing for me to say. _There's more than this? More that I haven't seen?_

"Sera," Gabe calls out from down the hall. "Let's move it—chop, chop. This place is as large as the Taj Mahal."

In a catatonic mode, I walk to meet them. My thoughts are still swirling when Gabe propels me into an elevator off the main atrium. I fall in and prop myself up against the back wall. Digging my hands in my pockets, I let out a long breath. I close my eyes, hoping this will reboot my brain.

When the elevator jumps to life, my eyes pop open. I look down, surprised at the direction we're moving. As we descend, clearing the first floor structure, sunlight peeks from behind the wall I stand nearest. I squint. Where is the light coming from? It grows and intensifies, revealing the open-aired, barred walls of the elevator. A breeze rushes into the cage. My new view is as I expect—unexpected.

When the car stops, Mona and Gabe step out from the elevator into the space as they have apparently done a million times before. They're completely comfortable with their surroundings. When I step out, I halt at the sight of an ancient redwood drawbridge at my feet and a wide river of turquoise water rushing beneath it. There are two bulky, rusted chains. One side securely latches to the wooden drawbridge and the other to an ash-colored stone wall. Lush, jade-colored ferns and moss grow, covering the mortar.

Tarnished lions stand at attention on granite slabs on either side of the bridge. They look as though they belong on the steps of a large museum in New York, rather than at the foot of a wooden gate beneath the earth's surface.

As I tentatively move forward, a low roar emanates from the bridge, rumbling beneath my feet. I'm not sure, but I think the sound is coming from the lions.

I look up at Mona, concerned.

Mona waves me on. She and our host walk through the lion gate and into a blinding light.

I harrumph, taking time to muster my courage. I straighten my posture and look ahead. I take one step. The growl grows louder. The mechanical lions' tails snap with the force of a whip. I jolt, momentarily shocked. Metal screeches, and I want to cover my ears, but I'm refraining from too much movement. I inhale a large breath and step again. Their maned heads turn, and their yellow eyes glare. Finally, their mouths open, revealing rusted teeth.

I wince and keep walking, focusing on the bridge's planks. They're organically shaped, but only a century of use would have worn them this way. They creak and moan under my weight. Slits between the timbers allow spritzes of freezing water to spatter the hem of my jeans.

When I reach the other side, the lions snarl in unison before returning their attention to the elevator. They take a relaxed stance, lying on their stomachs. Their rusted gears grind to a halt as though the danger has passed.

A pulsing knot forms in my chest. _What am I getting myself into?_

When I turn back, a brilliant light steals my eyesight. I grab the cool stone wall for support. I blink a few times. Slowly, shapes and colors take their places. As they do, all I can think about is the scene in The _Wizard of Oz_ in which the movie changes from black and white to color. Just as in Dorothy's world, my whole world has turned to Technicolor.

Somewhere, somehow, the room is infused with cozy sunlight. The cold slate colors of the wintry city above have disappeared. Every surface, living and not, glows with the warmth of a rainbow. I take a deep breath. The refreshing air, unexplainable to me, smells like a smoldering charcoal fire.

Another obelisk stands at the center of the room in an oblong patch of lush green grass. A stone walkway wraps around the base. The brilliant light above makes it impossible to see the top of the pillar. Butterflies, the color of champagne, playfully flutter above.

The fortified underground city resembles a mixture of fussy Victorian and stark nineteenth century industrial components. Nature covers and drips off of every surface. A patchwork quilt of every kind of building material fights to show through. The city looks as though it has existed below the earth for—well, forever.

"Where?" Dumbstruck, the single word is all I can manage.

"I know. Isn't this place fabulous?" Gabe looks at me but doesn't wait for an answer. "We're several stories below the school's courtyard." Gabe points to the sky. "The kids call this area Olde Town."

He continues on.

We follow.

I look back at the ceiling, searching for the top of the obelisk.

"The obelisk continues into the courtyard above. It's the top third that you see outside. It's a symbol of our people," Mona explains.

"But the light?" I ask, confused, recalling the snow-covered yard above. "Where's the daylight coming from?"

"It's all fabricated to resemble sunlight. It's a weather and atmosphere control machine. At night, we have the stars, just like a planetarium. It's very lovely," Mona gushes.

I now realize why I rarely see students outside the east building. With perfect spring days down below, why would you ever come to the wintry surface? Recalling my conversation with Macey and Chris, these students don't seem so unfortunate after all. On the contrary, they seem quite well taken care of.

My gaze drops from the ceiling. Students move about the miniature town: sitting at a nearby cafe, reading, lying on the grass, exercising. Taking them in, the activities seem normal enough. No more hovering pencils—yet.

Gabe perches next to a nearby statue, obviously preparing to launch into presentation mode. "Come, come." He waves us closer with beckoning hands, then clears his throat. "As I mentioned, this," he throws his arms into a V, "is Olde Town. And this old dude here," he gestures to the life-sized bronze statue, lapsing into seriousness, "is Eli Vanderpool. He was a real estate tycoon in Chicago in the late 1800s, but most importantly, he was a Wanderer. He constructed the first school for our descendants on this piece of land, which became known as Washington Square Academy. By the grace of God, our home and historic relics were spared from the inferno of the Great Chicago Fire in 1871. Soon after the fire, Eli decided to build Olde Town below the school. This beautiful little underground city protects our secrets and priceless relics."

Gabe steps down quietly. His eyes drop in a silent reverence, and he walks on. I wonder if I should do the same. Do I owe this historic figure as much regard as someone like George Washington?

Gabe can't rein in his dramatics, and before long, he lithely moves to the center of the courtyard next to the base of the golden obelisk.

"You'll find most of the classroom entrances in Olde Town. They link off of this large piazza in one way or another." He points to four enormous tunnels around the space like they're emergency exits on a plane. "Classrooms have been added on over the decades to accommodate growing needs."

Mona leans forward. "The town was constructed out of the leftover remnants from the Great Chicago Fire, which consumed over two thousand acres of the city. That's why the buildings here have, shall we say, a mix and match look. It's turned out rather charming, I think." She glances around, clutching her handbag to her stomach.

"Remnants of the fire?" I question.

"Well, Vanderpool, although extremely young by today's standards, was a fortunate man. He had quite a bit of wealth from his real estate developing ventures before the Chicago fire. When the city was destroyed, he saw the burned city as an opportunity to expand his fortune," Mona says.

"He was an innovator," Gabe adds.

"Displaced people were desperate to rebuild as quickly as possible. Vanderpool was only too eager to help. He hauled the rubble away for a small price. Then he salvaged what he could from the burned-out stone and brick and used the pieces to construct Olde Town. He was paid to build his own city," Mona says.

"Then he rebuilt Chicago. He was wildly wealthy when he died, leaving all his fortune to the Academy." Mona continues, "At the time of the city's inception, Olde Town was a working town, a self-sustaining community. Eventually, the school claimed the city, using it for classrooms and a common area for students."

"It's awesome," I say. "And really—warm." I slip off my coat.

Gabe stands up and points west. "On this side we have the Relic Archives, the Book Archives, and the Costume Archives. At the far end," he points north, "we have the Defense Arts Gymnasium and the Clock Tower Building. The Clock Tower Building serves as a lecture hall and movie theatre. Behind us sits the Seers' Meditation Rooms. You'll see all of those and many more as you begin classes." He finishes with a flutter of his lashes. "That's the gist of the building." He looks at his pocket watch, signaling we're out of time. "The rest of the building is administrative offices and student accommodations."

He shoots me an apologetic smile. "I wanted to show you your bedroom, but it isn't quite finished. But I promise, it'll be ready tomorrow."

" _My_ room?" I shoot Mona a look of panic.

"Oh, uh, Gabe—Sera has some reservations and hasn't quite decided if she'll be joining you as a boarder. I thought I would give her the weekend to think it over."

Mona looks to me to respond, but I don't. I can't. My concentration breaks at the sight of a pair of curious eyes staring at me, hidden in the shadows of the farthest tunnel.

### Chapter 14: Extended Contemplation

"Oh no, you must stay. I've been designing your room for weeks, hoping you would join us. Your room—it's the absolute pinnacle of my creative prowess!" Gabe appears frantic, concerned his hard work as an interior designer will go wasted.

My gaze locks on the boy—my stalker. He's very carefully concealed where no one else but me will notice him in the darkness of the tunnel. His face barely escapes the shadows. They conform to his face, accentuating the angular features of his chin. This time, he doesn't smile. Shouldn't he be happy that I've wandered? After all, that seemed to be the reason for our meeting in the first place. He wanted me to discover the truth about myself.

He looks down, casting his gaze away. I want to chase after him, to finally ask him everything I need to know. Can it only be one day since I've seen him? So much has happened since then.

"Sera?" Mona shakes me. "What's wrong? Rethinking your decision to stay already?"

I turn to Mona, pretending to debate, but in seeing _him_ here, I've already made up my mind. "Um..." I look back at the dark tunnel, but the boy has left.

"Sera!" Gabe squeals. "Have you changed your mind?" His eyes plead, putting all puppies to shame.

"Um, yeah. I guess."

•

Normally, I overanalyze everything. For some reason, the moment Gabe and Mona pushed me for an answer, I felt compelled to give in, to know more. I abandoned my typical extended contemplation to have all the answers. _After all, wasn't that what I resolved to do last night? Find all the answers?_

Will it really matter if I stay at the dorm or a few blocks away with Mona? Mona will be nearby and, I suppose, if I hate my new accommodations, I can change my mind. Besides, I cannot deny my piqued interest after my special academy tour today.

I tell myself that the appearance of the boy has nothing to do with my decision to move to school. It's not a complete lie. I'm curious about the other students. Curious about what I am, and who the people are on my list of the weird and unknown. Most importantly, I want to feel closer to my mom. If this is what it will take to find her, then I want to throw myself into it headfirst.

Being a Wanderer can't be too terrible. Haven't I always known that I'm different, never quite fitting in anywhere? Maybe this is what I've been looking for since I moved here. I've had a nagging suspicion that I'm here for some reason. This must be it. How can anything be more important?

•

Mona insisted on taking me shopping for a new outfit for Gabe's "Saturday Night Soirée." That's what he called it, anyway.

Upon handing me the gold invitation, Gabe took his time explaining the intricate color scheme and the artwork he'd chosen. Then he ever so humbly promised it would be "the event of the year."

Now I have to find an outfit for such an event. I'm not exactly sure what that entails. I think anything that looks like it just came off the runway in Paris will work. But that's just an educated guess based on Gabe's outfit today.

Unsure, I roam from rack to rack, picking up items, turning them over, and then placing them back. Nothing seems cool enough. For once in my life, I'm not in the mood to shop. I'm not sure this has ever happened, but I know it's because I have too much on my mind.

I'm dreading a phone call to Ray this afternoon. I will have to lie to him from now on. Even though I've done it a million times before, this is actually something I would like to share with him. _I'm a Wanderer, Dad, a time traveler._ Maybe he'd be proud that I'm special, different, and important.

Luckily, Mona has already formulated an explanation. She'll simply explain to Ray that I'm doing so well in my studies that the Academy has offered me admission to their prestigious boarding school on the same campus. He will be thrilled and probably proud of at least this—for a little while.

I stare out the glass window. Through the reflections of passing taxis and pedestrians, I see Mona. She's in the bookstore in the next building. A large sign hangs over her that reads Travel. She's engrossed in a book.

I think she left me alone on purpose, which I appreciate. It allows me time to think and process all that I've seen today, if that's even possible.

The underground city of Olde Town, the colors and warmth of it, now seems like a dream. The pencil—the lions—I just don't even want to think about them. I think it's because those things are tangible proof that I'll be part of a world where the impossible exists.

By now, I should be able to handle it. I've already experienced many unexplainable things for myself. I even convinced myself that I was going crazy. Now, I need to accept that I'm just not a Normal.

With a deep sigh, I let go of everything I've ever held true in my existence and tell myself there are no boundaries in my new world. No boundaries to hold me to any predefined laws. I'm limitless.

My mind drifts. I think of my dream of being between the field and the desert, and I think of my fireflies. I find a strange peace remembering them swarming around my body, absorbing me into their world.

When Mona returns, I've accepted my new life, settled on a new jacket, top, and skirt, and chosen a pair of shoes, just in case she's feeling extra generous. Happily, she is.

•

As a favor, Mona takes me to Mom's favorite pizza joint, Louis Guarino's Pizzeria. The restaurant sits a few blocks from the Academy. I dump a pile of grated Parmesan on my pie, reveling in the moment.

The four-inch-deep pizza requires a fork and knife to eat it. I take the first bite. It's so hot that I burn my tongue. Now the rest of the meal will be ruined by my useless taste buds. Of what I can taste, the pizza is delicious. Fresh tomatoes explode in my mouth. The crust, more pastry than dough, melts on my tongue.

I might have to choke out the words to admit that Ray's right about something. I consider that this could be the best pizza on the face of the earth. Still skeptical, I decide that I'll have to try it again, on another day with fully functioning taste buds, before I admit defeat.

"So, what are your thoughts about everything?" Mona doesn't waste time with pleasantries.

Immediately, I want to ask her about the day I hid behind the bushes, the day British Stalker Boy led me to with his note. Who were the rest of the people she spoke about on the phone that I added to my list of weird and unknowns, Max and CC? Something tells me I wasn't supposed to be there that day, to overhear what she said. I keep these questions to myself, hoping the answers will quickly reveal themselves on their own.

"Um, I'm not completely sure about everything yet. It's so—unreal. You know what I mean?" I say instead.

"Yes, of course. It'll take some time." She takes a swig of water.

"What's with the lions?" I hedge with a mouth full of food.

"They're what we call Animates. The lion gate protects Olde Town."

I gulp. It seems impossible that a pair of rusted mechanical lions can be as dangerous as the real things, but they are pretty scary. "Has anyone _not_ made it across the bridge?"

"A few," she says, unconcerned. She dishes herself a second slice.

"And the pencil?" I hope it won't make her mad that I ask about it again, but how can I not?

"Well, Samantha is a Seer, as you know. She sees the history of inanimate objects. We call that history a life path and the inanimate object a relic. Anything without life can be a relic. For instance, a pencil or this salt shaker. But not a human, bug, or plant—you see?"

I nod. "But the floating?" My voice trails off.

"When a Seer engages an object with their minds, their concentrated thoughts suspend the relic in the air. It helps to separate the item from other energies in the room that may interfere. It simply helps to see better."

"Here, I'll show you again," she says and looks around the restaurant. "Tell me if someone walks this way." She pushes her plate and utensils to the side, next to the hot pepper flakes and sugar.

She pulls out a plum-colored velvet pouch, releases the drawstring, and pours the contents onto her palm. She lifts her hand and allows a long chain to drop from her fingers. It falls straight and slack. At the end hangs a bronze medallion. She allows me to inspect the necklace as though she's preparing to perform a magic trick.

She allows the chain to rest, jumbled, on the shellacked surface of the table.

"Remember, if anyone approaches," she says with a pointing finger.

I nod once more.

Then she begins.

### Chapter 15: Legends

She closes her eyes then rolls her head slowly several times. Her body jiggles in her seat, bones crack, and her shoulders fall relaxed. Even the corners of her mouth turn down. With all her muscles tranquil, she cups her hands over the bronze necklace.

The chain lifts delicately, floating through the air until it finds a position parallel to Mona's face. Center stage, the ballet begins between the chain and medallion. Together, they dance through the air. I'm so captivated by the beauty of its graceful motions that I hold my breath in long intervals, only inhaling and exhaling when I can't stand the lack of oxygen any longer.

The edges of the chain glimmer, catching specks of winter sunlight from a nearby window. Glowing light radiates from within the object, but brightens as Mona's fingers continue to massage the air around it.

I stare, completely hypnotized. Every few seconds, Mona's eyebrows, forehead, and mouth wrinkle and crease as though she's being told a story. I suppose she's seeing the "life path," as she calls it.

A door crashes open next to us.

I jump, reach across the table, and swipe the chain from the air. Mona's shoulders thrust forward as if someone has attacked her from behind. Her eyes fly open, and she gasps for air. I realize I reacted too quickly, forgetting to consider the consequences, but she nods as she coughs, signaling that she's okay.

I jerk my head to the door that now sits open next to our table. My heart knots in my chest. _Did they see something?_

Very unceremoniously, a wrinkled man rolls a large container of ice through the door. He's oblivious to us. Mona and I exhale. Nervous energy makes me laugh.

Curious, the man looks over at us with the droopy eyes of a bloodhound. He smiles with a mouth vacant of teeth, then he waves, mumbles something in Italian, and continues on his errand.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have done that here." Mona chides herself for her carelessness, but I don't care.

"It was," words escape me for a moment, "amazing." I hand back the necklace. I've held it so tightly in my grasp that the medallion's shape has imprinted itself on my palm.

"I thought you said you couldn't do...whatever it is you do anymore?" I wave my hand around, trying to conjure the words.

"It's only a partial ability now. But more importantly," she holds up the necklace, "I want to give this to you."

"Oh!" I take the necklace back and study the medallion. The square shape has a miniature sculpture of an obelisk with the sun's rays behind it. A braided rope border wraps the edges. I look closer, reading the hand-etched inscription. "Tempus Rerum Imperator," I say the words out loud. "It's the same saying as the words engraved on the front of the school."

"Really? I never noticed that. Here, let me see." Mona extends her hand. I hand back the necklace.

She pulls out her reading glasses and flicks wispy curls away from her face as she slides the frames onto her ears. Her eyebrows pinch together, and then she mumbles the words out loud.

"Interesting," she says, then hands it back. "I didn't have a chance to search that far back into its life path before we were interrupted." She packs away her glasses into her handbag.

"What did you see, exactly?"

"Not very much. I saw myself pulling it out of my safe this morning. It takes a little bit longer to get going, now that I rarely use my gifts." She smiles, but her eyes flash with sadness. I don't press the subject any further.

"Well, thanks," I say. "It's really cool. I love it." I drop the chain over my head, letting it rest on my neck. It's heavier than I expected.

I pick up the medallion from my shirt and look at it again, upside down. "What's the deal with the obelisk? You said it's a symbol of our people?"

Mona reorganizes her space, returning the plate, napkin, and utensils front and center, so she can begin to eat again. "We have many legends, the same as any other culture." She swings her fork around. "But one of our most interesting date back to the time of the pharaohs in Egypt. It starts with a king named Unika. He was new to the throne. The former king, his older brother, Osaze, unexpectedly passed from illness.

"Unika watched his brother's reign for years and became saddened by the decline of the kingdom under his rule. The grain fields especially disheartened him. They had grown barren. They were, at one point, the crown of their dynasty under the reign of his great-grandfather.

"In an effort to please the gods, and perhaps to regain some of their former glory, Unika ordered his architect to construct a massive pillar, an obelisk, right in the middle of his barren fields. He called the structure his petrified sunray and encased it with an inch of pure gold. Unika believed the structure would enchant the sun god, Amun-Ra, so much that he would be rewarded with fruitful harvests for his kingdom.

"But with all that, after much time, there was no gift from the gods and no grain to fill their baskets.

"Unika was not discouraged. He knew in his heart that Amun-Ra would honor him for his golden memorial.

"Every day he visited the monument, leaving offerings of lamb, incense, and gemstones, as did other people. Travelers from everywhere came to stand, awestruck, in its beauty.

"Finally, one day, Unika awoke from a late morning slumber and immediately ordered his guards to take him to the fields.

"When he arrived, he walked toward the obelisk and right into its shadow as the sun moved directly overhead, at its highest point in the sky.

"The guards looked on in disbelief. Unika shimmered into dust and disappeared right before their eyes."

"He was a Wanderer," I interrupt. Mona acknowledges the comment with a nod as she slices off a piece of pizza and tosses it in her mouth.

She finishes chewing and begins again. "As you can imagine, the guards were in a panic. They would be implicated in the disappearance of their King. They were very distressed, but not for long because in the very next instant Unika returned.

"The king did not explain his absence as the guards had hoped, and they did not press him. Instead, he ordered a meeting of his highest council by the Nile River's edge.

"That evening, under a cloudless, star-lit sky, fiery torches encircled the king and the high officials. The officials were very concerned by the unorthodox nature of their meeting place and listened skeptically to Unika's story.

"He proclaimed that while he slumbered that morning, he had a vision from Amun-Ra. The god requested that he return to the obelisk at the sun's highest point in the sky and walk into its shadow.

"Unika explained that when he did, the earth bowed to him, and Amun-Ra, himself—greeted him. Together, they admired his fields, not barren, but filled with plentiful harvests.

"We believe he wandered to the time of his great-grandfather's reign." Mona interrupts the story with her opinion.

"Then what?" I ask.

"Well, Amun-Ra simply explained how he could make the vision of a bountiful crop a reality. Unika illustrated to his high council that if they could redirect the flow of the Nile to nourish the fields, the grain would grow again.

"This was, of course, a primitive irrigation system. The king's will was so strong that the council could not ignore the truth in his unwavering eyes. And so, the council immediately implemented the plan. As promised, the crops became the crown of his reign."

"Wow!" I take a sip of water.

"Yes, it's quite a good story, isn't it?"

"So, has anyone ever wandered back to see if it's true?"

"Excellent question, but the answer is no. The stronger and more experienced you are as a Wanderer, the farther back in time you can travel. Assuming you have the correct relic to take you where you wish to go. So, no. No one to my knowledge is skilled enough or has attempted it. It could kill you if you fail."

"That's really—serious and sort of dangerous. You never said this is going to be life-threatening, Mona." I laugh a little, but when she doesn't, I realize she isn't joking.

"Well, it shouldn't be dangerous as long as you stick to your studies in school. That's why I asked you not to wander on your own. It really requires quite a bit of supervision in the beginning."

"Uh—okay." But I don't feel any better.

"Yes, well, I'm quite surprised you wandered as far back as you claim. And with no supervision." She shakes her head in amazement. "I suppose it came to be because you have such a strong connection to your mother."

"I guess," I mutter, but right now, I'm only concerned about making it out of high school—alive.

"You will be able to identify other Wanderers by the obelisk symbol. It's how we recognize our kind. Some wear it as jewelry or even a tattoo." She shifts her thoughts. "But please, don't get a tattoo."

"You're starting to sound like Ray."

"Good, I suppose my parental instincts are finally kicking in," she says with a giggle.

•

I pull several tugs of mascara through my lashes, making them thick and black. Then I stroke my eyelids with silvery blue shadow. For my final makeup touch, I enhance two beauty marks under my right eye with a thin black eyeliner stick. Maddi always said that Marilyn Monroe would be jealous of them, if she had ever seen them for herself.

I'm not really sure what to expect at Gabe's party, but since it's supposed to be the "event of the year," I have high expectations.

When I walk down the stairs to the second floor and into Mona's room, she's lounging across her bed, reading a book. Her evening cup of tea sits on her nightstand. Her room, unlike the rest of the house, has a focused style. Fresh white walls and furniture brighten the room; cabbage roses in full blooms of pink cover the bedspread. The feminine touches remind me of an English garden.

"Well, don't you look simply beautiful." She sits up and rests her novel on her knees. "I wish that I had your fashion sense," she says, gesturing to herself with her free hand.

"I think I get it from you." She does, in fact, wear the most gorgeous clothes, some so exotic they resemble the interior of her home.

I walk over, lean in, and give her a hug.

"Make sure you're home at a decent hour and—" she points her finger for emphasis, "walk straight to and from school. No messing about the city—all right?"

"Wow, you're a natural at parenting—bravo!" I clap my hands, moving them around in a circle.

She bows her head, rolling her hand through the air, accepting the round of applause. "Thanks, darling. Have fun." She blows a kiss as I exit the room.

Locking the front door, I realize there's something freeing about leaving the house on my own to attend a party. It's my first, but Mona doesn't know it, and I would never admit it to anyone else. Ray would never trust me the way she does. Not that I have ever lived anywhere long enough to attend a school function or even a regular party, for that matter. I walk a little taller, feeling a tad more adult than I had yesterday as I cross Mona's front yard to the sidewalk.

Mona's road is dark and quiet, but close enough to see the mayhem of the nearby, busier city streets. When I turn the corner to another dark street, the courtyard of the Academy sits a few blocks away. A deep cavern of buildings surround it. The obelisk is lit up, making the slender shape glow against the black sky.

Wind whips under my skirt. My tights are no protection against the frigid air, so I burrow deeper into my new velvet jacket, slightly remorseful for not wearing something more substantial. If I freeze to death, I just have to remember it's for the sake of fashion.

I walk for a block, not paying much attention to my surroundings. I've seen them every other day before, using the exact same route to school, but this time it's night, it's dark, and I'm alone.

Gray swirls of frosty air whirl around my face, chilling my nose and lungs from the inside out. My entire body tenses, rigid from the cold. Sitting on a block of ice in a bathing suit would be warmer.

The thought sends my hands digging a little deeper into my pockets. The front of my jacket pulls taut; my knuckles bulge through the fabric. I scrunch my shoulders up to my ears and increase my stride.

Two more blocks to go.

Maybe it's instinct. Or maybe I hear something. I'm not sure why, but I glance back over my shoulder. When I do, a shadow of a person appears half a block behind.

This instantly gives me a bad feeling.

My feet move faster. I peek back again, hoping I've built distance between my new unwanted buddy and myself. But now—there are three shadows. My heart rate accelerates.

Their forms, not completely solidified, sparkle as particles settle into the shapes of their bodies. They take long strides forward, molding and reforming with the shadows of the night, avoiding all street lamps.

I'm positive it's the gang.

After I blink once more—there are four people.

I gasp.

The same short, dark-haired boy leads the group. Their nondescript clothes resemble the color of dirt and darkness, and their aura reeks of hate. It rolls off them in putrid-colored waves, scorching everything as they pass. If I were close enough, I know they would stink of rotting garbage.

In a panic, I scan the street. To one side stands a wall of interlocking four-story homes. On the other, a solid wall of plowed snow, five feet high, and a row of parked cars behind it, neither direction allowing a viable escape. There's only one direction to run—straight to the Academy.

I sprint full force, but my legs have become blocks of ice, frozen and numb. A million pins and needles shock my muscles, protesting the task of running. With each step, I think they might break apart and crumble into shards of ice.

Pushing the pain out of my mind, I concentrate on picking my knees up higher and lengthening my strides. I will myself forward into the arctic wind. My breathing deepens, and my lips tighten and crack from the icy gusts surging in and out of my mouth. Beats of my heart throb with anxiety. My new necklace, which has jerked out of my jacket, clangs repeatedly against the metal buttons of my coat.

I slip. My feet slide awkwardly, but I catch myself before hitting the pavement. I don't look back. There's no time. Thumping footsteps fall heavy on the salted sidewalk behind me. They're closer; I can hear them, smell them.

Regaining my balance, I reach deeper to run faster than before.

My face warms from breathing too rapidly, and my nose begins to run. My eyes water, but I keep moving as fast as I can, racing toward my next obstacle—crossing the busy intersection ahead.

I don't have time to stand at the curb and look both ways before crossing. Running out into traffic and possibly being crushed by a speeding car seems my only option. I have to choose: death by car or death by the gang.

My head whips from left to right as I run to the curb. One foot slams down onto the asphalt. A truck flies past. The side mirror narrowly misses my face.

Crosswinds funnel down the street, blowing my hair into my eyes and blocking my vision. Horns blare, but I keep moving, hoping that there's still enough time to dodge one more lane of traffic before I reach the median.

When I look up, a new person rushes forward from the darkness. The gang is corralling me like a farm animal into a trap.

I keep moving, regardless. One person will not stop me from reaching my destination. Determination surges through me. I will plow him over before giving up. They'll never expect that.

My foot pounds onto the center median, and I launch myself into the next two lanes. That's when I collide with the oncoming silhouette. The person flings their arms around me, right in front of an unstoppable speeding truck. The last thing I register is an Illinois license plate, inches from my face.

### Chapter 16: Confrontation

Metal crashes into metal. Horns wail. Piercing screams rip through the darkness, and finally there's yelling. It's wrenching and painful, but it's not mine. It belongs to someone else. The hair on my arms prickle with goose bumps. I can't see anything, which makes everything worse.

Somehow, I'm floating through a tunnel as dark as ink. The shadows encase me, wrapping isolation around my body, constricting my muscles. I didn't will myself to wander—which, now that I think about it, I should have. It would've been the perfect escape. Now it doesn't matter, because I'm positive that I'm dead.

It's strange. Death feels exactly the same as wandering. Black nothingness rolls around me. Bright lights appear at the end of the tunnel. _So cliché._ Fingers of illuminated beams crawl into the darkness until they reach me.

I'm definitely dead. _Maybe Mom will be waiting for me?_

I realize that the tunnel hasn't closed in on me as I initially thought. Instead, someone's arms wrap tightly around my waist. Their face nestles, buried in my neck. I can't see them, but I'm definitely not letting go.

"Mom?" I say. _It has to be her._

Even though she doesn't move or respond, I return the embrace and hold firm. Tears stream horizontally and roll off my cheeks into darkness.

Together, we're drawn forward. The force of both of our bodies acts as an anchor, pulling up and over the edge of the light. We land into what seems like a wonderfully soft cloud.

I look up to see her, here in our heaven. With my mom here, I'm happy to be dead. When my eyes focus, I don't see the woman I admired in a photo my entire life. Nor do I see a pair of violet eyes that mirror mine. I only see the mystical green eyes of a boy. A boy I have put entirely too much thought into lately. Our gazes lock for an incalculable amount of time.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks. His honey-sweet accent rolls off his tongue.

I nod, but don't verbally respond. He's on top of me. His warm breath, his body, his legs are tangled with mine, and his arms wrap tightly around my waist. I can't breathe. I've never been this close to anyone in my life, and I can smell his seductive aftershave—leather and citrus. I inhale the scent again, momentarily drugged by his presence. My eyelids flutter.

When I look up at him, he's staring. I must look like an idiot. My face flushes with blazing heat, and I react from complete embarrassment.

"Get off!" I push him. He elbows my rib when he moves. I automatically roll in response. He falls off of me with a thud, then moans.

_Where am I?_ I look around the dark room expecting to see the evil lair of the Grungy Gang. Instead, I'm lying on a sofa, not a cloud, and British Stalker Boy sprawls, strung out on his back on the floor below. He looks at me expectantly.

"You could thank me, you know?" he says.

I look down at him and frown. I roll off the couch and stand over him. My feet straddle his torso. I pick up a foot and shove it into his chest. To hold him in place, I press down. The tip of my boot nudges into his neck, where I put the full weight of my body onto his throat.

"Thank you for what—for almost killing me?"

"Are you mad? You nearly died out there!" he chokes, erupting at my ungrateful attitude.

He halfheartedly tries to get up, but lies back down with a laugh. "Do you really think you can hold me here?" He smirks, amused.

I nod confidently, but of course I'm not sure.

He grabs my ankles with both hands, ripping them out from underneath me. The rest happens in slow motion, or at least it does to me. My body flips sideways, airborne, and my legs circle over my head. His hands cradle my back and head until I land gently on the floor.

To the outside observer, I'm sure it happened much faster. They might have cringed when he tossed me so easily onto the floor. I can see he's proving a point, but not by hurting me in the literal sense. Only my pride will suffer. With his stealthy switch of our positions, I now lie under his feet with the air knocked out of me.

This angle accentuates his lean muscles and height. He doesn't bother to restrain me on the floor. The shock of him throwing me here so easily holds me in place. I struggle to catch my breath.

"Who are you?" I ask with a growl.

He laughs again, smug. "Surprise, Miss Parrish, I'm your Protector." He bows ceremoniously.

"What?" I snap up from the floor so quickly, my hair flies forward into my face.

The boy walks away, reaching to open a pair of French doors that lead from the study into the open lobby of the Academy. I'm sitting in the room Mona and I waited in earlier this morning for Gabe.

The doors fling open, crashing against the walls. The glass rattles within their panes. A blonde girl, with a look of disgust on her face, stands on the other side. With her arms locked across her chest, she eyes me up and down. Pathetic, her expression says. The boy pulls her away into the main atrium, and they disappear into the sound of a wild party.

I still don't know his name, who the Grungy Gang is, or why they're hunting me, but at least I know he isn't my stalker—a real one. And he isn't available. _Figures._

I haul myself off the floor and back onto the couch. My body melts into mush, and I let out a long, exaggerated breath. I allow myself time to assess the events of the previous ten minutes.

First and foremost, I can knock British Stalker Boy off my list. I know who he is now—my Protector. I sniff.

That would explain the pull I feel toward him. The same pull I feel toward Samantha, but stronger. _Stronger in a different way. How can I help it if I'm also attracted to him?_

At least I can be happy he isn't going to kill me like I originally thought. Now I only have the gang to worry about—and whoever else remains on my list. I flip through the remaining names in my head: _CC, Max, Francis Germ Bum, and the Grungy Gang._ I've knocked so many items off in just one day. Only four more to go, but I can hardly get excited about that at the moment.

I stand up and walk over to the window, pull back the curtains, and peek out. Cars sit in gridlock one block away. Sirens wail and red lights flash repeatedly onto the buildings surrounding the mayhem. The accident is hidden from here, but I realize that I probably caused it. The scene sends instant shivers over my skin. I narrowly escaped being crushed by a truck, and with no help from my so-called Protector. I would have been well beyond the danger if he hadn't tackled me into the road. _I think._

I scan the city scene: the people on the street, the buildings, the cars, and the courtyard. No one scary lurks in the shadows. My heart still races in my chest from the chase and meeting my Protector. He must know something about the gang, but I'm too ticked to ask him now.

For now, I need to pull myself out of my frenzy. I take a deep breath then turn my attention to a nearby mirror. _I'm a wreck!_ I run my fingers through my hair, smoothing out the worst of the tangles. I straighten my clothes so I won't look like I've just been tackled. I rearrange my necklaces, including the one just gifted to me by Mona. I pull a tube of lip gloss from my pocket, smooth the peach goo over my lips, and press them together.

I'm slightly calmed, but still perturbed with the boy when Gabe pops his fake, butter-colored curls into the study. "Hello, possum. Don't you look—" He stops, reaching out to rearrange a misplaced piece of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. "—perfecto!"

"Thanks," I say, relieved that I know someone at this party, even if it's just Gabe.

"Come with me." He drags me forward, pulling me into the main atrium, just as he did earlier today.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Bishop."

"What bishop?" I look around.

"Max Bishop, silly. You know, your Protector."

"Max Bishop." Max—the name from my list. I should've known. Now I'm down to three items: _CC, Francis Germ Bum, and the Grungy Gang._

I have a sinking feeling they'll be the hardest mysteries to unravel, but I don't have too much time to wallow in my negativity, because Gabe shuffles me into the back atrium between the large sweeping stairs and the pool. He fluffs my hair one last time before playfully patting me on the head.

"Stand here. It'll be the best spot," he says.

"For what?" But he doesn't hear my question. He's already meandering around the group on a mission to host a party. Not just any old party, mind you. Seeing it for myself, I have to acknowledge...it really might be the party of the year.

### Chapter 17: The Academy

Circus. If I have to describe the scene in one word, that's what it would be.

There are so many things happening at once that it's hard to focus on any one thing. I break it down, concentrating on what stands directly in front of me. First, I fixate on the wall of people. Bodies move in silhouetted shapes with blue and purple lights of glowing fog behind them. Bouncing together with the throbbing music, their arms beat skyward. The deafening sound of the music resonates in my chest. I can't guess how many students are dancing. They're compacted too tightly with their bodies intertwined, but there are many more than I expected.

Smoke and multicolored confetti float through the air. Three spotlights pop on, searching the space above the pool. Their beams eventually collide, landing on the ceiling. The music slows and segues into an introductory choir of horns, regal in its composition. Every eye in the building looks heavenward, fingers pointing.

Centered above the pool, a swing garnished with flowing green fabric and flowers descends from the ceiling. On it perches Gabe. His silver-sequined jacket sparkles in the light like a disco ball. I'm positive that's his intention—to be the centerpiece of the party. I don't understand how he appeared there so quickly, but I assume he wandered there.

Two acrobats, on separate lengthy silk ribbons, slide down on either side of him. Their bodies arrange in dramatic poses. When they reach a level position with Gabe, they perform gracefully, rolling themselves into their fabric and swinging their bodies in a choreographed aerial dance.

Gabe lifts a glittering microphone to his lips. His free hand holds on to the swing. "Hellooo, my little spring chickies," he coos.

The crowd erupts in applause and laughter. They adore him.

"Welcome to my Super Spectacular Saturday Soirée!" He waves his microphone through the air in an arc. Gabe pushes his weight forward, and the swing sways back and forth.

Watching him suspended in midair, my body tingles with nervous energy. I hate heights. Even watching someone else so high bothers me.

"There are many new members among us this evening. So let's make sure we all get acquainted. Mingle, mingle, mingle!" Gabe says. The swing, in full motion, seesaws back and forth. Long sheers elegantly trail behind it and ripple through the air.

"And let's all have a Gabe-fabulous time!" he exclaims, right before he flips himself over the back of the swing and disappears into thin air. Only a ring of sparkling dust hovers where his body once sat.

"Wasn't that amazing?" Gabe asks, appearing right in front of my face. I jump back a step, sucking in a breath of shock. I look to the swing where he sat a split second before. My eyes fall back to him where similar halo of shimmering dust wraps him now.

"But..." I point to the swing. "The dust—sparkling dust?" I look back and forth between the two clouds. I've only seen dust sparkle in one other place—wherever the gang appears.

"Wander dust, my love. The beautiful residue of our gifts." He smiles and extends his arm around my shoulder.

"Don't worry, in a week nothing will surprise you."

I laugh out loud. "I highly doubt it. But if you say so."

"I do!"

We walk on and pass Terease. She's positioned herself away from the commotion. With her solid stance and her arms crossed, she reminds me of a bouncer at a nightclub, prepared to intervene if anyone dares cause trouble.

Gabe swings me away from her as though protecting me. "Let's try to get you acquainted with everyone, shall we?" He pulls me through the crowd and stops abruptly when he finds whom he's looking for.

I can only see the shapes of people because everyone towers over me. Then, without notice, a silhouette stands before me. I recognize her immediately by her wide, bouncing curls.

"Macey!"

"Sera!" We jump up and down, screaming as we hug.

Gabe retreats before I have a chance to thank him. He seems to be looking out for me, for which I'm enormously grateful.

Macey and I meld back into the crowd, carving out our own little space to dance. I feel so free, letting my arms and body sway to the upsurge in the music from the DJ.

Video images of old movies project onto the crowd. The entire scenario can easily be mistaken for a wild nightclub, the kind Ray and I used to walk past in Miami not very long ago.

Gabe's a genius. Even if I hadn't agreed to living at the Academy today, I would have changed my mind after tonight. Who wouldn't? The school acts as a playground for students, catering to their every whim.

Macey and I dance ourselves dizzy within an hour. She pulls me off the dance floor, drags me up the main stairs, and across the walkway that overlooks the atrium and the pool.

From above, the unified mass of people moving mesmerizes me. Multicolored globes of light float atop the up-lit surface of the pool. So much thought has gone into the details. I shake my head. The party seems as unreal as my new world.

"Oh, I forgot," I yell over the music. "I saw Quinn. He's here."

"I know." Macey says. Her eyes bulge, spelling trouble.

"What?"

"He's my Seer!" She smiles wryly.

"Macey, that's awesome."

"No, it's totally drama."

"Why?" I yell over the music, bobbing my head.

"It's Xavier."

"What about him?" Maybe she and Xavier hit it off at his house on Friday, and she doesn't like Quinn anymore.

"Xavier's my Wanderer!" she yells.

My eyes are as wide as hers as I process the drama that's going to eventually unfold. "Oh, no." I laugh, covering my mouth with my hand. She gives me a nudge of displeasure.

"It's not funny, Sera! What am I going to do?" She's serious for a moment, but then she laughs with me.

"You're Xavier's Protector?" It makes sense. She's built in such a way that no one would ever mess with her. Although this thought makes me wonder, who do Wanderers need protection from? One particular group of people comes to mind, and I shudder.

"Yep. Can you imagine having a girl for a Protector? What a blow to the ego!" she says.

"Does Xavier seem cool with it?"

"Yeah—totally—until he realized that Quinn is our Seer."

I laugh again. I can't help myself after thinking about the predicament Macey finds herself in. "You poor girl. So many men in love with you!"

•

When I wake up the next morning, my head throbs with a migraine, and my mouth is as dry as cotton. I roll over on the bed and reacquaint myself with memories of last night. After the party, a group of us walked home together. Trudging straight up the stairs to my room, I collapsed, lifeless, onto my bed, not even bothering to change my clothes or pull down the sheets.

Now that I'm awake, I'm uncomfortable. I shake out of my jacket. Shedding it immediately makes me feel ten percent better. I stretch out my toes and quickly curl into a ball. Through one blurry eye, I see that my hair is mashed up into a rat's nest on one side of my head. Mascara has dripped and dried back onto my face, or maybe that's drool. My face is sticky either way.

I moan, shoving my head under my pillow.

"Seraphina!" Mona hollers from another floor.

"Uh," I croak.

"I made brunch. Come now, you can't sleep the day away!" Her footsteps ascend the stairs.

"Why not?" I say to myself and shuffle quickly under the covers. She'll have to drag me out of this bed by my toes.

The door frame creaks. I roll over. Mona leans against it with her hand on her hip. She snickers.

"What?" I ask, my eyes barely open.

"Rough night?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "You're an absolute wreck."

" _Thanks."_

"You're very welcome." She walks over and sits on my bed. "Gabe called. He wants us to meet him this afternoon so you can see your new _maxi pad_."

I giggle, thinking of silly Gabe. The thought puts me in a slightly better mood. Now I feel twenty-five percent better.

By noon, I've regained control of my unfortunate appearance and my migraine. It only took two headache pills and an extended hot shower.

I've gotten dressed, made the bed, and packed my miniscule amount of new belongings into a borrowed duffle bag. Swinging the bag over my shoulder, I almost lose my balance. Maybe I'm not quite one hundred percent yet.

Still too tired to pick up my feet, I shuffle down the hall and down a flight of stairs to the second floor. Mona appears, exiting a room in front of me. One I have never bothered to investigate. With so many closed doors here, it seems normal. She shuts the door and spins around. She jumps when she sees me.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see you there," she says. The moment is awkward—for whatever reason, I'm not sure.

I blow it off. Right now, I'm too drained to be curious about what she's hiding behind that door.

"I'm ready to go whenever you are," I say, holding up my duffle bag, supremely proud that I've made it this far into my day.

•

We arrive at the Academy. Gabe is punctual and all business when he meets us in the atrium. Mona immediately steps away to get my entrance paperwork at the school office.

"Wasn't last night amazing?" Gabe flutters around the lobby until I concur with a nod and a smile. His absolutely endless energy makes me tired just watching him.

The lobby overflows with new students and a few parents. Excitement swirls through the air. After last night's party, who wouldn't be inspired?

Students stand in line for the elevator. They tug real luggage behind them. Gabe, ever the gentleman, takes my meager belongings and tosses them across his back as we stroll toward the colossal staircase.

Somewhat leery, I eye the statues flanking the first steps, wondering if they're Animates as well. Slender bronze goddess archetypes in flowing togas hold baskets of lotus flowers and stand on marble slabs.

I step precariously onto the first step, waiting for one of the women to move or make a noise. Then I take the next step. The statue I stand nearest screeches. She adjusts her stance, resting the basket on her knee.

Gabe ignores them and continues to prattle about last night. And I recall that yesterday, the baskets sat at the women's feet. They _have_ moved since I saw them last.

Gabe rushes back down the stairs and grabs my arm to drag me forward. "Come on, girly. We don't have all day."

"The good news is," he explains, "you're on the second floor."

"Great," I say, indifferent. I'm already contemplating a nap.

We walk past several large murals. Gabe chatters about them, but I'm not listening. I was happy to learn on the walk here with Mona that I could turn my super-memory off at will. If I can't choose my dreams and thoughts while sleeping during Night School, at least I can during my waking hours.

We arrive at the end of a long hall lined with marble archways. Gabe opens the door. I expect what I've always seen of college dorm rooms in movies: small and cramped, with characterless furniture, the kind that looks like sterile office furniture.

"This is your pad," he announces and waves me through the door. "You'll share this space with your team members." He swivels and smiles.

Three things shock me. One: that I will be forced to live with Sam, who, for some unknown reason hates me. Two: my other roommate will be my off-limits, drop-dead gorgeous Protector, Bishop. And three: I'm looking at a dorm room that's an apartment, comfortable and homey.

Gabe sputters over to the butterscotch covered sectional and rubs his hand on a pillow. "Suede!" he says, clearly overexcited by the fabric. A huge TV faces the couch, and all the latest electronic gadgets accompany it. A kitchenette runs across the back wall; exposed brick and arched windows sit behind it.

"It's an apartment."

"Yes, of course. What did you expect? And your room, it's over here." He prances to the door in the back corner, opens it, and gestures for me to follow.

### Chapter 18: Tornado of Death

"Double wow." I say as I step into the bedroom.

"It's just glorious, right?" Gabe asks, fishing for compliments.

" _You_ decorated this room?" I'm astonished.

"Of course, mamacita! Who else?" Gabe twirls across the floor with his arms spread wide. Unicorns might shoot out of his fingertips, he's so pleased with himself.

_Open-minded, open-minded._ I chant the words over and over. It's not like mystical fairies flutter around, although I haven't written off seeing those—yet. The room is perfect—too perfect. Like I've personally chosen every item myself.

An eggplant color covers the walls. A gray tufted chaise lounge sits, angled in the circular, window-filled alcove. An oversized white-upholstered sleigh bed sits across the room, covered with mounds of beautiful pillows. An intricately designed Venetian mirror hangs over the white alabaster fireplace.

There are, of course, the regular school necessities, like a desk with a computer and chair. The bookcases are filled with my favorite novels, but it's hard to pay attention to the regular items in a room so sophisticated and cool.

"And look—" Gabe runs to the closet and opens the door. "All new clothes!" School uniforms fill the front half. The back half boasts every other conceivable outfit.

"No way!" I dart in and run my fingers over the ruffles, lace, and velvet.

"Why are you giving me all this?" My face crumples in confusion, and I turn to face him.

"You don't like it?" Gabe's mouth turns down at the corners.

"Of course. It's amazing, but I don't understand—why?" My voice trails off as I step out of the closet and shut the door.

"Well, no one has ever asked me that before." He looks at me intently, as though I should know the answer for myself. "But don't you see? Your new life with us—what you are—it's important to our kind." He shakes my shoulders lightly. "We need you and all the others to care about what makes us special. That way you can carry on the traditions when us old folks are gone."

"You know you're not old," I contest. He's twenty-five, at best.

"Of course I'm not, lady. I'm just trying to prove a point." He slams his foot down for drama then becomes uncharacteristically shy. "We want you to be happy here, and maybe we're bribing you just a teensy-weensy bit." His fingers pinch the air.

"I suppose it's as good a reason as any," I relent.

"If it makes you feel better, you're still responsible for doing your own laundry, cleaning your bathroom, and keeping your apartment tidy, just like at home. We're not molding spoiled brats," he says.

"I hope not." My head jerks to the familiar voice in the doorway. Ray stands in my bedroom in a gray suit. Mona lingers behind him, looking concerned.

I stare in absolute shock.

"Wow, Sera, I don't think I've ever seen a dorm room quite like this." Ray leans over and gives me the prescribed, awkward hug.

"The Academy wants everyone to feel at home. Studies have shown that students apply themselves substantially more when they're comfortable. It improves their grades tremendously." Mona walks in to offer an explanation.

She's good. She knows his hot button—academics.

"Luckily for Sera, this room was already made up for another student that decided not to join us," Gabe says. He's in on the lie also, making the scenario more realistic. With the ease of their stories, you'd think they had done this before. I guess that they have. This entire school is a charade to the Normals.

"Lucky, indeed." Ray eyes Gabe's outfit with interest.

"Oh, uh," I gesture toward Gabe, pulling myself out of a stupor. "This is—"

"Gabriel Manuel Garcia, at your service," Gabe interrupts, and then he pliés. I cringe, unsure how Ray will perceive his over-the-top personality.

"Who _are_ you?" Ray's brows draw together and the corners of his mouth tilt downward.

Mona intercedes. "Gabe is the activities director for the students." She walks up, grabs Gabe by the arm, and shuffles him out of the room. "We'll give you two a moment alone."

"Au revoir!" Gabe yells over his shoulder, blowing kisses.

I press my lips together in a line, suppressing a laugh as I watch them scamper away.

"Hmm." Ray shakes his head. "Well, whatever helps you get the best grades. This school has a highly esteemed reputation. So, I guess I'm not qualified to question their methods." He shrugs and walks in a circle, sizing up the room. "Fancy."

I nod and change the subject. "This is a shock. Why didn't you tell me you were visiting?" I plop down on the bed.

"Well, I thought I'd surprise you. Mona helped." He smiles. That explains her prolonged disappearance after we arrived. "She showed me around while you were getting settled."

" _Did_ she?" For some reason, I'm positive she left out some of the most interesting aspects. If Ray had to visit at some point, today's a good day for it. To an outsider, the school appears to be hosting a Parents' Day.

"What? You're not happy to see me?" he asks, holding out his palms.

"No, of course I am, just—surprised." _Surprised that he's taking the time._

"Well, don't get too excited. I'm literally here to say hi and wish you good luck." He pats my shoulder, and then picks up my purple strand of hair. The color is finally fading into dark brown.

"How long will you be here?"

He looks at his watch, sucking air through his teeth. "I'm leaving now, actually."

"What? You just walked in the door!" I jump up from the bed.

"All right, I confess." He raises his hands in defense. "I was here on business. I didn't think there would be any time to see you, but when I got out of my meeting early, I called Mona."

"It's _Sunday_!"

"You know my schedule, Sera. I'm always working." He nervously pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He hates confrontations.

"Where to next?" I ask, deflated.

"I'm catching a flight to D.C. in about two hours."

I sigh. At least I got my five minutes of parental exposure. It's something, I suppose. Ray shuffles toward the door to leave. _Unbelievable._ The whole scenario makes me happy to be where people actually want me.

"I'm proud of you, Sera." He gives me a kiss on the forehead. I should be happy by his words, but they just anger me more because they feel phony.

Mona waits in the living room to walk him out. I stand in the doorway, rigid with anger. Ray waves a feeble good-bye.

Annoyed, I walk back into my room, but before I get too far, I hear Ray and Mona chatting farther away. I suspiciously peek back around the open door. Ray stands outside the apartment in a conversational circle with Mona, Samantha James, and Max Bishop.

My jaw tightens. From here, the group looks like the perfect family—the real kind. Like the one I've always wanted.

I wonder how Ray will feel when he realizes I'll be rooming with a boy. _A cute one!_ At least this will give him something to worry about.

I turn and slam the door.

•

An announcement for dinner wakes me from my nap. I consider staying in bed, but after I flop around a few more times, I realize that I'm too awake. I decide to find Macey in the dining room.

I roll out of bed and stumble to the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face in an attempt to make myself presentable.

When I step out of my room and into the apartment, it's dark. I glance at two nearby bedroom doors. They're both shut. From one, classical music seeps out. I pause. A part of me wants to knock, but only to see if Bishop answers. I envision his sparkling green eyes, and it makes me smile. I tell myself to let him go. It won't do me any good to obsess over a boy who's taken. Besides, I'm not sure what I would say. I should still be mad at him for almost killing me last night—or saving me. I'm not sure which now. Before I can decide, I dart out the front door.

As I walk through the elongated hallway, I peek into open apartment doors. I wonder if all are fashioned with the same interiors, cookie-cutter style like a hotel. Surprisingly, they're not. Each has their own identity, their own environment. Maybe Mona's babble about making students feel at home was true.

I reach the landing overlooking the main atrium. Droves of students funnel down the main staircase. The steps don't end on the first floor. They wrap around again below the main set and into the ground.

I follow the crowd, lingering in the back, taking in the faces of all of my new peers. They don't look especially important. Truthfully, they look like normal teenagers.

My hand slides down the cool marble railing. My feet hesitate on each step, pondering my remaining list of weird. I run over the names mentally: _CC, Francis Germ Bum, and the Grungy Gang._ I shiver.

When the train of people stops, we stand one floor below the main. Four massive wood doors with metal details sit open, revealing another room, less polished than the upper floors. Wooden truss beams outline the boxy shape of the soaring ceiling. Three simple rusted chandeliers hang from the roof. A stucco-covered fireplace roars at one side. Students scurry to find seating at the long, humble tables.

Macey's voice, loud and recognizable, makes her easy to find. I hear her clearly from across the chatter-filled room. And I realize as I spot her, I can always pick out her big hair.

When I reach her, I shimmy onto the bench between her and Xavier. Given her new, uncomfortable circumstances, I figure she won't mind.

"Thank you," she mouths.

Quinn sits across from us, flanked by Scarlett and Agnes. With the two here, the band will remain intact. I wonder how long they knew the secret before me.

In unison, the group hollers, "Stewie!"

A short boy—shorter than me—struts to our table. He oozes confidence even though his lanky body makes his movements unnatural. He smiles, indulgent in the attention, and slides into his seat.

He immediately notices me as someone new and introduces himself. "Hi." He leans over the table to give me his hand. "I'm Stuart Winston Murry, the Third, but you can call me Stu." He seems to be insinuating that it's a special allowance, just for me.

I give him an awkward handshake. He quickly flips over my hand and plants a kiss gently on the back. Macey shivers in her seat. Her bottom lip rolls out, and her chin puckers in distaste. I squirm and pull my hand away, attempting to be as polite as possible.

"Sera," I say, trying not to scrunch my nose.

The rest of the table giggles to themselves. Stu ignores them. He slicks back his coarse, dingy brown curls and slides back into the seat beside Scarlett.

"Who's this guy?" I mutter under my breath.

Macey whispers, "You heard him—he's Stuart Winston Murry—the Third." A little laugh escapes her lips. "He lives next to us. I don't think his team likes him too much." She nods her head toward the next table.

I glance over. Two blondes sit at the table. I recognize one as the girl with Max Bishop last night, the one with the attitude. She looks up and gives me a look of disgust. My brows furrow. _Seriously, what's her problem?_

I look away when Macey continues her story. "He's been hanging out with us all day. He's nice enough, just tries too hard, I think."

We both glance at Stu. He hovers over a small notebook, scribbling feverishly. He covers his writing, protecting the contents when Scarlet leans over and asks about it.

"What's he doing?" I ask.

"He says it's secret." Macey shrugs.

When Stu realizes we're staring, he blows us a kiss. We scramble to look away, pretending we don't see. The group laughs at our unease, but the cheerfulness abruptly halts. Their stares focus behind us as though a tornado of death looms.

### Chapter 19: First Time

I take in the faces of my new friends, registering their trepidation. The room darkens. That's when a strong hand clenches my shoulder. I pinch it up to my ear and look up, squinting through one eye. Terease towers over me, smiling. I cringe.

"Sera, do you remember Sam?" She jerks the girl into view. Sam stumbles over her feet.

"Uh—yeah." I fling Terease's hand from my shoulder. The table of students gasps. Instantly, I realize that may have been a poor move on my part.

Terease's eyes narrow, but instead of burning me into cinders, she turns to Sam. "Sam," she says sternly. Then she points between Macey and me. "Sit!"

With her arms crossed, Sam shoves her way between us, making a place for herself.

Terease only smiles her evil smile and saunters away. She struts down the aisle. Her arrogance makes me dislike her even more.

"What are you, a dog? You sit on command?" Agnes tries to joke with Sam.

Sam tenses. "Yes, very funny," she replies formally.

Macey's eyes meet mine, and then she goes in for more questioning. "So, Sam," she says nonchalantly, twirling a curl around her finger, "what's with Medusa?"

"I don't know what you mean," Sam says evasively. She grabs a menu, opens it, and engrosses herself in the choices.

"I know she's the Harvester and all, but is she also a Seer, like you?" I ask.

"Ah, no. An incorrect assumption on your part. How surprising." She looks back at her menu but continues to talk. "She's special, in a category all her own." It seems she only answers because she can't believe my stupidity.

Macey and I look at each other and shrug. We grab our own menus and let the subject drop. It's easy to see that Sam isn't going to talk.

Maybe Terease wants teams to sit together. At the thought, I scan the room for Bishop. He isn't anywhere to be found. I sigh, knowing if he were here, he'd probably be sitting with Goldilocks. I look over at her again. She's still staring at me with her cold, steel-blue eyes.

Averting my attention, I ignore her and focus on my entrée choices.

In the dining room, they serve food restaurant style. The choices are unlimited from home-style cooking to sushi. I choose dessert for dinner. My nerves are still unsettled from all the excitement, robbing me of my appetite. Blowing some calories on chocolate cake seems like a comforting idea.

Our group lingers, talking after our meals are finished. Even Sam lets down her guard, slightly, to chat here and there.

I learn that Scarlett is a Wanderer and Agnes is her Seer, but they don't have their Protector yet. They seem to be drawn to a boy at the west school. They feel he will be their Protector, but won't be completely sure until Terease harvests him.

I guess that's how Bishop knew to help me along. He and Sam must have seen me, felt a connection, and known that I would be joining them before I did. They knew before me. This fact annoys me because all this time I believed I was crazy.

Then there's Stu. He also has the gift of wandering. His group includes Jessica, his Seer, and Perpetua, his Protector. Perpetua is the steely-eyed blonde with the attitude. And according to Macey, she dates Bishop. This also annoys me.

We take our small party to Macey's apartment, two doors down from mine. I had unknowingly peeked into it earlier. The main living room, similar to my own, has a large sectional sofa that surrounds a wall-sized TV.

"When was your first time?" Macey asks Xavier as she plops down on the sofa. I realize that if you hear the question out of context, you might not know she's asking about his first time wandering.

"Actually, it's kind of funny. I was at home, running down a hall into the kitchen. I ran to answer the house phone while I had scissors in my hand." He laughs. "Get it? I was running with scissors!" He snorts another laugh at his joke.

"Yeah, we get it." Macey rolls her eyes. "Then what?"

"Then, out of nowhere, I was tumbling through a huge, colorful wormhole—with scissors," he reminds us, acting out the tumbling as he rolls himself across the sofa next to Macey. "Then, I ended up at my Grandma's house about a year before."

"Why?" I ask.

"I suppose I was thinking of her at the moment I ran down the hall. Those thoughts acted as the keyword in my mind, sending me to her. It was kinda an overwhelming surprise to see her because she had just passed away. The scissors were hers and had migrated to our house with a lot of her stuff.

"The best thing was," he continues, "she wasn't shocked to see me. She was a Wanderer herself. She sat me down and explained everything, and then she sent me back home. She said I could visit whenever I wanted!" Xavier exclaims.

"You're not supposed to wander until you've been trained," Sam grumbles. I look over at her, surprised that she's stuck around. She acts as though it's torture to hang out with us.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I can't wait to start school. She made me promise that I wouldn't visit again until I was better at it."

"Did you tell her that she died?" Agnes asks.

"Nah," Xavier responds, acting cool. "It didn't seem right to ruin the moment, ya know?"

"And it would have been illegal," Sam quickly reminds him, citing a specific code from the Society of Wanderers handbook. I bet she has the entire thing memorized. I haven't even seen one yet.

I'm a little jealous of Xavier, knowing he's been to see someone he loves, someone who's gone. I try to think positively, letting his story give me hope for what may lie ahead for myself.

Perpetua and Jessica strut through the open door of the apartment. "Stewie," Perpetua says in a sappy, baby voice. "We've been looking for you." They smile and drop down on the floor.

I exchange a look with Macey. Everyone seems shocked that the pair decided to grace us with their presence because there's an instant awkwardness, and the conversation ceases.

Stu rolls his eyes in annoyance and leans into me. "What about you, Sera?" he continues, breaking the silence. "When was your first time?"

He's asking the same question, but this time there are sexual undertones. So I smack him on the knee. He recoils. "God, Sera, you know what I meant!"

"Well," I say, "I wandered here, to the Academy, about twenty years ago or something." I play with my shoelace.

"Twenty years? No way!" Stu says.

"Yeah, as far as I can tell from my surroundings."

"I mean, it's unheard of to wander that far back when you're new." He tugs out his notebook and begins scribbling, apparently, finding the idea noteworthy.

"Well, whatever. That's what happened."

"How in the world did you end up here?" Macey seems intrigued.

"My Aunt Mona sent me a bracelet that belonged to my mother. I was running to class while trying to put it on and— _wham!_ I landed out front, in the Academy courtyard," I explain.

"So, your mother was there?" Perpetua asks tartly.

"Yeah—I mean, she went to school here also. She was a Wanderer."

"You saw her?" Perpetua crosses her arms as though she doesn't believe me.

"Well, no. I just assume that's why. I was thinking about her when I fell through the wormhole, and I was wearing her bracelet." I'm getting angry. Why would I lie, and why does she even care? I've never even talked to the girl!

"Did you ever ask her if she saw you that day? Or go back to see her?" She puts on an evil smirk.

"No, I didn't. I mean—I couldn't. I lost the bracelet after that, and she's been dead for a long time."

There. I've said it out loud. Now everyone knows. I've had to talk about Mom's death twice now in just two days to people I've never met before. A knot forms in my throat. I'm fighting my emotions, hoping they aren't plastered across my face, but I know they are.

When I look at Perpetua, she's smiling, nodding her head, insinuating that she knew all along, but asked regardless. Somehow she knew it would hurt me to think about my mom, to admit out loud that she's gone.

When this registers, I stare at Perpetua with the same look she's been giving me for the last two days—stone cold witch.

Perpetua ignores me and stands up. Somehow, although I don't know how, she's won some kind of game against me. A game I didn't know I was playing. Without saying a single word, she spins, whipping her blonde hair behind her, leaves the apartment, and slams the front door.

"What was that about?" Macey asks. Everyone studies me, surely wanting to know the same thing.

I shrug, attempting to act indifferent.

After everyone returns to their video games and chatting, I slip out of the group. I'm still too upset by the confrontation. I need to be stronger. She's nobody to me. _Why are people so mean?_

I know if I try to go to sleep now, upset, I'll just toss for hours. So I stroll to the main atrium.

Gas lamps flicker orange hues on the marble walls. I drift in front of several colossal murals, finally letting go of what happened. I wish I'd listened to Gabe earlier when he explained the paintings' meanings. They appear to be Baroque and Italian, from what I learned while living in Italy. Some remind me of the artist Caravaggio, but without a label, I can't be certain.

I find myself lost in the expressions of the painted figures. My gaze slips toward the stairs. I jump back, startled by a human shadow leaning against a nearby wall, watching me.

### Chapter 20: Angels

The shadow moves toward me at a measured pace. My heart stops, and I wonder if anyplace is safe.

A flicker of light crosses his face. His cheeks raise slightly, revealing a dimple and accentuating his square chin. Then he smiles, less with his mouth and more with his eyes. They squint, forming upside-down smiles. The perfect green eyes I've dreamed about nearly disappear into a fringe of thick lashes.

"Did I scare you?" His accented voice breaks the silence.

I shrug, trying to control my heart. "A little." Feeling flustered, my lips roll into a line.

"What are you doing out here so late?"

"I could ask you the same," I say, although it's obvious Bishop has just come home. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold. He slips off his coat and unwraps his scarf, walking closer.

"I was out with my mum. I don't get to see her often."

"Yeah, I know how that is."

"Do you?" He acts surprised.

"Well, yeah—I mean, my dad actually. He's always been there, but not really. He travels a lot. We moved a lot." I'm not sure why I'm divulging this information. My mouth won't shut up.

He nods.

"So, you're being nice to me now?" I ask, but I quickly look down, instantly embarrassed. _Has he really been mean to me?_

He looks around, unsure. Awkwardness laces the air, because I can't find the words to apologize, to thank him for saving me from the gang, and for trying to tell me I'm a Wanderer.

He digs his hands into his pockets. He says nothing. I say nothing. _What's wrong with me? Why can't I be normal around him?_

I look back to the mural, trying to hide my feelings.

Bishop hesitates, silent for several moments, as though he's in contemplation, making a decision. The air pressure around me changes. Somehow, now it's thicker, sweeter, something to be craved. I wrap my arms around myself and inhale.

"I'm sorry about Sam," he says.

"What about her?" I look at the painting. I won't look at him. I won't let him affect me.

"I know how she's been with you. I mean, I can guess. She's young, so I think being an overbearing know-it-all is her way of trying to fit in with the older kids. Sometimes she overcompensates, but it's just her way of coping."

"That's pretty much how she's acting." It must be hard to be so young in high school.

He clears his throat. "This is a Michelangelo Caravaggio." He steps forward, gesturing toward the painting.

"That's what I thought." I respond too quickly. An unexplained sense of competition lingers between us. Maybe I have a little of what Sam has also.

"He was a master of painting chiaroscuro, the modeling of images with light and dark," he explains. "This painting is the scene from our beginnings. Do you know the story?"

I want to say no, so he will linger longer and tell me, but I don't. I can't let him think that he knows more than me. "Yeah." I nod. "I heard it yesterday."

I assumed the subject of the painting and the story were one and the same. A golden obelisk stands in a field of grain. A river flows nearby. A king stands in the foreground. Two field workers at his feet, kneeling with harvest baskets. Geometric sunrays beat down from a cloudless sky. The painting, so large, so real, makes me want to walk right into it. Maybe one day, I will. I consider the thought.

I look away, and Bishop's eyes meet mine. A physical reaction occurs within me. It urges me toward him. I shiver and hold my ground. I wrap my arms tighter around myself, hoping they will anchor me to my spot.

"What about this one? Do you know the story here?" He points to another painting.

"No." I shake my head, telling the truth.

"Well then," he smiles shyly, "we'll have to remedy that." He steps behind me and places his hand on my shoulders. In an instant, warmth circulates at the point of contact. With the floodgates open, energy surges between us, activating and stimulating every nerve in my body. He navigates my body back against the marble railing, positioning us at the center of the mural, farthest away for the best view.

With the entire painted scene before me, in the silence and delicate, flickering light, he speaks softly. "This oil was painted by Leonardo Da Vinci."

"What does it mean?" I ask, inspecting it.

"'I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and His train filled the temple. Above Him stood the seraphim; each had six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew.'"

I look back at him, confused.

"It's a passage from the Bible. Isaiah 6:1–3."

"Oh."

"The seraphim angel pictured here is of the highest guard of angels. Her mission is to protect God and His kingdom."

I look again at the angel with dark flowing hair and three sets of wings. Her flawless skin glows softly like alabaster. Black words scroll across each set of wings, along with simple symbols. The symbols are tattoos, if wings could have them. A gleaming kingdom sits in the background. Green earth wraps with convexity below her wing-covered feet.

"Our people descended from many cultures, and therefore we are depicted in various folklore and religions."

"You're saying we might be time-traveling angels?" I laugh a little. "Are you going to tell me we're aliens too?"

"Well, that painting is around the corner, but it's not nearly as interesting."

I look back over my shoulder at him, raising my eyebrows. He smiles, but I think he's serious. I look forward, searching the painting for answers.

"What are the symbols, there on each wing?" I point.

"Each set of wings represents one of the given gifts. The middle set represents the Wanderer. Here you can see the Wandering symbol." He waves his hand toward the tattoo. "A set of wings." It's a simplified pictograph.

"The top set of wings represents the Seer. Their symbol is there." He points over my shoulder to a symbol of an open eye, reminding me of an Egyptian hieroglyph.

"And lastly, of course, is the Protector. Our symbol is a coiled scorpion." He points again, his arm grazing mine.

"If this is true, what happened to our wings," I ask.

"The remnants are still with you," he whispers. His fingertip slips down my shoulder and slowly traces the large bone on my upper back. I shiver. I pray he didn't feel it, but I'm sure he did. Behind me, I think I hear his lips crack into a smile.

"The scapula bone, it's shaped like a wing. That's where our wings were attached before God stripped them from us."

"Why would he do that?" I ask quietly.

"The short story is that we needed to be punished for sharing our secrets with the Normals." His finger lingers on my back. "She's quite a special angel. She bears all three gifts."

"Is that possible?"

"I believe that anything is possible," he replies. I turn to look at him. His eyes search mine silently, asking something I can't decipher. I blush, my face hot, and turn forward again. "We're learning more about ourselves every day and are evolving in new ways," he says.

He walks around me. His footsteps echo in the atrium. Then he stops and faces me. We stand, eyes locked on each other for several seconds. Finally, he reaches down to brush his hand to my face, letting his fingers drift to the beauty marks on my cheek. He touches each one delicately, as though he might accidentally move one.

"This painting could have been your portrait," he muses and assesses my features.

He leans down to my ear. His cheek grazes mine, and he whispers. His warm breath radiates around my neck, sending tingles racing down my back. All I want to do is reach out and hold him.

"And the painting—it bears your name." He says my name slowly, gently, letting it roll from his lips, while enunciating each syllable. "Ser-a-phi-na."

It's as though I have never heard my own name before. The sound, so beautiful, so sweet, makes me close my eyes to hear it again in my mind. I inhale, holding my breath at the top of my chest. Being so close to him, encompassed in his sublime presence, leaves me feeling submerged with the current pulling me deeper, farther out, and uncontrolled.

My eyes flutter open, and he's gone.

### Chapter 21: The Lecture

I've lain in bed all night without a solid hour of sleep. For once, images of CC, Francis Germ Bum, or the Grungy Gang don't consume my thoughts. Instead, they're completely consumed with the perfect green eyes of the all-too-taken Bishop. I throw my face into my pillow and moan.

As much as that Perpetua girl irks me, I'm not a boyfriend stealer. Or at least, I have no intention of becoming one. The attraction toward Bishop pulls me like gravity. But even that isn't a strong enough word.

I've never lived anywhere long enough to have a boyfriend, let alone someone I felt the necessity to kiss. Being drawn to him this way, with such intensity, just doesn't make sense. My new emotions leave me confused. This is not normal. But then again, I'm not normal.

I roll over in my bed, focusing on the time. An antique clock across the room chimes. 6:45 a.m.

I groan. If they want to make students happy, maybe they should consider starting classes a little later. I fling the comforter off my body, then I roll over the edge of the bed. Misjudging the distance, I hit the floor on all fours. "Uhh!"

"Sera!" Someone knocks at my door four times.

I look up.

"Sera! It's almost time to go!" Sam's stern voice yells, and she knocks again impatiently. I realize she won't stop until I answer her.

"I'll be out in a minute." I call out, annoyed.

She stomps away. Judging from her personality, she'd probably die if I made her late to class. We're all supposed to attend together, as a team. I wonder how much trouble we will get into if I make us tardy—on purpose. It seems an easy payback for her crappy attitude.

Pulling myself up from the floor, I think of how Bishop defended her personality last night. Maybe I should be a little more understanding. At least I can try.

I stumble to the bath, shower quickly, and pull my hair back with a rubber band. I brush my teeth, and douse myself with body spray. Then I shrug into a new uniform from my overloaded closet. This uniform, different from the one worn at the Normals' Academy, includes a white button-down shirt with short puffy sleeves, a black fitted vest, and a plaid skirt. More stylish, I muse. Probably from Gabe's input. I refrain from a final look in the mirror, knowing a set of disastrously dark bags sit under my eyes, and nothing can be done to hide them.

As I pull on a hooded cardigan with the school's crest, I emerge from my room. Instantly, I lock eyes with Bishop. We say nothing to each other. My face flushes hot, and I glance away. I pretend to scratch my eyebrow to hide my face, but when I look back from under my lashes, he's already walking the opposite direction and out the front door.

Sam stands with her hand on her hip, trying to control her annoyed breathing. I can tell she wants to reprimand me, but she holds her tongue. Instead, she spins to walk away, her long braided hair snaps around to follow her.

With reluctance, I catch up to them. I just have to remember, I'm doing all this to find my mom. And I won't allow Sam's attitude or whatever feelings I have for Bishop to affect me.

Although I know we have orientation, I'm not even sure where we're going. I just follow my team. Bishop and Sam step into a nearby elevator. It's hidden behind a velvet curtain. The cage has ornate brass details, and a manual wheel crank to control the direction. Bishop rotates the oversized handle toward the floor. The elevator cage bucks to life. We glide down, passing several levels until soft morning light creeps across the floor, over our feet, and finally up the walls. We hover over Olde Town before the car thumps to a stop. Bishop returns the handle to its original position and pulls back the retractable cage door. He gestures for Sam and me to walk through first. _He's a gentleman._

I don't look at him, even though I know he's looking at me. I want to push away the feelings from last night and hide them in my heart. I'm an expert at shutting Ray out, and I can do the same to Bishop, too. I think.

We're in the city, but entering on the north end. A rickety bridge with rushing water underneath meets us at the entrance. It's a similar scenario to the lion gate entrance. Except this time, two large rusted metal raptors with beaks that curve into daggers stand on steel columns. Their mustard-colored eyes pierce through me, making me uncomfortable.

Sam and Bishop walk briskly across the bridge, paying the metal guards no mind. I trail behind, shadowing Bishop, and look away when the birds cock their heads with curiosity in my direction.

Sam struts toward the tallest building in the little city. A stone clock tower, resembling Big Ben, juts from the top. Skinny vertical windows dot the exterior in an asymmetrical way. A large tunnel punches a hole underneath the building. To one side of the facade, a set of diagonal stairs, lined with blooming azalea bushes, leads to a pair of oversized metal doors on the second floor. We follow several students, rushing toward them.

The bell rings when we walk through the threshold. A large auditorium with seating like a movie theatre spills over with burgundy velvet. Originally, Gabe said the Clock Tower Building serves two uses: movies and lectures. This morning, it acts as a lecture hall. Students scurry to take their seats.

Teams sit in groups, scattered around the room, chatting. Macey, on the opposite side of the room, waves as I hurry down the aisle behind Bishop. Sam, at the lead, waltzes to the front and gracefully seats herself front and center. Bishop takes the seat behind her in the next row, and I unwillingly sit next to him.

Mr. Evanston stands at the podium and when the final person is settled, he begins. "Welcome to your first official orientation. I want to jump right into things because we have a lot to accomplish."

"Why are you here?" Mr. Evanston clutches the podium, looking around. "Just like any vocational school, you're here to learn a specialty. By the time you leave the Academy, you'll have the ability to wander through time with ease. Learning how to use your special talents will keep you safe and allow you to enjoy your gifts without disrupting historic events."

He paces the stage, looking at the floor. "Elijah Vanderpool built the Academy and dedicated it to the art of wandering. He hoped that it would help create structure among our kind—to teach young ones how to deal with their new lives and respect history at all costs," he explains, pointing to the ceiling on occasion to create emphasis.

"By now, you all know that three people are involved with wandering. A Wanderer, a Protector, and a Seer." He holds up three fingers. "These three people form a chain." He locks his fingers into links and tugs. "They work together to strengthen the wandering process.

"Seers have an extrasensory perception. He or she can view the life path of an object. We call these objects relics. Seers read relics like a road map. Seers know where a relic can lead, and as they mature in their gifts, may know the people and situations they might encounter during various periods of time. Seers are to become expert historians," he explains.

"During the wandering process, your Seer remains here, in this time, but can see what you are doing at the moment it happens in the past through the eyes of your Protector. Seers are your very own air traffic control tower," he says and stops at the podium.

Everyone laughs and shifts in their seats.

"Next is the Protector. They're the middle link in our chain. He or she is connected mentally to the Seer and accompanies a Wanderer during time travels. They can only traverse time when in physical contact with their Wanderer."

I look over at Bishop. This explains how he was able to travel with me the other night, when he tackled me in the street, saving me. When he notices my gaze, I look away and focus on Mr. Evanston.

"The Protector can exchange thoughts, sight, touch, and smell with the Seer, keeping them abreast of what's happening at any time, past or present." My eyes are wide with the realization that Bishop and Sam can read each other's thoughts. "Ultimately, the Protector's job is to look after the well-being of the Wanderer and guard them on their journey. They will not only become expert bodyguards but they must have the same knowledge as both the Seer and the Wanderer."

From this information, I zero in on one specific detail. _It's his job to protect me._ I like the sound of this a little more than I should. Just like I like him a little more than I should. I exhale and slouch away from him, as far as possible, propping my elbow on the armrest, dropping my cheek into my palm.

"Finally, we have the Wanderer," Mr. Evanston continues. "They're the end link on our chain. They, with the relic and your keyword, are the literal key to opening the gates of time. And they rely on their Seer and Protector to supply a smooth and accurate journey. Wanderers will become experts in history, linguistics, cultures, and just the overall ability to blend seamlessly into any period of time.

"All three rely on one another. They're nothing without each other."

I raise my hand.

"Yes, Miss Parrish."

"But can't a Wanderer time travel alone? They don't _really_ need the others—right?"

Sam whips around to give me a nasty look. Bishop shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable.

"Yes," he says with reluctance. "It's true. Your first experience, no doubt, happened without ever knowing your Protector or Seer. But," he raises his voice to the entire room, "it is frowned upon. We cannot allow you to wander blindly. You're with a team for a reason." He pauses and stares at me. "Does everyone understand?" He points his finger sternly around the crowd.

Some people mumble "yes," some nod, other students look as though they're sleeping in their chairs. Will they still absorb the lecture in their sleep as Mr. Evanston promised we could?

But I noticed he only said it's "frowned upon," like, they really can't stop you if you wander alone.

Mr. Evanston runs his fingers through his thick white hair. He clasps his hands together in front of his chest. "Now, for the basic principles of how wandering works..."

He exits the stage, stepping behind the curtains, and rolls out an overhead projector on a squealing cart. Billowing curtains part on the back wall, revealing a movie screen. The light on the projector pops on, and the fan purrs. Mr. Evanston removes a marker from his pocket and slides a piece of clear acetate onto the machine's backlit stage.

He turns to face the class, holding up the marker. "This marker is a relic. However, it didn't start its life here in Chicago but rather in a factory in China."

The oversized shadow of his hand appears on the screen. The marker makes a squeaking noise as he writes. When he removes it, he's drawn a dot on one corner of the acetate and labeled it marker factory, China.

"This marker has been on a journey from its birthplace in China and landed here in Chicago with me. After today, it will continue on its journey without me when I leave it on this podium."

He draws a dot on the opposite end of the page and labels it marker's future, and then he connects the two dots. "This line here is the marker's _life path_."

He draws a new dot on the center of the line and labels it Mr. Evanston. He points to it. "This new dot in the middle of the marker's life path is where the marker and I met. I became a part of its life path when I picked it up this morning.

"I didn't start life here with this marker, of course, I also have a past and a future." He draws an opposing line right through the center dot creating an X. He labels the new line Mr. Evanston.

The cross on the screen now shows the intersection of two lives, Mr. Evanston's and the marker's.

"Although extremely simplified, these two intersecting paths are literally road maps in which a Seer can view a relic's life. The Wanderer and Protector will follow these routes to arrive at a predetermined time and place," he explains.

"So, for example," he walks forward, gesturing toward Sam, "if I were to give Sam this marker, she would meditate and discover that this relic is a quick path to China, about two years ago. Then Sera and Bishop can wander there with confidence.

"Questions?" He flips off the overhead and returns to the podium.

"Yes," he says, and points to the back of the auditorium. A girl with long black hair and dark eyes stands up. "When we wander and land somewhere else, what does a Normal see?"

"Excellent question," he responds.

"Have you ever had that feeling when you think you see something from the corner of your eye? And when you look, someone is standing there and you hadn't realized it before that moment?"

She nods. We all do.

" _We_ are those instances," he says.

"No, a Normal will not see you leave with the earth rolling over you, or see you arrive from a swirling wormhole, or even your shimmering cloud of wander dust. They only see your solidified form. When a Normal takes a moment to blink every four to six seconds, they leave an open door for us to appear. We become that instance where they think they see something out of the corner of their eye. And then, in fact, they do."

I try to remember the instances where I thought I saw someone appear out of nowhere. It hasn't happened in a while. Specifically since my special gift appeared.

"Yes, Xavier," Mr. Evanston calls out.

I look over at Xavier, standing next to Macey. "Why don't we go back to save people from natural disasters or stop destructive events?" he asks.

"Ah," Mr. Evanston ponders, stroking his beard. "There's always someone who wants to be the superhero." Everyone giggles, and Xavier takes his seat.

Mr. Evanston crosses his arms and paces the stage, contemplating his response. "We can, of course, affect the outcome of events small and large. But as a Society of Wanderers, it's our duty to protect history's events—good or bad. It isn't our job to create destiny, it's our job to allow it to run its true course. If you ever try such a thing, I must tell you that it's illegal, and the Society of Wanderers will punish you. I assure you, the Society is not as forgiving as the court system you are accustomed to in your Normal lives."

I'm not happy to hear this news. We aren't allowed to change history. Therefore, my mission to save my mom is illegal. What will they do to me? What will they do to her? I squirm in my seat, thinking it over.

I pull my hood over my head to block my peripheral vision, but only so Bishop cannot see my worried face. Only Mr. Evanston faces me, but his attention rambles, lost in the multitude of students before him.

"We try to be as respectful as possible to history, only observing, retracing, and learning, but never modifying," Mr. Evanston continues.

"Yes," he calls on another student, but I stop listening. I need to find my mom's bracelet. This is the key to seeing her again. There's nothing else I've ever owned, at any point in time, that can return her to me, even for a fleeting moment in history. History that I'm not allowed to alter. Not without serious consequences.

### Chapter 22: Relic Archives

"Excuse me," a rude voice sings out. Perpetua elbows my arm and pushes her way past. She grabs Bishop's wrist, tugging him in the opposite direction, against the stream of students. "I need to talk to you." Her voice twists with annoyance.

"But you'll be late to our next class!" Sam yells. He turns and shrugs in her direction. They exchange what I think is a knowing glance, and he and Perpetua slip away.

Did Sam and Bishop just say something to each other through their minds? Will I be able to tell when they do? Their telepathic connection is so annoying!

Sam turns and looks at me with a scowl on her face, then she stomps away.

When I exit the lecture hall, the weather machine has produced another perfect and sunny day below the earth. Up above, residents of Chicago battle the howling winter winds.

My palms brush along the petals of the blooming azaleas that line the stairs. In the courtyard, the obelisk glistens gold, so bright in some spots that the glare turns into a blinding white-out. I block my eyes with my free hand, stepping carefully until I reach the group of students standing at the base of the obelisk, gathering for our next class, Relics I.

How will we spend an entire semester learning about relics and their life paths? It just seems like a glorified history class. I lean against the obelisk, waiting for the lecture to begin, and hum a melody.

In front of our group, a teacher drags a heavy iron chair. The legs rumble across the stone piazza, screeching. Everyone groans, covering his or her ears.

"Excellent," the man says, hoisting his portly body up onto the chair, elevating himself above the students. "Now that I have everyone's attention, we can begin.

"I'm Argus Matchimus, the conservator of the Relic Archives and your professor for Relics I." His voice gargles, rough as rocks. He clears his throat but it doesn't help. "Now that you've had your orientation, we can delve deeper into what all this wandering business means. The reason our journey of studies begins with relics is because, after your team, a relic is the most important component to wandering. Do you recall the marker from Mr. Evanston's lecture?" he asks, gazing around.

Everyone nods.

"Like the marker, anything that is not a living organism can be a relic. As you already know, you can use them to navigate the maps of time.

"These clothes you're wearing right now," he swings his chubby hand, gesturing to the crowd, "they're relics of today's class. If you choose tomorrow to dress in one of these items, you can wander back to this point in time."

A body flies forward in front of the class, appearing out of nowhere. All the students gasp, startled as a boy materializes out of a cloud of sparkling wander dust. Mr. Matchimus grabs the boy's collar to steady him, right before he falls to the ground on his knees.

"Cool! It worked!" The curly-haired boy announces, pleased with himself.

"Whoa!" An identical boy whoops in front of the group. He happens to be the Wanderer's mirror image. They smile a big horsey smile at each other and lift their hands to compare themselves.

"There's always one jokester among us," Mr. Matchimus crows. His stomach jiggles, moving as an independent entity.

Both boys are lost in their small victory when Terease swoops over and grabs both the boy's true and his wandered self. With force, she drags them across the courtyard and out the entrance. They pass in a blur, agitating the Animates as they leave. The lions stand up and growl; their claws swipe at the air.

My jaw drops, and every student stares. Even Mr. Matchimus seems dumbfounded by Terease's brief entrance and hasty exit. How did she get here so fast? And how did she know that the boy wandered _illegally_ , by himself?

"Well then, perhaps we'll see him tomorrow. Or not." Mr. Matchimus throws his hands into the air. "Like we keep reiterating, we forbid wandering unsupervised, especially without your team."

"There's a way to get away with it, ya know," Stu leans over and whispers.

"How?" I'm curious for future reference, of course.

He takes advantage and leans even closer, sniffing my body spray. "As long as you wander off of school grounds, they won't have proof. Did you happen to notice the security room with all the TV monitors?"

I nod, understanding. _They watch everything._

"The eyes are everywhere, except students' apartments," he explains.

"Eyes?"

"Yeah, the Elusive Youth Electronic Surveillance. E.Y.E.S.," he says. I think back to all of the cameras I've seen mounted to the walls around the school. They're everywhere.

"What about your Seer? Won't they know?"

"Not if you go without your Protector. The Seer is only connected to you through them."

Of course, the middle link of the chain.

Just then, Bishop slides around a nearby tree and into the group, somehow unnoticed. I wonder what the punishment would be for tardiness if Terease weren't so busy disciplining that other kid. At the thought, I'm happy I didn't try to make us late this morning.

"What about Bishop?" I ask, jerking my head in his direction. "Will he know?"

Stu steps closer, almost resting his head on my shoulder. "Only if you're in danger. They sense it—like an animal." He growls into my ear. I jump away. Students turn in our direction. This includes Bishop. Muscles in his jaw tighten as his assesses Stu.

I quickly turn my attention to Mr. Matchimus, who's still speaking.

"Now that you've seen how it all works from our impromptu manifestation, let's get down to business, shall we? Follow me." Mr. Matchimus gestures with his fleshy hand and turns to walk away.

A line of students forms behind him as he waddles into a nearby tunnel. We must be somewhere underneath the west school building by now. Mr. Matchimus stops and unlocks a small wooden doorway, one that I'm positive he won't fit through. He props the door open with a charred brick, then enters the inadequate opening by turning sideways.

Students step single file into the murk, disappearing one by one. When I step through the door, footsteps and chatter echo around the boxed-in staircase. Steps wrap, seemingly without end, into the sinking darkness.

Brass candelabras flicker sparse warmth on each landing. The textured walls beneath, colored dingy yellows and sepia browns, remind me of old photographs. The tile steps are so worn that a smooth and shiny groove has been rubbed into each.

We descend slowly for several stories then exit into a new chamber. Just enough light pours over from the stairwell to see your neighbor. Bishop's shoulder brushes mine. It electrifies my pulse on contact, but I don't look at him. I'm determined to hold my feelings at bay. We stand shoulder to shoulder for several moments, until the lights snap on.

An enormous room, larger than a football field, sits before us. Hand-hewn timber ceilings travel the length of the space. I squint, searching for the end of the room, but I don't see it. Soot-cloaked walls hint at more leftovers from a burned city. I breathe in faint traces of charcoal.

Rumblings of excitement roll through the group.

One single aisle cuts the length of the room in half. Rows and rows of massive archive shelves stand as a graveyard, holding ancient objects and artifacts. Objects, ranging from small to large, cover every available surface. A two-story stained glass window leans up against a nearby wall. A miniature stone gargoyle sits at the window's base.

The warehouse reminds me of Mona's home. "Eclectic chaos," she calls her design theme. She's a Seer, after all, so now her choice of decor makes sense.

"Calm down, everyone." Mr. Matchimus centers himself in front of the group, pressing the air down with his palms. "This is one of the Society's largest caches of relics." He waves his hand at the room. His body appears small now, compared to the space.

"We all know what relics do, but only some of us can see their life paths. I'd like to ask for your attention over here," he says and waddles toward a huge covered object. He rips the cream canvas off the mass, revealing what I can only describe as a contraption. What it does, I'm not exactly sure.

"This, class, is _a relicutionist_." Everyone stands silent, waiting for an explanation. "This machine will do what only one-third of your team can. It will read the life path of a relic."

The _oohs_ and _aahs_ start immediately. Stu worms his way to the front for a better look. He whips out his notebook, making notations of the oddly pieced-together apparatus.

"Now, now, don't get too excited," Mr. Matchimus says. The chattering subsides. "This machine plays a relic's life path like a movie."

"How old is it?" one boy asks.

"It's over one hundred years old and a product of the late industrial revolution," Mr. Matchimus explains.

"Now, let's put it to use, shall we?" Mr. Matchimus looks over our group. "You there." He points to Macey, towering over everyone else.

She looks around, unsure of whom he pointed to.

"Yes, you," he confirms. "Go and choose a small item from the archives."

She skips off at first then seems to disappear in a streak of color. She comes back within seconds, presenting an object in her palms.

"Very nice choice, Miss...?"

"Macey Du Bois," she replies.

"Thank you, Miss Du Bois." Mr. Matchimus nods, seemingly pleased with the selection. Macey skips back to her spot between Xavier and Quinn.

He turns to the relicutionist and lifts a slender glass dome. With white-gloved hands, he gently places the relic on a velvet tray. He returns the dome to its original position, encasing the relic.

Mr. Matchimus turns to a wooden control panel, littered with green lights. His pudgy fingers type a word on the ancient typewriter protruding from one side. Finally, when all the buttons are lit, he pulls the machine's lever.

### Chapter 23: The Relicutionist

The entire machine lurches to life. The floor rumbles beneath our feet, and everyone takes a cautious step back. The room creaks and moans, protesting the powerful shaking. The sound tweaks my ears with a deafening tone. I reach to cover them, but this isn't enough to muffle the steam engine noise.

Although unified, the contraption can be broken down into three visible sections: a small glass dome cover, which now encases the relic; then a wooden control panel, covered with green buttons, gauges, and steaming pipes; and lastly, a massive, enclosed glass display—or maybe it's more like a gigantic tube. Sparkling fog materializes inside. I'm not sure which part to watch with all three sections galvanized in their own world of chaos.

The entire machine sits on two pairs of wagon wheels, one set much larger than the other. It jumps and rolls back and forth for several moments, and when I think it has reached its limit and will absolutely blow—silence. I look on in shock, waiting for the action to start again. What it will do next, I can't even fathom.

The glass dome glows brightly with golden streams of light. The encased relic lifts slowly, defying gravity. Now that the relic hovers, I can see it clearly. It's a miniature model of a hang glider. The relic moves gracefully through the air, flapping its wings. The movements are as fluid as a bird's, but this is not an animal. This is a wood and fabric model of a flying machine.

It flutters to the top of the case then slowly descends in a spiral motion. Delicate wings skim the glass edge. The model flies repeatedly in a circular pattern from top to bottom.

The large tube seems to react to the glowing relic. A lightning storm breaks out in the sparkling, fog-filled space. Blue fingers of electrical current creep around the glass wall, zapping and popping until a color image forms in the center.

Collectively, students press forward to get a better look. Now I must stand on my tiptoes to see. In complete silence, the relicutionist presents the relic's life path in reverse chronological order.

The introductory images are quick flashes, held airborne for just enough time for the mind to register the scene and move on. Then the images flip like pages in a long picture book.

First, an image of Macey appears. Next, the object sits on the archive shelves. Then, several students use it in their studies. Mr. Matchimus catalogs the relic. Finally, a thousand other images follow, spooling by so fast that if I blink, I know I will miss at least a hundred of them.

The images slow, reaching the desired destination. I assume it has come to the keyword that Mr. Matchimus typed into the contraption's typewriter—the name of a person or place that interacted with the object very early on in its life.

I recognize the man the moment I see him, a master artist, architect, and engineer—Leonardo Da Vinci. Now, the movie plays back the events in order, moving forward in time.

The relic has just been made, the last piece of silk stitched onto its delicate wooden frame. Da Vinci holds the model, admiring it from all sides. He rises from his wooden workbench and walks to the middle of his studio. Lithely, he dances around, gliding the object through the air like a small child playing with a new toy.

I'm captivated with the aged man, a genius by any standards, playing with his new creation. He swipes the glider through the air, seemingly letting his imagination run wild with the possibility of flying.

Mr. Matchimus pulls a rusted lever, moving the images fast forward. When he stops on a new scene, Da Vinci stands on a hillside, surrounded by plush green grass and jagged rocks. He holds the model in his hand, explaining its details in Italian to a group of younger men.

After much discussion, Da Vinci sets the relic on a nearby canvas satchel and walks to a full-size replica of the model sitting in the background under a tree. Four men lift the life-size flying machine and Da Vinci steps into the driver's harness. The men fasten his arms with leather straps, securing his body.

My jaw drops. I realize that I'm going to watch Da Vinci attempt to fly his own creation down a rocky hillside.

Right before the group lifts him off the edge, he yells out in Italian, "Among the angels!" He and the flying machine catch a rush of wind and sweep over the edge of the hill. I gasp out loud, knowing he won't make it. But to my surprise, the old man glides for several moments. Immeasurable elation paints his face.

Then, he crashes.

Every student cringes away from the image. Da Vinci crawls out from underneath the damaged flying machine and collapses in tear-filled joy and uncontrolled laughter.

Mr. Matchimus ends our preview by turning off the machine. The relicutionist darkens. The hovering relic circles back to a resting position on the velvet tray. Mr. Matchimus steps in front of the machine.

"I thought we didn't fly until the late nineteenth century," a girl asks from the group.

"Yes, that's the case, if you're a _Normal_." Mr. Matchimus snickers. "Of course, _they_ only believe what they have proof to believe." He folds his hands on his stomach and continues. "Still, this machine has its imperfections. As I mentioned earlier, the machine will not tell you where the instance you just watched took place or whom was involved."

"Who was it?" another student questions.

"Some of you may have recognized the great Leonardo Da Vinci." Mr. Matchimus raises his hand toward the machine. "This event took place on Mount Ceceri, outside of Florence, Italy, near Da Vinci's work studio."

"What about the larger relics?" Sam asks, eyeing the stained glass window behind us.

"This machine cannot track their path because of their size," he answers.

"Why do you keep them?"

"Well, a Seer can still meditate on them, but you can't wander with them, not with ease."

"Can you break a small piece off?" Sam asks.

"No. No. Heavens no! If you break them apart, they'd be broken, _fragmented_ in time, creating travel roads that are warped and scrambled. We wouldn't know where it would send you if you tried to use them. Very dangerous, indeed," Mr. Matchimus scolds.

"We keep them just in case we're able to design something in the future to extract their life path energies. You must always be prepared for what may be."

Sam crosses her arms, clearly annoyed by Mr. Matchimus' chiding. He raises his eyebrows at her stance. "Well then, moving on. Over here we have the less exciting computers," he says as he shuffles through the crowd.

Behind us, against the wall, sits a row of computers that look as dated as the relicutionist. "You will use them much the same as a library computer. Every relic, large and small, is entered into the searchable database on these machines. Simply type in a keyword, and the search engine will acquire a list of all relevant relics and their position within the archive facility."

•

One class fades into the next, and within a few hours I stand poolside in the main floor atrium with a group of students waiting for our next class, Team Tactics I. My classes are anything but conventional, and it's a welcome change from a Normal class schedule.

To anyone standing nearby, I'm admiring the intricate metalwork of the domed ceiling, but internally I'm formulating some future retaliation for Perpetua.

At lunch I sat with Macey and the others as I had the night before. I'm positive Perpetua deliberately positioned herself in front of me at the next table, so she could stare at me through the entire lunch period. She must have been taking evil cues from Terease. She hadn't affected me the same way as Terease, of course, and I don't think she has the ability to, but she's trying hard. I know it wasn't my imagination because Stu noticed her evil glares. He seemed intrigued by the tension, mentioning he couldn't wait for the catfight to begin.

I'm brought back to this moment when Ms. Midgenet appears on a catwalk, hanging precariously five stories above the pool, a megaphone in her hand. Everyone looks up, pointing. I shiver at the height.

She's a small, spunky woman, whose top half looks as though it might crush the bottom. Her narrow waist and tapered legs are strangely disproportional to her wide shoulders and chest. Apparently, she pulls double duty by working in the office and conducting Team Tactics.

She holds the megaphone to her mouth. "Okay, kiddies, let's get started." Her curt voice belts across the open space.

"It's imperative for you, as a team, to trust each other on your time-traveling journeys. I've devised a special exercise for our first class to build that trust." Static accompanies her voice as it shrieks through the megaphone.

As if on cue, she appears next to us. Sparkles radiate in a halo around her body. With a small wooden box in her grasp, she walks around to each team. "Every Seer, please take one marble from the box. This is your relic for today's class.

"Does everyone remember Gabe's little trapeze act the other night? Or just now, did you see me instantly move from the catwalk to the pool deck?" She places the empty box on the floor and turns.

"Okay, so, what Gabe was doing when he rolled off the trapeze and appeared on the floor, or what I just did, is called _skipping_. It's a simultaneous movement in time from one point to another. We neither lost nor gained time. It's the quickest and easiest wandering move to learn. It can _only_ be performed in _true time_. True time being _this_ period of time. You cannot skip when you're in another time period. Understood?" She yells the last word through the megaphone.

I have a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to like this trust exercise.

"Why do we need the marble if we can use our clothes as relics?" Sam trails Ms. Midgenet, peppering her with questions.

"Solely for the purpose of demonstration," she says. "We just need a small relic to connect the team. Seers, go ahead and do your thing." She flings her hand around in a dismissive manner.

Some Seers remain standing; others sit on the floor, meditating. They cup their hands around their marbles, much in the same way Mona demonstrated to me at the pizzeria.

Sam gracefully sits with her ankles crossed and knees tucked under her body, her eyes closed and her face calm. Now and then, a smile twitches across her pink lips. Her hair hangs in one long braid and drapes over her shoulder. Even in meditation, she's perfectly poised.

"Now, the Seers are looking back into the marble's life path. New Seers can see as much as ten years into the past. As they develop their skills, they can see much, much further," Ms. Midgenet commentates gruffly.

Marbles of various size and color glow, suspended in the air. Ms. Midgenet allows the Seers to ponder the relics for some time while everyone else seems to marvel at the light display.

"Okay, Seers, that's enough." She claps her hands twice and they awake from their meditative states. Marbles drop instantly from the air, landing in their owner's grasp.

"Now, tell your teammates what you've found," Ms. Midgenet instructs.

As Bishop joins me, Sam waltzes over, apparently very underwhelmed by the experience. "Before being given to us here on the pool patio, it's been with Gabe, sitting in a wooden box on his desk. He pranced in and out of the office all day, making freaky faces at the box. He must have known we'd see him with them. Before that, it was at Ms. Midgenet's house in her roommate's bedroom, sitting on the carpet. Her cat, Rasputin, played with this one for some time. It kept him quite entertained for about an hour. I'm guessing you won't really need any info beyond the pool deck," Sam says. She rolls her eyes with boredom, spins, and walks away.

I raise my eyes to look at Bishop. "I guess they all can't be Da Vinci relics," I joke.

"I almost forgot," Ms. Midgenet intercedes. "The Wanderer and the Protector are each separately able to control the direction of a journey with the keyword, but only one at a time. For the first exercise, let's give the Protectors control of the relic and keyword."

Bishop smirks, giving me a look of satisfaction. He snatches the marble out of my hand. I can see he relishes the fact that he will be in control. I also realize that this is how he saved me the other night from the gang. He controlled the relic and keyword for the journey as we skipped from in front of a recklessly speeding truck and safely to the Academy.

"Where are we skipping from, exactly," I ask him, worried.

"From there, of course." He points to the catwalk five stories above, positioned over the pool. Ms. Midgenet waves, already back in position.

My knees weaken and my face drains of blood, leaving me light-headed. I feel cold, clammy, and sick. I crouch down by the pool. Sitting for a moment, I breathe deeply, struggling to calm myself.

A pair of red shoes walks up to me. I look up.

"Scared, Seraphina?" Perpetua smirks with one eyebrow raised in curiosity. Bishop, at her side, appraises the look on my face.

"No, of course not," I retort. The little witch has never said one nice word to me. Now she's practically daring me to jump off a catwalk, sixty feet in the air. _I just want to be sick._

I look away, hiding the sweat that's beading on my brow. Nonchalantly, I dip my hands into the pool. I dab the cool water on my neck, and I inhale again. _I can do this_. Standing back up, I meet her gaze.

I smile, feigning cheerfulness. "Are you ready, Bishop? I'd rather go first." My words trail into a higher pitch than normal because I can't believe I'm volunteering to go first. I give Perpetua a cocky smirk and grab Bishop's arm, pulling him toward the elevator, heading up to the catwalk.

She harrumphs.

•

Above on the catwalk, it appears to be three times as high. I walk ramrod straight across the mesh iron walkway, holding my breath. A bead of sweat rolls down my forehead and into my eye. It burns, and I want to rub it away, but my hands are locked in a death grip around the railings. I attempt to only look ahead, but my gaze flutters to my feet, where I appear to be walking over a flimsy piece of metal. I hope Perpetua can't see the sickly green color of my face from the ground.

When I reach Ms. Midgenet, she's thrilled by my eagerness to go first as though I'm the perfect experimental subject. I'm ill with my complete act of stupidity.

"Where are we skipping to?" Bishop asks Ms. Midgenet. When I peek up at him, he's completely calm and confident.

"Just to the patio, beside the pool with the other students. Focus on the landing." She points at him. "I'll secure you both with a bungee cord for the first go-round. We do this over the pool for the scaredy-cats." She makes a face and snickers.

She positions Bishop and me close together, face to face. Then she begins the process of strapping us in. I look at him now because I don't want to look anywhere else and remind myself what I'm about to do.

"We don't have to do this, you know," Bishop says, assessing my body language.

" _Yes,_ we do." I peek over my shoulder and down at Perpetua. Even from this high, I can tell she's freaking out that Bishop is standing this close to me. Someone's moving in on her territory, and she can't do anything about it. This is payback enough for her cold stares. Although, she'll never realize that skipping from this height will bother me more than her jealousy toward me. I smile weakly, looking back at him, hoping I'm not going to barf.

"You're scared of heights," he says.

"No," I blurt, embarrassed. I don't want him or anyone else to know how weak I really am.

I shake my head, taking a shuddering breath. Despite my denial, I know he understands because he instantly slides his arms around my back in an unexpected embrace. His fingers splay. Somehow, they envelop my entire back. He tightens his body, huddling close. I rest my head on his chest, taking in several more deep breaths. The fragrance of his aftershave calms me. It swirls through my body and quiets my racing heart. My tense shoulders fall from next to my ears and relax. Before long, my breathing matches the rise and fall of his chest. Now I realize, hidden inside his strong arms, I could be anywhere and it wouldn't matter.

"Mr. Bishop," Ms. Midgenet interrupts. "Do you have the marble relic in hand?"

"Yes." His head nods above me.

"Focus on the pool deck and your landing. _Do not_ , under any circumstances, let go of Seraphina during the transition."

Bishop tucks his head into the curve of my neck and whispers, "That won't be a problem."

### Chapter 24: Horseplay

His warm whispers send waves of emotion leaping through my body. I shudder lightly. In response, he holds me tighter. I close my eyes.

"It'll be over quick," he says. One moment we are upright, and the next we tip over the edge of the catwalk. We tumble down the tube that will connect us from one point to the next, without losing or gaining time. I don't look, but I suspect the earth does not fold over us.

"It's over," he whispers.

I peek around and take a deep breath of relief. His landing was so controlled. I never thought about anything other than being close to him.

Looking around his arms, Perpetua stands in my view, seething. Both of her hands clench in tight fists on her hips. I smirk. I can't help it. Victory is mine in her little game, even if only temporary. She stomps away, angry.

Bishop releases me and pats my shoulder twice. Even though she's jealous of me, he is still hers. I sigh as he meanders away.

I walk to the far wall, lean against it, and slide down until my butt hits the ground. I draw my knees to my chest and watch Bishop linger with his friends. He's laughing at something someone has said. I find his smile dazzling. He turns and catches me staring. I quickly avert my eyes, looking down at my fingernails. I chip off a piece of gray polish, but I'm still thinking about him, and I'm certain he's still looking at me.

Sam spills herself smoothly onto the floor beside me.

"That was good. I mean," she corrects herself, "you did well. I would've never been brave enough to do that. I hate heights, too." She halfway smiles. I realize she saw the anxiety plastered across my face on the catwalk through Bishop's mind. The invisible chain connects them to each other, and he to me.

"Thanks." I try not to act surprised at her uncharacteristic friendliness. I just hope that she's finally warming up to me. Maybe I've won her over with my fake bravery.

"Where are you from?" I ask her, hoping I can get to know her better, while she's still in a sociable mood.

"D.C." She plays with a white ribbon tied to a long braid at the end of her hair.

"I lived there once, for a little while. What part?"

"Downtown, on Capitol Hill."

"Me too. Small world, eh?" She doesn't look up, just sits quietly and rolls her braid between her fingers.

"Miss it?"

"I miss my friends and my mom."

"Only child, too?"

"No, I have an older sister, Alex. She's in college."

"A wandering university?"

"No, she's a Normal. She's lucky," she says sadly. I realize Sam doesn't want to be here. She wants to be _normal_ like her sister.

"Except she'd probably wish for this life, if she knew it was an option." I nudge her arm, hoping to make her feel better.

"Maybe." She smirks and looks up. She untucks her legs and brings her knees to her chest, mirroring my stance.

Together we quietly watch poolside as each team takes their first official skip with their partners from the catwalk. My attention diverts when Perpetua pulls Bishop away from his friends. The two migrate to the far side of the room. A tense conversation ensues. One that I'm trying not to watch, but it's difficult with her throwing a fit and waving her arms erratically.

Our team's turn comes again and I walk over to break up their heated discussion. Bishop looks relieved when I pull him away from her for a second time. And I'm happy to take him.

From above on the catwalk, we skip again. As quickly as it starts, we land, standing poolside. Strangely, the experience terrifies and excites me all at once. With his arms wrapped securely around me, I reluctantly pull myself away from the warmth of his touch and resume my spot against the wall with Sam.

Perpetua and Jessica position themselves nearby.

"I think Sera should skip again, but this time with her eyes open. Don't you think, Jess?" Perpertua says loud enough for everyone to hear.

"She'd probably toss her cookies all over Bishop if she did," Jessica responds, and the two lean into each other, giggling.

"I know, right? There should be some law against wanderers who are afraid of heights." Perpetua glances over her shoulder at me. "Sad, it's really sad." Her eyes survey my existence.

I huddle into myself, pulling my knees closer to my chest and look away. Her words hurt because she's right. No one here seems to be put off by heights but me. And maybe Sam, but she will never have to face her fears.

Perpetua continues to taunt me. The things she's saying, well, they're horrible. On the inside, I want to rip her face off for it. Outwardly, I ignore her and keep my mouth shut. She's fishing for my angry response; it's part of her game.

Finally, Stu walks up to the pool, leans down, and swings his hand across the water's surface, spraying Perpetua with a handful of water.

"Jerk!" she shrieks.

Stu turns to me and smiles. "I've got your back, Sera." He shoots me a one-handed pistol, and then he turns and follows Perpetua to the elevator for their second attempt at skipping.

I smile. Even with Stu's overconfident ways, I appreciate his chivalry. Next to me, Sam giggles at Stu's small gesture. I glance over at her, realizing this is the first time I've ever heard the girl laugh. Reading her body language, I can tell she likes Stu. I mean, like, likes him. It seems to fit in my mind. Stu is younger than most of us, fourteen at best, and a year older than Sam. It's no wonder she feels a connection with him.

I keep the new information secret when Macey joins us. She plops down on the other side of me. "You're gonna wanna watch this," she announces cryptically with a look of satisfaction that she can hardly contain.

Stu and Perpetua take their place above on the catwalk. They're not in the bungee harness this time. They're simply standing on the edge, holding hands. Although I've done this twice, it's hard to watch. It gives me the chills, making my entire body convulse in reaction to the life-threatening scenario. Only in my new, impossible world would teachers ask students to free-fall from five stories above a pool. I squash my shoulders up to my ears and wrap my arms tighter around my knees, remembering the uneasiness of looking down five stories. From the corner of my eye, I see Sam mirror my actions.

When Ms. Midgenet gives the okay, the pair jumps without hesitation. Sparkles drift through the air just below the dome. At the same time, there's a huge splash. Water sprays us from the pool, leaving large puddles on the patio.

I gasp and rush to the pool's edge in a panic. _Are they okay? What happened?_ My face turns pale at the thought of what could have happened if the pool hadn't been there. _Is it possible to have a landing end in disaster?_

Ms. Midgenet, now next to me, bends down, sticking her megaphone toward the water. "What happened, people?" she screams.

Perpetua bobs her head above the surface, spitting out a mouthful of water. She screams shrilly in irritation.

Drenched, Stu drags himself out of the pool, but he's laughing hysterically.

"What's wrong with you? You leech!" Perpetua yells at him, splashing more water in his direction.

The whole group explodes with laughter.

"Accident or not, maybe this is karma's backlash for harassing other students, Miss Gray," Ms. Midgenet yells at Perpetua through her megaphone. Perpetua's body recoils from the sound. She pushes her wet blonde mop away from her glowering face.

Stu rolls off the floor and gives me a wink. That's when I connect the dots. Their impromptu swim wasn't an accident. He planned to give Perpetua a water dunking in retaliation for her snarky remarks to me. Stu's little water splash earlier was simply a diversion to dunk the marble relic into the pool, making it possible to land there. Perpetua never even saw it coming.

I laugh, hiding my mouth behind my hand.

Out of thin air, Terease appears before us, dragging Stu off the water-soaked floor. The laughter halts as her presence steals the daylight, darkening the entire atrium. Even Ms. Midgenet takes a step back in shock.

"Terease," Ms. Midgenet says, "I've got everything under control. Besides, I think Perpetua really had it coming." She secures her fists on her hips, taking a defensive pose.

"Maeve Midgenet, there are extreme consequences for horseplay. I assure you that Stu will get the punishment that you do not have the discipline to give him." Terease spits when she says the words. A dark fire grows in her inky eyes. "And for the rest of the students," she whips her perfectly trimmed bob around to engage the group, "although unlikely," she smirks, "you should endeavor to grow a little backbone."

Ms. Midgenet aggressively moves toward Terease in a defiant manner. Terease only laughs, dismissing her challenge. The malicious sound echoes through the atrium. She takes off in a blur, pulling the darkness behind her, with Stu gripped in her slender white fingers.

### Chapter 25: Bridge of Sighs

It's been about a week, but we haven't seen Stu or Terease since the _incident_. It's the word teachers are using to refer to it. We aren't exactly sure what the punishment for horseplay is, and the teachers keep us guessing, never addressing our queries. I suspect it's all an act to keep us scared, well-behaved students.

For all I know, there's an ancient torture machine that erases your brain in a dungeon below Olde Town. Well, maybe not that extreme, but I know Stu disappearing with Terease can't be good.

In a world that seems like so much fun, you'd figure they wouldn't flip out about such a stupid little thing. But then again, this is Terease we're talking about—my terrifying Lady in Black—the one that tried to turn my brain into a crispy critter for fun. She originally made the number one spot on my list of weird. My mind runs over the remaining list, as it has done a million times in the past week: _CC, Francis Germ Bum, and the Grungy Gang._ To relieve my stress, I imagine myself closer to solving the mystery and finding a way to see my mom.

I try not to think of the flip side, but it continues to haunt me. The gang might kill me. A cloud of dread consumes my mind, sending shivers over my skin. _Don't be a baby, Sera!_

I'm annoyed for being such a wimp, so I focus on the fact that I feel much safer within the confines of the Academy building. When I venture out again, I know I'll be slightly more capable with my newly acquired fighting skills from Defense Arts classes. Although, I pray I will never have to test them against the gang. I don't think I'm ready for that. I'll just be happy if I get to use my new moves to eventually take Bishop down, the way he did to me at Gabe's soirée. For some reason, I just need him to know I'm his equal.

Annoyed that my thoughts keep circling back to Bishop, I moan and throw a pillow over my face, trying to enlist my thoughts elsewhere.

My classes are unbelievable but, as I promised Mona, I remain as open-minded as possible, however difficult.

After an introduction to running the relicutionist last week, students were given full rein of exploring the massive cache of relics below the earth. The treasure trove of information gives front row seats to any historical event we choose: the Gettysburg address, the landing on the moon, the Greeks, the Romans. Nothing is off limits if we have the proper relic. We learn the real truths of every event or person we have ever learned about in a Normal's school. My previous notions of history are remolded and challenged daily.

In Team Tactics, Ms. Midgenet works with our group individually to strengthen the invisible bond between us. Sam, originally resistant, has finally started warming up to me—slightly. Undecided tension remains between Bishop and me. I take comfort in the fact that he needs me in at least one of the ways I need him, the way all three of us need each other, as a team.

As promised by Mr. Evanston on our first meeting, I listen to recorded Night Classes in my sleep on a machine called the _contrapulator_. It traps and steals my dreams, trading them with recorded information. The first week of recordings covered a partial history and etiquette of the Italian culture in addition to boring Normal studies. Later in the week, the recordings launched into beginning Italian.

I wake up every morning wondering if the lessons worked because I don't feel more knowledgeable. Gabe explained that I'd be able to access the information when I needed it, like a computer database. "You'll be just as super-fabulous as a computer," he insisted, flailing his expressive hands.

A knock at my door interrupts my thoughts.

Surprised, I roll out of bed, dragging my blanket with me to answer it. Any normal person would be asleep this early on a Monday. I reach for the knob and tug the door open.

"Well, speak of the devil," I say.

Gabe snickers. "Oh, Sera, I've been called so much worse." He trots past and over to my closet. On his tiptoes, he hangs a huge garment bag on the door. He quickly pulls the zipper open and tugs out a magnificent Baroque hoop dress.

"What's this for?" I ask.

"For today's field trip, of course."

I eye the thing. "Thing" is a good word for it because the massive dress, so intricate in its design, takes on a life of its own. Gabe's hands flutter over the ruffles, beads, and ribbons encasing the blue satin brocade fabric. The dress looks like attire that should accompany a powdered wig and a big fake beauty mark. Images of Marie Antoinette come to mind.

"Aren't we just going to the Carnevale festival in Venice, like two years ago?" I thought we'd just wear our regular uniforms. It's not the eighteenth century, after all.

"Yes, but we're all getting dressed up. For fun!" he says with exuberance.

"Like this?" I point at the thing. "All of us are dressing like this?"

"Of cou—rse!" Gabe drags out the last word like he's saying "duh!" "I mean—you know—this is how they dress for Carnevale. You could arrive looking all _normal_ , but what fun would that be? Right?" His eyes question. "You should see my outfit, Sera. It's so fab-rageous!"

I know from my Night Classes that the Venice Carnevale in Italy is a huge festival before the beginning of Catholic Lent. The most popular traditions are to dress extravagantly in voluminous, eighteenth-century ball gowns, velvet capes, and hand-painted papier-mâché masks while roaming around the ancient city. We're attending on the final day of the Carnevale, the busiest and most exciting. Gabe promises an excellent spectator event. I just didn't realize that I would be part of the spectacle.

"This will go perfectly with the dress." Gabe cocks his head and holds up a pearl choker with a sea blue cameo.

"Thanks." I grab it from him. "When are we leaving?"

"At noon. In the Olde Town piazza."

"So late?"

"Well, the Seers have their relic challenge first thing this morning." He leans down and places a matching pair of shoes on the floor.

The Seers are being tested on their ability to find a suitable relic for us to wander with from the Relic Archives, a relic that will lead us to the Carnevale, two years ago.

Gabe skips to the bedroom door. "Don't forget, physical time is of no consequence when you're wandering. We can leave, be gone for hours, yet return to true time in the very next moment." Gabe snaps his fingers. "You'll be back for lunch."

"Right." I find the concept hard to contemplate. When we wander, we never lose time. Time is irrelevant.

"See you later, duchess," Gabe says, shutting the door behind him.

•

I adjust my corset bodice then smooth down the skirt of my dress. It's actually two separate pieces, but you'd never know it. The silky fabric feels wonderful under my fingertips. I'm, like, some kind of princess. _Maybe this won't be so bad._

When I walk into Olde Town, everyone mingles in groups, admiring each other's fanciful clothing. I wander through the crowd, searching for Sam and Bishop.

A hand lightly grabs my arm. I'd know the touch anywhere. I find it strange that it affects me physically, shooting warmth across my skin even before I turn to see him.

"We're right here," Bishop says, pulling me toward him.

His crooked smile and perfectly square chin look down at me from behind an argyle-patterned mask painted silver. My heart jumps at the sight of him dressed elegantly in two tones of black, a tailed jacket with wide cuffed sleeves, and knee breeches.

Here stands my prince.

My face flushes. I turn my eyes away as quickly as they catch his. They always linger a little too long on his face. As much as I feel for him, I need to keep my emotions in check.

"What relic did you find, Sam?" I redirect my interest.

"A mask." She hands it to me. "It's a girl's mask, so I guess you'll be the one holding it. Unless Bishop is considering a gender change for the day?" She eyes him.

"Sera can hold it," he assures us.

"It took me a while to find this one," she continues. "It might be a bumpy ride, lots of turns in the map to get that specific day."

"Nothing could be as bad as the first time," I say.

"If you say so," she responds.

"What will you do while we're gone?" Since this is our first official trip as a team, I'm unclear about what happens to her during the process.

"I'll be watching everything," she says.

"But we leave and come back in the next instant. How do you see everything so fast?"

"In the moment you leave, I'll fall into a hypnotic state. Then I'll experience everything that happens through Bishop's eyes. Your trip will take you hours. My meditating will be a fraction of a second. I'll resurface when you step foot back on true time. Then we'll be coordinated in time again. Make sense?"

"I guess."

"I'm going to the Seer's Meditation Room now. I'll be watching everything you do. Try to make it interesting." She sniffs.

"We'll see what we can do." Bishop offers me his arm. "Shall we, Miss Parrish?"

Everyone lines up by twos, ready to take a run across Olde Town's piazza. Ms. Midgenet, at the front, gives instructions to each team before they wander.

When our turn comes, I realize Sam didn't lie. The trip slams us with so many direction changes within the wormhole that I feel I might throw up. The stream of warm colors radiating around us finally subsides, and we fall through the wormhole, catapulting through the air. Our bodies halt, crashing into a large wall. I clench the surface under my fingers and allow my cheek to rest on the cool marble facade. I'm relieved to be standing still. After several deep breaths, I steady my stomach.

"Chop, chop, kiddies," Gabe encourages.

We both look over our shoulders. Gabe stands behind us in a festive pink get-up with mounds of white lace, but now, there are two of him. I wobble toward him, readjusting the layers of fabric encasing my body. This isn't the most comfortable attire for wandering.

"Oh, don't you two look so cute." He pinches our cheeks simultaneously. "Now, here's some money and a map of the city. The streets are confusing so don't lose this. And stay together," he warns, shaking a painted fingernail. "The fireworks start in a few hours. Nine, Venice time." Bishop takes out his pocket watch and sets it. "We meet back here, tonight at ten. So don't be late!"

Together, we walk out of the tiny hidden courtyard and into a grand shopping arcade with arched columns as far as the eye can see. Beyond the corridor, the space opens up into a massive piazza, the famous Piazza San Marco.

Pigeons flutter erratically around tourists, vying for offerings of bread and birdseed. Of the thousands of people crammed into the space, everyone hides behind some sort of costume. We blend. No one will ever imagine who or what we are. Very subtly, they're teaching us the art of disguise.

Bishop unfolds the map and studies streets. "What shall we see?" He looks at me with interest. It suddenly dawns on me that we will be together. Alone. All day. The corner of my mouth twitches.

"Umm—the Grand Canal, the Rialto Bridge, the fish market, Santa Maria della Salute, and St. Mark's Basilica." I look up from under my eyelashes and smile.

"Anything else?" One eyebrow arches.

"And the fireworks, of course."

"All right then, let's take a large loop around the city." I follow his finger around the map with my eyes. "Then we'll return here for fireworks." He taps Piazza San Marco on the map. "Sound agreeable?"

"Perfect!"

We walk through Piazza San Marco, past the ornate Doge's Palace and the red bricks of the bell tower at San Marco, which happens to be the tallest building in the city at three hundred and twenty-three feet high. Next, we stroll the Grand Canal promenade.

At first, we don't speak. I just enjoy the cool air and salty aroma of the seawater splashing onto the side of the promenade. Orchestra music plays softly somewhere in the distance. Merchants peddle wares at every street corner.

When I glance over at Bishop, his chin lifts toward the late afternoon sun. His hands fold behind his back. He appears regal, refined, and most certainly handsome in his costume. It's as though he belongs in an outfit from the eighteenth century.

"Why does everyone call you by your last name?" It's the first personal question I've ever asked him.

"There's no glamorous reason, I'm afraid. Maxwell, it's a family name. There are several among the cousins. They just started it out of necessity, to keep us all straight, I suppose."

"It suits you, I guess."

"Well, I'm glad you approve. I've always disliked my first name," he says with a smile.

I stop and admire one of the many ancient buildings, a rosy pink one with beautiful white details. A gold nameplate next to the door says Hotel Danieli.

"This building dates back to the fourteenth century. It used to serve as a palace for the noble Venetian Dandolo family," Bishop explains.

"How do you know? I mean, I don't remember it as part of our Night Classes."

"Oh, it wasn't. I just read a lot. I'm kind of a nerdy bookworm, really. Besides, I had to keep myself entertained somehow before you decided to join us. It took you forever, you know."

"Sorry."

"I'm glad you finally figured it out." His eyes squint in upside-down smiles, the shape accentuated by the dark fringe of his lashes.

"Me too." I look down to the stone street, and we walk on.

"What part of Great Britain are you from?"

"Chelsea—London. I live in a lovely red brick home with my dad."

"And your mom?"

"Occasionally. She travels for work quite a bit."

"Yeah, mine too—I mean my dad. Brothers and sisters?"

"Yes, one of each. Charlotte, who's thirteen." She's the same age as Sam. He always seems to look after her like a little sister. Now their relationship makes sense. He pauses as though considering his words carefully. "And also Turner, who's my fraternal twin." His lips purse.

I steal a double glance at him, but he keeps his focus forward. "Your twin?" I'm desperately trying not to sound too surprised or too interested in his duplicate brother, so I ask about both siblings. "I mean, are they both at the Academy?"

"Charlotte, no. We aren't positive if she will yet, but it would be easier for all of us if she did. And Turner, yes."

"I never see you with him." Not that I see Bishop that much outside of class, but when I do, I pay attention.

"I guess you could blame that on sibling rivalry." He smiles, but his eyes avoid me. His attention immediately drifts to a vaporetto sloshing past in the murky green waters of the Grand Canal. It's crammed with at least a hundred tourists snapping pictures of us as they pass.

"Hmph." I want to know more about his brother, but his expression indicates that the Turner topic might be off limits. This gives me another thought. What if Turner is the boy in the picture with Bishop, the half that had been chopped off before being mailed to me? I want to ask about it and also the gang, but I have a feeling either might kill the mood. After all this time, we're finally talking. Not about team stuff here and there, but about normal stuff. It's so wonderful, I can't bear to taint it with something negative. So I let both thoughts go. For now, anyway.

"And you, brothers or sisters?" He's hesitant in asking, and I'm not exactly sure why.

"Nope, just lonely me."

We turn off the promenade and onto a large wooden bridge that arches over the Grand Canal. We pause at the top. I lean over the railing, watching a red gondola glide underneath. A man stands in the back, playing an accordion while singing. I look up at the view. Gorgeous buildings line the canal. They appear as though they might crumble into the water from age, but I know they aren't going anywhere. They've been here forever. The glorious and serene scene represents a perfect time capsule of Italian beauty.

We walk on, enjoying the sights in a comfortable silence. Our hands brush each other's accidentally on a few occasions. The contact sends trembles and tingles through my arm, almost rendering it useless.

I step away from Bishop to distance myself. I would never steal a boy from anyone, even someone I don't like. I tie my mask relic to my dress with a loose ribbon and cross my arms to avoid further contact.

When we arrive at the Rialto Bridge, the sun sits lower in the sky. The street lamps flicker orange light within their glass globes.

"Would you like to take a gondola back?" he asks.

"That's a good idea because, to be honest, these shoes are killing my feet." I lift the hem of my dress, revealing a pair of blue satin heels with fancy silver buckles.

"Not exactly walking shoes, are they?" he asks with his fingers draped across his chin, inspecting them.

"Not at all, but you know how particular Gabe is about fashion."

"I believe I do. I'm wearing tights, after all. Not my first choice for an outfit." He laughs.

We step out onto a small pier surrounded by red-and-white-striped pillars. They remind me of peppermint sticks. Several docked gondolas clang against them, sloshing and spitting green water.

A smiling gondolier named Arturo, wearing a black-and-white-striped shirt and a broad-rimmed black hat, grabs my hand, helping me into the vessel. I sit. Bishop follows and sits next to me. I lean away so our shoulders won't touch.

Our creaking boat drifts up and down several canals. Bishop delivers a complete lesson of each building's architectural significance and history. Some of it I know, which I'm sure he realizes, but I let him continue without interruption because I enjoy the velvety sound of his voice.

The setting sun paints glowing hues of pink and orange across the sky. The colors are romantic and beautiful.

"Now, this is a nice one up here." Bishop points to an enclosed limestone bridge. It sits high above the water, hanging between two solid buildings.

"Doesn't look very nice. There are bars on the windows," I say.

"It's special, The Bridge of Sighs." He leans a little closer, and his voice lightens, as though he's about to tell me a secret. "Venetian legend states that you'll be bestowed everlasting love if you share a kiss with someone in a gondola at sunset while underneath the bridge."

My breath hitches in my throat. His words linger in the air for a moment like balloons. When they pop, the shock momentarily paralyzes me. I turn to face him in confusion. His perfect, ocean-green eyes gaze expectantly into mine. He leans in close, our foreheads touch, and I realize we're both breathing heavily.

"You are so breathtaking," he says in a soft whisper. Gently, he grazes the back of his fingers across my cheek. Then his palm slips behind my ear and cups my neck. His other hand follows. But he hesitates, as though he's waiting for permission to be closer.

The seductive scent of his aftershave swirls and seduces me, pulling us closer. Our noses meet. They slip back and forth over each other, and I can feel his warm breath on my face, my lips, taste it on my tongue. I think of our lips finally meeting, trembling, and burning on impact. I've been dreaming about it since the first moment I saw him. With all my heart, I want to kiss him. So I finally react, but not in the way I want to.

I stand up.

I inhale every last ounce of air that my lungs will allow, and I jump, without thinking, from the gondola to a nearby pier.

"Sera!" Bishop reacts immediately. "What are you doing? Are you mad?"

"I can't do this!" I yell back without looking, as I steady my footing on the rickety pier. This is the hardest thing I've ever done. Resisting one of the things I want most—him.

I quickly tuck my head into the low doorway and find myself in an elegant dining room. Needing an escape route, I run out the front door of what appears to be a hotel and into a courtyard. Confused, I turn several times but eventually find my way to a corridor. I keep running until my energy dissolves, needing to be alone with my thoughts.

I'm several streets away, hidden against a wall in an alley, when Bishop runs past, yelling my name. _If Sam wants drama, she's getting it._

When his voice fades, swallowed by the labyrinth of buildings, I somberly stroll in the other direction, stepping into masquerade shops along the route. The diversion helps to release my mind of the tension and guilt. I'm positive I've done everything within my power not to give _those_ kinds of signals. Everything but giving him up in my mind completely, which seems impossible, like breathing without air.

I step up to an Italian pastry shop, admiring the sweet confections on the other side of the store window. A reflection scares me. I spin to face it and halt in an instant.

A person concealed behind a gold mask stands inches away from my face. Their body is covered, head to toe, in a shimmering gold cloak. Before I can react, the figure grabs my hand with their velvety black glove and shoves an object into my palm, closing my fingers tightly around it.

Clasping their hands around mine, the figure speaks beautifully, in a rich Italian accent. "Reassemble this, and it will guide you to your heart's desire."

I stand confused, looking at the golden silhouette.

"Who are you?"

"A friend," she says. She jerks her head around, scanning the crowd. "Tell no one," she says hastily, then takes off running.

### Chapter 26: Chasing Answers

The golden cloak disappears into a sea of costumes and into the coming darkness.

I unclench my hand.

There in my palm, sits the one thing I hold dear, even though the item had not been with me long. I gaze at it, overwhelmed with having it returned, the birthday gift Ray gave me months ago—my mom's bracelet. The square emerald glistens under the street lamps; the diamonds twinkle like stars.

I clutch the bracelet to my chest and sob from sheer happiness. I'll see Mom again. Soon. This will take me where I desperately want to go.

After I tuck the relic into my corset, Bishop appears, frantically weaving through the crowd toward me. I wipe my tears with my fingertips and wait for him to catch up.

A confrontation may start immediately. He'll be confused, but he should understand. He's very taken. I can't be _that_ girl. The one that just takes, not considering others' feelings, even if that someone is Perpetua.

Bishop doesn't slow when he approaches. Fear veils his eyes. "Sera! Run!" he yells over the buzz of the crowd.

I don't ask why; I just do. I clutch the mask relic in my hand, readying to make the transition, but as he catches up, I realize we'll never gain enough speed to wander. Too many people crowd the narrow streets.

A gigantic booming sound rocks the city. It rattles me to the core, and I stop, confused, to see what's happened.

"Fireworks!" Bishop yells. He grabs my hand and yanks me forward.

"What's going on?"

"The Underground. They're back!"

"The who?"

"Underground," he says again as we zigzag in and out of the bodies. "The gang chasing you last week."

"They have a name?" My mind whirls, but I keep moving. I knew I should have asked him about them earlier. "Why didn't you tell me you knew who they were?"

"Not now, Sera!"

Bishop recklessly steers me around a corner. When we turn, I look back, catching a glimpse of them. All four disgusting shapes descend, hot on our tracks. Somehow, they navigate the crowd faster than us.

Boom!

Crackle!

Fireworks light up the night sky. People halt in groups to watch the beautiful light display, making maneuvering around them impossible. They stand statue-still, unwittingly blocking every entrance and exit.

"We'll never be able to leave with all these people!" I yell over the applause.

"The bell tower in Piazza San Marco!" he yells.

We bolt around another corner. The city walls disappear and open into the expansive piazza of San Marco. But still, there's not enough room to run. Too many tourists linger.

My eyes shoot to the tower, and his last words click. "No! Are you crazy?" Bishop plans to jump from the top of the bell tower, just as we did last week in Team Tactics. I can't do it. I won't. There's no pool as a backup. No bungee cord to save us. My mind seizes into paralyzing fear.

Another crash and explosion fills the sky with sparkling silver lights.

"No!" I scream, pulling him in a new direction.

"It's the only option." He pulls back. "Hurry, Sera!" I give in and run with him. He's stronger than me, and the gang is closer.

The stench of rot and decaying garbage burns my nostrils. I smell the gang before I see them. When they come into view, I lock eyes with the leader. His familiar face twists with rage. He and his group push tourists to the ground instead of running around them. Everything near them suffuses with a puke-green color. I imagine them drooling at the thought of finally killing me.

We slow as we reach the base of the tower. Bishop yanks at the doorknob, but it's locked.

"Stand back!" he yells, pushing me aside. Then, with one swift kick of his foot, he demolishes the ancient door. It falls off the hinges in pieces. Shards scatter at my feet.

"You first!" he yells over explosions and cheering crowds.

I dash up the steps, around and around in the dark spiraling space. A few times I stumble, but keep moving by crawling until I can upright myself. When we come to a landing at the midpoint, I start to take off my skirt.

"Sera, now is _hardly_ the time!" Bishop stares, disconcerted and confused.

"Quick! Kick out that window!" I point to a nearby small void with shutters. He doesn't question, he just trusts me.

I shimmy out of the hoop skirt. It hits the floor at the same time he kicks out a small, shuttered window. A stream of moonlight bursts through, revealing our perfect getaway, a long stretch of flat, uninterrupted roofline.

The gang pounds up the stairs behind us. Their steps echo and ricochet off the enclosed walls. They're close—I can smell them again. But Bishop only stands immobilized by the sight of my undergarments. I try not to think about my lack of clothing. Instead, I run for the window.

"We'll jump to the roof of the other building," I say as I hoist myself out the tiny hole, one I would never fit through with a hoop skirt.

I crouch on the outside, digging my fingers in the crevices of loose mortar to steady myself. Trembling, I survey the massive jump before me, about five feet across the air and one hundred and fifty feet above Piazza San Marco. I hesitate.

"Jump, or we go to the top of the tower," Bishop presses.

I turn my brain off and just do it. At the next firework explosion, I imagine the force catapulting me through the air, safely to the adjoining roof. It almost works. I catch the railing on the other side and dangle there.

"Bishop!" I scream, my legs kick, searching for a ledge to steady myself, but there's nothing. My sweaty fingers start to slide off the marble edge.

"Bishop!"

When I glance back over my shoulder, Bishop tosses my folded hoop skirt out the window. The fabric catches air and parachutes in a bubble toward the ground. He's smart, discarding any relic that will allow the gang to come after me.

"Hold on, I'm coming!"

His silhouette flies over me. The surface of the roof gives, bowing beneath his feet. Two strong hands wrap around my arms and drag me up and over the railing. We fall, entwined, onto the flat roof. The gang appears in the bell tower window. The leader steadies himself for the jump. At the moment he leaps, airborne, Bishop and I gather ourselves from the ground and run at full speed in the opposite direction. I clutch the mask relic with a keyword locked in my mind.

•

It's easy enough to wander back to the piazza in Olde Town, but I don't. Even though I'm not positive it will work, when I feel we're close to landing, I push my thoughts a little further, bending the wormhole and reaching for a nearby location. We fall roughly onto the floor between two oversized bookshelves in the Relic Archives. As it turns out, the position of a landing can be manipulated.

"Blast, Sera! Where have you brought us?" Bishop sits up and looks around.

"Shh. Be quiet! I can't tell you or you'll tell Sam."

"She'll see it regardless, so you better hurry, whatever you're doing."

"Give me your jacket," I say. He groans, shrugging out of it. Then he stands and takes his time to wrap it around me, allowing his arms to linger around my back for longer than necessary. Our eyes meet with tension for a long moment, and then I step around him.

"Stay here and don't move!" I command. He rolls his eyes and leans back on a shelf with his arms crossed. I can see he's agitated. For our almost-kiss? For bringing us here? Probably both.

I peek around the bookshelf toward the chatter. A class of students, using the relicutionist, is busy discussing their finds.

Dipping my fingers into my corset, I pull out the bracelet. Then I glance around the room, searching for the E.Y.E.S. Several blue flashing lights hang from the ceiling. One camera rotates in my direction. I attempt to act normal, like I belong. But if Terease is back, she'll know I'm up to no good. How fast will she get here when she sees me?

With clenched fists, I hug Bishop's jacket tightly to my body to hide my lack of clothing. The students finish, and I amble toward the relicutionist, acting nonchalant.

When I reach the machine, I open the glass lid and place Mom's bracelet on the velvet tray. I close the dome lid, latching it into place. On the ancient keypad, I type in the keyword: Eliza Parrish. With both hands, I crank the rusted lever.

The ear-splitting contraption shakes violently. Steam spews out of the pipes that protrude from the top, and all the lights blink neon green. The oversized viewing tube fogs up and a lightning storm breaks out inside it.

A student points at me. I'm sure they realize that I don't belong, but I wonder if anyone will alert Mr. Matchimus.

Concerned, I will the machine to move faster. I place my hands on the viewing tube and lean in, looking for any trace of an image.

Furious clouds rip around the edges of the glass, forming a tornado. The severity increases as the seconds pass. The relic glows within beaming tendrils, hovering over the velvet tray. I step back in anticipation of something—anything—but the relicutionist is taking longer than usual.

"It's not working," says the voice I love dearly. "Whatever you're trying to find—it's not there." Bishop places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

"It is!" I smack the glass with my palm, fighting my tears. He's wrong. He has to be.

"And she's coming." Bishop exhales. "Sam couldn't stop her. Terease will be here in seconds. She's back from wherever she's been." He revolves the lever, turning the machine off. Then he quickly removes the bracelet from the tray. We turn in just enough time to see Terease blast through the entrance, slamming the door into the wall.

"What's happened?" her blood red lips demand. She stomps across the plank floor. "Why have you left your group?" If the wandering concept holds true, the field trip arrived back at the same time but in Olde Town.

Bishop steps in front of me. "The Underground, Terease. They've tracked Sera," he says, in an attempt to justify our actions.

"The Underground," she hisses the word. The name means something to them but not to me. Her expression says she could kill someone, but before she lashes out, she inhales, closing her eyes and calming herself.

"Come with me," she says and turns to leave.

I can't. I won't follow her. She'll lock me in this school and throw away the key. As far as I know, Stu is still missing for his prank. Who knows what she'll do to me for not reporting the Grungy Gang—Underground—whatever you want to call them.

I grab the bracelet from Bishop's hand, and take off in the opposite direction, sprinting between the rows of ancient bookshelves.

"Stop her!" Terease yells.

I fly forward, airborne, through a cloud of wander dust. I slide across campus, skipping into my dorm room. When the wormhole spits me out, I slam into my bed. Bishop lies behind me near the pillows, barely grasping the tails of his jacket, which I'm still wearing.

"Get off!" I yell at him and kick his hands away.

The lunch bell rings.

"Blast, Sera! You're going to get us expelled!"

"Exactly! What were you thinking?" Sam walks in the room and slams the door.

"What are you doing here?" I grunt as I roll off the bed, shoving Bishop aside.

"I'm here to help!" Sam's face is fierce and she stomps her foot. If the situation weren't so serious, I'd be tempted to giggle at the sight.

Instead, I roll my eyes. "I doubt it."

Ignoring them, I dart for the closet. I start to rip off my clothes, then think better of it. "Turn around, Bishop!"

He groans, but does as I ask.

I pull out a mishmash of clothes and put them on: a pair of jeans from the day that I arrived, a shirt I wore in the Relic Archives, a cardigan for Olde Town, Mona's medallion necklace, sneakers from the west Academy, and several other relics to keep me connected with the ability to wander from spot to spot through history and true time.

"I'm done," I say as I button my pants.

Bishop turns. "Sera, whatever is going on, we can figure this out as a team. I believe Terease can help."

"No! Stu hasn't shown up yet, and he only played a prank. What's Terease going to do to me for not telling her about the Underground? _Besides,_ I'm on another mission."

I start again, but I'm even more irritated now. "And that reminds me, you've been holding out on me. You knew who the gang was and didn't tell me!" I point at him.

"No, that's not it—" His eyes snap toward the door. "Terease is coming."

"She'll be here in a minute." Sam runs to the door, plants an ear on it, and listens. They both must sense Terease with their abilities. No, they sense danger.

"You guys can't help me with what I need to do." I dash to the window, unlatch the lock, and slide the window open. I lean out and look down. My stomach churns.

"And what's that, _exactly_?" Sam rushes up, ready to pull me back.

"It doesn't have anything to do with either of you." I face them.

"So what does it have to do with? We can help, if you'd let us!" she yells.

"You can't help."

"You haven't given us a chance!" Sam's fists clench at her side. She's on the verge of a tantrum.

"You're being absolutely ridiculous, Sera." Bishop places his hand on Sam's shoulder to calm her.

"Fine," Sam resigns. "Put this on." She hands over her antique watch. "It'll wander to my room when you need us. You _will_ need us."

I slide the watch on, but this is not an act of acceptance, just insurance. "Thanks."

My body shakes as I sit on the ledge. I swallow hard, then allow my legs to swing over the windowsill. My fingers wrap tightly around the garden lattice, and I hurl my body out into the freezing air. After two deep breaths, I place my feet carefully onto the winter-bare vines that descend the side of the building and climb down.

"Keep moving, Sera. It's the only way to stay safe," Bishop instructs from above, but I don't look at him. I can't.

Both my feet hit the ground, and I trudge through the snow toward the sidewalk. When I hit clear pavement, I run.

### Chapter 27: Unexpected Return

I never dreamed I'd relive this moment in my life—the day I arrived in Chicago. The train ride from the airport to the city seemed so insignificant at the time, yet here I am again. My _old self_ sits, freezing in the adjoining L train car, watching a bum stumble past commuters.

The car jolts. I steady myself and grab on to a pole. The bum walks toward me, opens the adjoining door, and lurches into my empty car. A rickety wall of Plexiglas holds up the weight of his body, and then he collapses on the floor. His coat opens up, revealing an embroidered nametag on the pocket of his shirt, but I don't have to read it. I already know his name. Francis.

He smells as he did before—alcohol and that stench! But the smell has a new meaning. His special brand of funk matches with a particular group that I can do without, the gang—the Underground.

"Hel-loo, Francis," I say with a smirk on my face and cross my arms.

He looks up like a child that's been caught in the act of being mischievous.

"You again?" his voice gurgles in the unknown accent.

He rolls to his side and hoists himself to his knees. He uses a nearby chair, anchored to the wall, to lift himself from the floor. It's a colossal effort. When he stands, he stumbles, still unsteady. Even his eyes can't focus on me, I suspect because of his drink of choice.

"Whadya want, kid?" He straightens his coat and totters.

"How do you know _what_ I am?" I put my hands on my hips and stand a little taller, attempting to match his height.

He sways closer, getting in my face. "Whaz it to ya?"

"You'll tell me, or I'll tell the Society where you are." It's a fib that I'm not even sure will get his attention—a shot in the dark.

"Wha—ho!" he bellows. "Ya wouldn't want to be goin' and doin' that!" His eyebrows raise in exaggerated arches.

"I will—or—you can tell me." I hold my expression strong and determined. If I believe the lie, I hope he will too.

"How much money ya got?" he hedges, pinching his nose free of the dripping snot. He smears the goo down the front of his filthy shirt.

"None," I say with a straight face. I need what little I have.

"Got anything else? Wha' 'bout that—'round ya neck?" He points lazily to my chest where Mona's medallion necklace hangs. He's pushing for a bargain.

"How about this ring?" I slide it off my finger and hold it up for him to see, attempting to distract him with something else. "It's antique, worth lots of money," I lie.

"Ha! Lemme see." He swipes the air with his hand but misses. He's a Seer. I can tell by the sparkle in his eye for the special object. He needs to touch the ring to know its worth, to know _everything_ about it.

"Uh-uh." I shake my head. "You tell me first." To entice him to talk, I hold up the ring so he can see it, allowing the fake gold and rhinestones to glitter.

"CC," he says.

I try not to let my face react to the word.

"CC, what?" I ask stone-faced. But really, I want to lurch at him in response, because only CC remains on my list of weird and unknowns. In the last hour, I deduced that Francis is a Seer, somehow affiliated with the Underground. The gang, a group of Wanderers with an extremely offensive odor, is part of the Underground—according to Bishop. Now, if I can just learn about CC, I might figure out what all this means and how every item on my list pieces together. I want to understand the entire puzzle.

I recall Mona's words about "CC" with ease. "It will be our best defense against CC," she had said on the phone to Terease while she took down the Christmas lights from her front yard hedges. But what is _it_? And what is _CC_? A person? A thing? Hearing one side of a phone call is like getting half a hula hoop.

Francis shakes his head. "CC's ah Wanderer, too."

"Okay." I sigh. Vague information. I guess you can't ask too much from a drunk, but at least we're gaining ground, however slowly.

"Anything else?" I prod. Losing his concentration, his eyes droop. His head drifts to one side, a snore escapes his nose. He's fallen asleep.

"You're ah spittin' image." The words shoot out of his mouth with a burst of unforeseen energy, startling me. He opens his eyes wide to stay alert. He cocks his head and squints at me.

Reading the doubt on my face, he responds. "If ya don't believe me, whya bother coming to find me?" The train car rocks back and forth. He grabs a pole for support, and I ponder his question. I had left the Academy in such haste, without much thought. I decided I needed to start from the beginning, the beginning of when I thought I was going crazy. With the mystery of Terease and the Chicago premonition solved, this seemed to be the obvious starting point. And something nagged at me. He originally said something to me during our first meeting, something that I wasn't sure I heard correctly. He had said, "Looks jes' like me."

What did he say before that? I search my mind. The words fall out of my mouth, aloud, "'Wanderin' without yer coat, are ya? Looks jes' like me.'"

He looks confused, one eyebrow raises. "I gotta coat, kid." He looks down at himself to verify.

Now that I analyze his words through his odd accent, the question is, did he say: "Looks, jes' like me," or "Looks jes' like _Ma_ "? _Ma: as in Mom_.

Immediately, all of his words from both our conversations slam into place. My eyes grow wide with understanding. My forehead creases as I replay his phrases in my head. "Looks jes' like Ma—CC's ah Wanderer, too—You're ah spittin' image."

_He thinks CC is my mom, a Wanderer too, who looks just like me. How is that possible?_ And now I realize the person I heard talking to Francis originally when I arrived was me. I recognized the voice because it was my own. I've been on this path from the very beginning.

"Ya know," he says, smirking. The realization is probably showing on my face. He looks back at the old me in the other car. "I wonda how much I'd get for ya? Heard the Underground's afta ya. Wonda why?" he contemplates through the booze.

"More money than the ring, for sure." He smiles. Green fungus grows over his teeth, and I almost pass out from the air that becomes tainted in the moment it releases from his mouth.

Making his decision, he steps forward, opting for the treasure.

In confusion, I somehow react. Using all my force, I push the drunk away from me. He tumbles backward over a chair, landing on the floor, pinched between two poles. His feet dangle in the air.

I escape into the preceding car, the car where my old self waits at the door to exit the train. I know what I'm about to do, and I'm not happy with myself.

The train car doors fly open, and I run through, shoving my old self across the train platform. I cringe, remembering how bad it hurt.

My feet pound down the platform stairs and onto the city streets, where I run for about a mile. When I stop, I grab on to a rusted steel post that holds up the L train. Hyperventilating, confused, and scared, I can't even fathom that Francis' statements could be true. The thought is ridiculous. My mom has been long gone.

My chest heaves in and out. I grip the post tighter, and a layer of rust crumbles beneath my fingertips. I lift my chin up and then my chest. I lock my hands on my hips and breathe deeply. I inhale air until it fills my lungs to capacity, then I exhale slowly. This calms me, clears my head.

Francis believes my mom and CC are one and the same. This information overwhelms and confuses me, but I caution myself. I can't get all worked up over something a drunk told me. It's _ridiculous!_

I have to find out more about CC to determine if this is true.

Then I remember Bishop's advice. "Keep moving, Sera. It's the only way to stay safe." I look around, instantly paranoid. My eyes dart from person to passing person. Quickly, I deliberate on my next move, and then I eye a clear path beneath the elevated train tracks and take off running.

•

I wasn't sure it would work, but I knew when I landed that it had. I'm sitting, hidden, behind a shelf in the Relics Archive. In the very spot Bishop gave me his jacket after escaping the gang in Venice.

As I listen to the commotion, I'm reliving another part of my past. The relicutionist has just been turned off. Terease enters the Relic Archives by crashing through the door. Bishop explains that he and I left our Venice field trip because the Underground found me. After a few moments, my old self runs by with Bishop hanging on her coattails as she skips out of the room through a ring of sparkling wander dust with Mom's bracelet in her hand.

Terease screams with absolute rage. From the sound of it, I think she's thrown a chair across the room. Students gasp. When I peek around the corner, she explodes out the door, leaving the archives. Perfect. I'd hoped for this. Her exit buys me the time I need alone in the archives to research CC.

I reposition myself behind another shelf and lean around a gold helmet with a large red plume protruding from the top. The lunch bell rings—I jump, still on edge.

Students file out of class, gossiping as they leave. I hear my name in hushed whispers several times and laugh at myself for causing such a commotion. Ray would have a fit if he knew all the new ways I could get into trouble. I pause, wondering how Mona will react when she finds out about this.

I creep out from behind the shelf. Mr. Matchimus steps out from behind an oversized relic, whistling.

I freeze.

He picks up a box from an adjacent table and files it away. _Please don't let him see me. Ah! So stupid of me to forget about him!_

He moves around the room, cleaning up after the students. After one final visual sweep of the area, he strolls toward the exit and shuts the door behind him. The lock turns, and the room falls silent.

I exhale in relief and relax my muscles. Mr. Matchimus doesn't strike me as someone who will give up lunch easily. For this, I'm thankful.

Wasting no time, I rush forward, sticking to the shadows. I want to avoid the E.Y.E.S. I'll need every possible second to find the answers.

I pat my pocket, checking for the bulge of jewelry, Mom's bracelet, but I don't intend to use the relicutionist again. I already know it won't read the life path. On top of that, I can't make any sounds that will alert Terease to my whereabouts. So the machine is off limits. I shake off the disappointment. There are other options at my disposal, so I head for the computers.

At the front of the room, I settle on a stool in front of a computer. With one deep breath and a small prayer, I hope that I can find something— _anything_ —that will help.

After a few clicks, the search engine for the Relic Archives pops up. Unsure about the spelling, I type in the letters, C and then C, capital letters. I hit Enter.

The computer buzzes to life, searching for content.

A list appears.

Although I'm not sure what I'm looking for, the items that appear look more like phone book listings. I scroll, skimming the list. I hope this won't be a dead end with my assured expulsion for nothing. Nothing on the list seems to fit or jump out. I try again with a new search and reconsider the spelling.

CiCi.

No.

CeCe. I hit Enter. This time another list appears, but one entry in particular interests me. It has no revealing information, no description, just the word. I take note of the box and row number in my head—Ce–127.

I stand up and hurry back to oversized shelving, this time ignoring the E.Y.E.S. Terease will realize soon enough that I've returned.

The C section sits twenty-seven rows from the front. I wonder what row a Z item hides on? Then I turn left behind the massive wall of relics.

A main door lock clicks. The front door to the archives creaks open, crashing into the wall. I drop to my hands and knees, listening. My mouth gapes open from shock. I scold myself for taking so long.

It's Terease. I'm positive. She's already found me. She walks across the floor but not in my direction. I take the opportunity to keep moving. Quietly, I shuffle across the floor to box Ce–127.

For several moments, she doesn't make a sound. Then, the reason dawns on me. She's probably in front of the computer I left on. _Uhh!_ She's reading the results to my search on CeCe now.

I open the box's lid, but just enough to squeeze my hand through. My fingers land on a tiny box in the corner, a box small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. I yank it out and stand up in one fluid motion.

"Ser—ra." Terease says my name in a singsong manner.

One at a time, lights hanging from the ceiling pop and explode in orange sparks as she walks under them. I can tell she pauses every few steps, at each aisle, scanning for me. Her final destination will be box Ce–127, the one that I now stand in front of.

The blood drains from my face.

I take a deep breath, assessing my surroundings, searching for an escape. Only one option presents itself. Very slowly, I climb the oversized shelves like a ladder. I pray that they are as solid as they appear. I step one shelf for each step Terease takes, timing it so that when her heel drops onto the creaky floor and a new light explodes, the sound camouflages my movements.

"Come out, come out, from wherever you are!" she sings darkly, then laughs to herself. I picture her malicious smile on her pale face, framed by her jet-black hair. The thought makes me nervous, and my body turns cold with chills.

When I reach the top of the shelf, I swing my legs up and over the edge and lie flat on my stomach. My nose indents an inch-thick layer of dust beneath me. I try not to breathe, to even twitch. My fingers clutch the miniature box. I stiffen my body into a plank.

Terease's footsteps, still slow, zero in, closer and closer. Finally, I hear her pivot. The dirt beneath her boot pulverizes into the cracks of the floor.

The closest light pops, raining orange sparks over me, and she walks down my aisle.

### Chapter 28: Selfish

The anticipation of Terease finding me sends waves of nausea through my stomach. She stands right below. So close, I hear her breathing.

Trembling, I tighten my fingers around the tiny box, holding the unknown CeCe relic. Every muscle in my body tenses, rigid.

Her leather suit squeaks as she bends down. She slides the archive box out from its resting spot and flips off the top. It flies across the aisle, slamming onto the floor.

"Blast it all!" she snarls, enraged. She kicks the empty box across the room. It crashes into the opposing shelf. I jolt and grind my teeth together.

"Argus! Ar—gus!" she yells repeatedly in spastic bursts. Her arms flail everywhere as she continues her violent rant. Another relic flies off the shelves. It smashes into a million glass shards that skitter across the floor.

A blaring noise screeches above me.

I jump. It's impossible not to with the deafening sound. But the piercing shrill has nothing to do with Terease. It's the fire alarm. She screams one last time before ferociously stomping through the glass, crushing it further, and storms off.

She slams the entrance door shut, no doubt on her way to investigate the fire alarm. My muscles relax into mush, and then I lift my face from the dust to take a clean breath of air. I sneeze—three times. I would've been dead if I had done that any sooner.

Sprawled across the dusty shelf top, I listen to the repetitious noise of the alarm. I need time to recuperate from stress, to think, to sleep. More importantly, I need help—from a Seer.

•

By the time I land in Aunt Mona's living room, I'm starting to feel like a ping pong ball, ricocheting through time. Aching and exhausted, I stumble into her kitchen, leaning on furniture for support along the route. Mona stands at the sink, washing dishes.

"Hey," I mumble.

Mona spins. "Oh! You scared me!" She holds one hand over her heart and clenches the kitchen countertop with the other. "I thought you were in the shower." She gives me the once-over with her eyes. "You look like hell!"

"Future me," I say in explanation. I wave my hand in a small, unenthusiastic arch. I don't have the stamina for anything more sociable.

"What's going on?" She dries her hands on a dish towel, then flings it on the counter. Reaching forward, she grabs my forehead like I'm running a temperature. It's a gesture Ray would never make, partly because he's a germophobe and partly because it never would've occurred to him. That's why I know I've come to the right place—someplace safe, hidden in time.

"I need a place to hide." Cringing, I wish I had considered my words more carefully. Unsure how she will react, my lips roll in onto themselves, and I look up at her, waiting for her response.

"Aht!" She holds up her hands, palms out. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Not even an inkling!"

"I can't stay?" Crushed, I drop my gaze to the floor.

"No, that's not what I said."

The shower faucet turns off upstairs. We both look upward to the ceiling. My old self is upstairs, preparing to move to the Academy today.

"I need sleep," I mutter.

"I see that." She looks annoyed. "Now I'm just going to worry about what you'll be up to in the future," Mona chides, pulling me to the stairs. She turns back, holding one finger over her lips, asking for my silence. That won't be a problem. I barely have enough energy to hoist my feet up each step, let alone open my mouth.

Mona steers me to the door at the end of the hall on the second floor. She quickly throws me inside when the old me exits the bath on the third floor and walks across the creaking floor.

Mona shuts the door behind us and leans me against the wall. My body wobbles, shutting down. She pulls down the bed sheets and fluffs the pillows, then guides me to the bed, where I proceed to collapse. Even in the uncomfortable, kinked position that I've fallen, I could sleep.

With great difficulty, Mona rolls me over, straightens my body, pulls off my coat, and then my shoes. She tosses them onto a chair.

"You know your past self is upstairs—right?"

"Yeah, getting ready to move to school," I whisper.

"Exactly, so don't leave this room!"

"No. Problem," the words crawl out.

She pulls dust bunnies from my hair, looking at them in disgust. "You're absolutely filthy!"

She tugs the covers over my body, placing my arms on top. My hand clenches the tiny box from the archives. Mona doesn't notice it, or, at least, she doesn't say anything.

"How many times have you wandered in the last day?"

"Lots," I grumble.

"You're running?"

"You said you didn't want to know."

"First off, you can't go wandering all over the place. All those time changes in one day will suck the energy right out of you." Her hand whips through the air. "It's called _schlag_. It's like exaggerated jet lag."

"Hmph." I figured that much out the hard way.

"Secondly," she admonishes, "whatever trouble you're in, you should be dealing with it with your team. You know, Max and Sam?" Her brows furrow. "They're there for a reason, Seraphina."

I use all my energy to roll over and look away. I don't want a lecture. Not now.

"Wait," she considers, grabbing my shoulder, "did something happen to Max or Sam?" Her voice rises with distress.

"No."

"All right, okay—good." She composes herself.

"I need your help," I say, unsure of what her answer will be.

"If you need me as a Seer, I told you, I'm unable to see a relic's life path the way I used to. As young as she is, Sam would see much further back."

I sigh out loud, resisting the urge to shut my itchy and watery eyes.

"But if you need me as an aunt, I'll be here for you." She rubs my shoulder. "Really, if I could help you with a relic, I would. I promise."

"Tell me why."

"I just _did._ I can barely see across the bedroom, let alone back in time for more than a few hours— _days_ if I'm lucky," she huffs.

"That's not what I meant." I roll back over. "I mean, _why_ can't you?" My lack of energy makes me petulant.

"Well," she pauses, looking at the ceiling and back to me. "I didn't want to overwhelm you in the beginning. I mean—I wasn't going to discuss it." Her hands fidget, rolling around in her lap as she contemplates. "But, perhaps the story will help you make the right decision." She smiles, but sadly.

"Well, let's see, where to start." She smoothes down the covers. "Our team started out at the Academy. My teammates were Joseph, my Protector; and Ann, my Wanderer. I was nervous in the beginning. Just being thrown into a situation with two people you don't know—well, it has challenges."

I sniff. Boy, she has no idea.

"Well, we weren't just roommates. We hung out 24/7, like some kind of adolescent mutant family."

I laugh a little. The phrase "mutant family" coming out of Mona's mouth just seems weird.

"It's like you need each other in an unexplained way, but it doesn't necessarily mean that you get along. Like siblings, we had our fair share of arguments. Still, we needed each other just like a family.

"Anyway, we spent two and a half years at the Academy, and then we attended wandering university together. We experienced so many exciting trips together, learning about history in a way that any Normal would absolutely drool over. Some Normals are lucky enough to backpack through Europe in college; we backpacked through history." She pauses, seeming to reminisce.

"So, what's the problem?" Fading quickly, I push for more information.

"Not too long after college, Ann kinda went AWOL. She just up and left, completely disregarding her oaths to the Society of Wanderers and her teammates. It more or less rendered Joseph and me useless. I guess we could have tried to find another member, but it's not easy to find the perfect person, a replacement for a sister. It all has to click into place, like fate—destiny—whatever you want to call it. There's no place for broken teams to go mingle and find a new mate." She laughs sadly at the thought. "All groups form in their teen years, and they usually stick together for the rest of their lives."

"You could have done your own thing, meditating on relics. That's something—right?" My voice slurs.

"I did in the beginning. I was so furious with Ann—I couldn't let her destroy everything I'd worked for. Seeing had become my life. But then I wondered, what was the point? I wasn't just a Seer. I was also a guide. And I had no one to guide. I found my life empty without a team. With my skills fading, my reason for being special disappeared." Mona's heartbroken voice weakens. She trembles when she speaks again. "Eventually," I think she pauses to wipe a tear away, " _thankfully_ —I found new things. I have my books. I have my art. I still work for the Society of Wanderers, but now I travel like a Normal. It makes me happy."

I'm sorry for Mona, and I dislike Ann for abandoning her. My eyes are locked shut. They may have been closed for a while now, but Mona kept talking, knowing I would comprehend. I've been responding to her in my sleep.

Mona creeps out of my room, shutting the door behind her. When she stops to talk to the old me in the hallway, I understand now why she seemed so awkward at that moment. I was hiding behind the mysterious door.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see you there," Mona says outside my door.

"I'm ready to go, whenever you are." I hear my old self say. Having two points of view for the same event feels strange. It's as though I've been given a second set of eyes through which to perceive my life.

Their footsteps disappear down the stairs, and I drift further, lost in the unconscious world.

My dreams aren't my own during Night Classes. We listen to the recordings on the contrapulator even on the weekends. So it's no surprise when my repressed dreams appear full force, ready to explode.

•

Dense fog churns around me, uncontrolled at first. But slowly, perfect little beacons of light filter through. Stars. Their light burns off the clouds, revealing a clear, midnight-blue sky.

I flex my toes. Sand sifts between them. The cool texture soothes me. The nippy air chills my skin with goose bumps. I run my hand up my arm to rub them away.

I'm back in the desert.

My free hand unexpectedly brushes someone. Though I don't immediately see the person standing next to me, I know it's Bishop. He moves closer. The air warms around me, embracing me. I want to reach out and entwine my fingers with his, but I refrain. He's not mine.

When I glance at him, his jewel-green eyes seem concerned. He opens his mouth to say something, but someone else speaks first.

"Where have you been?" the uptight, childlike voice asks. I turn to answer Sam, who stands a few feet in front of me with her arms crossed.

"I've been searching for my mom," I say apologetically, thinking they will find the thought idiotic.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Bishop asks in a consoling voice.

"We would have understood," Sam adds. She releases her irritated stance.

"You can trust us." Bishop places his hand on my shoulder.

"You can," Sam adds. She grabs my hand and pulls me forward into the night.

We walk together for some time through sand, wheat fields, and plush grass. It's as though we're on a journey, although I'm not sure to where. "Are we going someplace?" I ask.

"Yes—there." Sam's freckled finger points farther ahead. When I see it, I'm confused. On a long stretch of land sit a million stars, mirroring the sky. The lights twinkle, enticing me.

Mystified, I run toward them, leaving Sam and Bishop behind. My feet sink and slide into the sand, laboring my run. I reach the stars and bend down. My knees dent the soft earth. I reach out to touch the nearest one. When my fingertips brush its warmth, the star levitates from the ground, pulsating like a heartbeat. It's alive.

"Come look!" I yell back to them, but I hear nothing. I stand up and turn to see their faces. I want to share the moment.

They're walking toward me, but when I gauge their expressions, they aren't happy. My head cocks. As I focus, their facial features ripple. The movement, almost unnoticeable at first, increases as they move closer. Their images oscillate, sending wild tremors over their skin. I can't hide my horror. They're morphing into something else. Every part of their bodies mutates into a scrambled mess. Repelled by the grotesque scene, I squint my eyes, cup my hands over my mouth, and let out a silent scream.

But I don't run. I'm too terrified.

The transformation finally decelerates, revealing two people who are not Sam and Bishop.

Mona stands in Sam's place. She appears dejected. The man standing next her I don't know, even though I've seen him before but only in my mind. His is the face I conjured in my mind for Mona's Protector, Joseph.

"Where have you been?" Mona asks. Didn't Sam just ask me that? I'm having some kind of déjà vu.

They're waiting for an answer, but I don't know if I can trust Joseph.

"Ann?" Joseph asks.

I look around for Ann, but I don't see her. "Did you call me Ann?" I ask, confused.

"Of course, it's your name," Joseph says. "We've been looking for you for years."

"I'm not Ann," I assure him.

"Look for yourself," Mona says, pointing back to the stars on the ground.

When I turn and glance down at them, I don't just see stars. The surface reflects the face I imagined for the person that hurt Mona—Ann. I'm the person responsible for changing the course of her teammates' lives with her selfishness. _Am I selfish like Ann?_

•

I launch into a sitting position, sucking in air, releasing my mind from the curious dream. My fingers grasp the sheets. The miniature box, holding the CeCe relic, falls out of my hand and onto the floor. The dream makes me realize...I need my team. I don't want to be Ann.

### Chapter 29: Meditation

I'm not sure how long I've slept off the schlag. The sun beams as brightly through the window as it did when I originally arrived. For all I know, it could be the next day.

I roll out of bed and stumble across the room. Opening the door, I peek my head through the crack, listening for Mona. But I only hear the usual old-house, creaking noises.

Finally, I'm able to indulge in a well-deserved hot shower.

When I return to the bedroom, I gather my things. I hold up my clothes, inspecting the dust and dirt. Reluctantly, I slide back into them. They're nasty, dirty, and sweaty. Unfortunately, I need them as my relics, to keep me connected in time.

As I slip on my shoes, I take in my surroundings. The room, larger than my first bedroom, has a masculine feel. Black-and-white photos of various cities hang on slate-blue walls. Books cram the shelves.

I grab the miniature box from the desk and place it and Mom's bracelet on the bed. Tired and too disheveled, I guess I couldn't think about them before this moment. Even still, it doesn't really matter what's in the box, because I cannot see its life path without a Seer—without Sam. _I need my team._

Knowing can wait a little longer, so I shove the relics back into my pocket, slip on my coat, and head for the front door.

•

Finally, I'm back on true time. I'm sitting on Sam's bed, between two large stuffed animals. I can just imagine the look on Sam's face when I admit to her that I need her help.

I hate admitting when I'm wrong, but I've never really had anyone to rely on. Ray's always been so elusive. I've unknowingly become a loner, making it difficult to accept help from others. Now that I have people, a family of sorts, I'm not quite sure how to act.

Nervously, I rotate Sam's antique watch around my wrist.

Terease scolds Sam and Bishop in the next room for allowing the old me to escape via the window.

What will my consequences be when Terease finally catches up to me? But I can't worry about that now; I know I'm very close to finding my mom. I can feel it.

Terease's screams float toward the front door of the apartment. In the space between the floor and the door, a dark shadow slithers away. "Find her!" Terease barks. The front door finally slams shut. The apartment breathes a sigh of relief and brightens. Her veil of darkness creeps away, probably following her down the hall.

The door to the lemon-yellow room pops open. Sam walks in stiffly. "Good. You're here." She isn't the least bit surprised to see me and is all business. "Now, show me what you've found."

"Wait, where's Bishop?"

"He's coming. He went to fetch Stu," she says and walks over to adjust an annoyingly cute poster of kittens.

"Stu? Where's he been?"

"Expelled." She paces the room, inspecting it for further adjustments.

"That's it—expelled?" I imagined so much worse. Maybe a mind-erasing machine in a dungeon under Olde Town is a little far fetched.

"Yes—well—sort of. I'm sure he'll tell you all about it." She dismissively waves her hand.

"Okay, so why do we need Stu? I'd rather not drag him into this."

"He knows a lot about this kind of thing," she says as she picks up a pair of silk toe shoes from the floor and places them in a duffle bag. She walks to the corner and repositions a cello case.

"And what sort of _thing_ is that?" I've never told anyone what I'm looking for.

"Look, Sera," she says curtly, turning to face me with a hand on her hip. "I'm _not_ stupid. In fact, I'm quite intelligent. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever find my equal."

I almost burst out laughing, but I hold it in because I know she's just trying to prove herself to me, just like I'm always trying to prove myself to Bishop. Maybe Sam and I aren't so different.

She rolls her eyes but continues. "Bishop told me about how you used the relicutionist to find someone who crossed paths with a bracelet and it hadn't worked." She adjusts her stance. "And I was also there the night you told everyone about the first time you wandered, which happened to also involve a missing bracelet."

"So?"

"So," she huffs, "I put two and two together and figured out that you found the bracelet and are looking for your mom. Like I said, I'm not stupid." She walks over and sits, ramrod straight, on the bed.

"Now, show me what you've found," she insists, holding out her palm.

I smirk. There's something endearing about her confidence.

"Actually, it's two things." I empty the contents of my pockets and hand over both: the bracelet and the small CeCe box.

Together we move to a spot on the floor, facing each other. Sam lays the items out to inspect them. She opens the tiny box. A squarish, flat piece of bronze with an open void in the center falls out and onto the carpet. I squint to get a better look, but it doesn't look like anything I can put a name to, like a ring or a necklace. It's just a square piece of metal.

The bedroom door swings open. On edge, I jump, thinking of Terease. Sam remains calm, continuing to inspect the relics when Bishop strolls in. With their mental connection, she must have seen him coming.

His sparkling eyes catch mine, lingering for a second longer than usual. I blush, but this time I don't look away. His perfect smile broadens, revealing a speck of a dimple.

"Glad you're back, Miss Parrish."

I try to regulate my smile, my heart, and whatever other body part he seems to have control over.

Stu struts in behind him. "Hello, ladies. I understand you require my services." I roll my eyes. Sam giggles and relaxes. Stu seems the only person capable of softening her rigid exterior.

"I've filled Stu in on what's going on," Bishop says.

"Glad to help." Stu puffs out his chest a little _._

"Glad you made it out alive," I respond. His personality obviously remains intact.

"Yep, yep." He tucks his shirt into his pants and adjusts his belt. "It's hard to keep the Stewster down."

"Sam told me you were expelled. What's the other half of the punishment? She won't tell me."

"You'll see for yourself in a few minutes, if we don't get this party started."

"Um—okay." I'm confused, but whatever.

The boys sit down on either side of me and inspect the relics.

"What is all this stuff?" Stu asks.

"The bracelet is something that belonged to my mom. My dad gave it to me for my last birthday. I lost it with my luggage when I moved here from Miami." It gives me pause, wondering what had happened to everything else in my luggage, but I focus back on the issue at hand. "It was returned to me in Venice."

"Returned to you by _whom_ and _when_ , exactly?" Bishop sounds suspicious. He pushes the objects around with his fingertip.

"Um..." I'm not sure what to tell them. Will they believe me?

He looks up, questioning me silently with his eyes. I guess this is where the trust part's going to happen—the team part. So, I just let it. Just like jumping off a catwalk above a pool and my big jump from the bell tower in Venice. I pray Bishop will grab me on the other side again.

"Okay, here's the deal." I settle myself for a long explanation. "When we were in Venice and we were—separated—after—well, you know." I twist awkwardly, thinking back.

"You mean, after he tried to kiss you?" Sam snorts.

Bishop and I glare at her. She shoots us a smug look. Stu's expression is lost, though I see he's slowly connecting the dots. I skirt around the subject before he starts with the questions, sending us off track.

"Anyway, a lady gave me the bracelet. She said, 'Reassemble this and it will guide you to your heart's desire.' When I asked her name, she said she was my friend."

"What did she look like?" Bishop asks.

"I couldn't tell. She was covered head to toe, wearing a gold cape, black gloves, and a full face mask."

"You're saying a complete stranger gave you back a piece of jewelry that's been missing for weeks? And somehow that person knew you wanted it back to find your mum?"

"Yes." Suddenly I'm unconvinced that it really happened that way.

Everything seems to be crashing into a confusing convergence, all precipitated by the mystery lady in Venice. She presented me with the extra leverage I needed to start sifting through the pieces of information. She gave me back the relic, but how did she know what I wanted? Who was she?

Maybe it was me from the future? I can't be sure. I could have added the Lady in Gold to my now defunct list of weird and unknowns, but the puzzle pieces are falling into place so quickly now. Somehow, my destiny is finding me, and I hope my mom is on the other end, waiting.

"Sera?" Bishop catches me in thought.

"It's strange. I know. But _who_ it was doesn't matter. I think I'll find out when I'm meant to."

After everything I've witnessed in the last twenty-four hours, it turns out that everything, even the bad stuff, like getting catapulted from a commuter train and busting a lip, happens for a reason. I touch my lip. The scab has finally healed over.

"It doesn't look broken." Sam holds up the bracelet. "The Lady in Gold said to put it back together. That doesn't make sense."

"Yeah, I don't know why she said that. It's not broken. It's as perfect as when it was given to me."

"Okay, where did you get this piece?" Stu asks, pointing to the relic that was in the tiny box.

"Well, it's a long story, but I found it in the Relic Archives under the entry 'CeCe.' It _supposedly_ has something to do with my mom—according to a drunk bum."

They stare at me as though I've lost it.

"Is that the most reliable source, Sera?" Bishop asks gently.

"I'm not sure if it's connected, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to find out why some random person thinks my mom is somehow related to this CeCe person." Or is CeCe.

"Wow, Sera, you really get around, don't cha?" Stu chuckles.

Sam clears her throat. "Okay, let's begin, shall we?" She's serious again.

She meditates very quickly on each object, not giving any indication about what the life paths reveal. After the last object falls to her palm from its hovering ballet, Sam huffs with an annoyed tone.

"What? What did you see?" I ask.

### Chapter 30: Deepest Desires

Sam deliberates for several moments before divulging the history of the two objects: the gold bracelet, and the square metal piece with the open center.

"You're not going to like this." Sam exhales morosely.

"I know you can't see that far back, but you must have seen something?" I press.

"Just tell us, Sam," Bishop prods.

"What I saw was—"

"Stuart Winston Murry, I know you're in there!" Perpetua screams from outside Sam's bedroom door. We all jump in our seats.

"What's _she_ doing here?" I can't believe she has the nerve to traipse into our apartment, uninvited.

"Oh—it's the other part of my punishment for my prank," Stu explains. "I told you if we didn't hurry, you'd find out soon." He shrugs his shoulders.

"Perpetua is the other half of your punishment? I don't understand." I can't risk her seeing me here.

"We're supposed to be attached at the hip, never leave each other's side, like glue, peas and carrots, or PB and J, for the rest of the school year," Stu rambles. "Thanks to Terease, of course." His lips fall at the corners. "And Perpetua's driving me insane!"

Bang, bang, bang.

"Stu, if you don't let me in, I'm gonna tell Terease!" Perpetua's voice grows louder.

"What are we going to do?" I scramble to gather the relics. If necessary, I need to be ready to run again.

Before anyone can answer, the door falls off its hinges, landing with a loud thud on the floor. Perpetua squats in the doorway with her hands elevated in a karate chop position. She storms in. Her murderous eyes zero in on Stu. But she skids to a halt when she sees me.

"Oh, my—Seraphina, you're in so much trouble. I hear Terease is looking for you. The question is..." she deliberates, "shall I run and tell her where you are?" She places a fingertip over her lips.

Bishop and Stu ambush her. Sam runs around the squabble and locks the front door.

Less than a minute later, we're sitting back on the floor around the relics. Perpetua sits in a desk chair with a sheet tied around her body to restrain her and a dirty sock plugged into her mouth. The sock was my idea. I personally took it off my sweaty foot and shoved in her pouty mouth—inside out.

I'm thankful that Bishop took swift action, but I know I'd be ticked if my boyfriend had done the same to me. He, for some unknown reason, put me first, before Perpetua. For our team? Maybe. Even though I try not to, in my heart, I hope it's for something more.

I analyze their body language, to see how they act around each other, but something's off, and I can't quite put my finger on what exactly it is. Perpetua squirms in her seat, giving me the evil eye.

"What about Jessica, your Seer? Won't she know Perpetua's tied up here?" I turn to Stu.

"Jessica went home. She doesn't get back until tomorrow. She might call, if she's watching, but I doubt she is. Her grandfather just died, so I think she'll be distracted."

"Let's get a hustle on, just in case," Bishop nudges.

"What I started to tell you all before we were so rudely interrupted," Sam stops and gives Perpetua a sneer, "is that I couldn't see anything. Not anything that makes sense, anyway. None of the scenes were in order, and I saw myself with the bracelet in scenarios I'm positive have never happened.

"What are you saying?" I ask.

"They're broken, fragmented," she says.

The Lady in Gold is right? I give Sam a look of confusion. My mind wanders back to the moment I first heard the term "fragmented." I recite the explanation Mr. Matchimus gave us last week. "'If you break them apart, they'd be broken, fragmented in time, creating travel roads that are warped and scrambled. We wouldn't know where it would send you if you tried to use them. Very dangerous, indeed.'"

"Yes, exactly," Sam says. "But, that's what I expected since Bishop mentioned that the bracelet didn't work in the relicutionist. Especially since we know that it's already sent you back in time at the moment you thought of your mom. The bracelet and your mom must have crossed paths somewhere."

"Right," I agree. "But now what?"

"That's why we brought in Stu," Bishop adds, but he seems a little uncertain.

"I've done quite a bit of reading on fragmented items and other special relics. I had lots of time on my hands waiting for Perpet-a-thing to be harvested," Stu explains, jerking his head toward Perpetua. "Who knew she would be so horrible when she got here." He shoots her a hissy face. Perpetua jerks her chair angrily in his direction. He throws his hands in the air defensively and shrinks away as though she can still pound him while she's tied up.

When he feels safe, Stu relaxes his guarded stance and pulls his notebook from his back pocket. The one I often see him scribbling in, the one Macey called "secret."

"I have a sketch in here from an old book I found in the library, and I want to look at it again." He flips to the correct page and nods his head, saying, "Ah-huh, ah-huh. It's exactly the way I remember." Then he slips the book into his back pocket and picks up each relic, inspecting them closer. He seems especially interested in the flat, square piece. He holds it up to the light.

When he does, I see the piece in the new way, and something clicks. "Oh—wait!" I unfasten the necklace Mona gave me and remove it from my neck. Then I slide the medallion off the chain and into my hand. I hold the pendant up, right next to the bronze piece.

We all gasp at the same time, realizing the two pieces are the same exact size and material. I lean into Stu to hold the two objects flat against each other. When they touch, they're not only identical in size and shape, but they unexpectedly click together at a hinge point on the top. They become one piece, like a locket.

"Oh!" I grab it back, now as a unified piece. I open and close the locket in disbelief. The piece Mona gave me sits on the front—the obelisk, the sunrays radiating in the background, the rope-braided, raised edge. When I opened it, the flat piece, related to CeCe, sits on the back. At closer inspection, the piece has raised edges. Inscribed Roman numerals encircle the hole.

"It's like a watch without hands," I say.

Stu takes it back and inspects it. "Sort of. It's a sundial, but not a normal one."

"Uh, yeah, that's what I meant." Of course, I've seen enough of those to know what one is. I feel a little stupid when Bishop steals a glance at me.

Stu isn't done fiddling with the items. He picks up the bracelet for a closer look. He places the locket face up over the square emerald on the bracelet. Again, unbelievably, it latches solidly into place.

This time, Sam grabs it before I have a chance. She opens the locket, now attached to the bracelet, and looks inside. In the hole surrounded by Roman numerals sits the emerald. The three pieces have become one, all related.

My heart leaps when I realize that Francis might be right. The CeCe relic and Mom's bracelet fit together. They belong together. _Are Mom and CeCe really the same person?_

I replay again what Mona said on the phone with Terease. "It will be our best defense against CeCe." She was speaking as though CeCe is alive. That's confusing. If CeCe and Mom are one and the same, does that mean she's still alive in true time?

I gasp, placing my hand over my mouth. I think about the possibilities. This opens up so many unsettling questions.

"What is it, Sera?" Bishop puts his hand on my arm. Perpetua grunts behind us.

"I'm not sure, but I _think_ this might mean that my mom is still alive."

They look unsure until I explain my reasoning. I tell them _everything_ from the beginning: my meeting with Francis, the phone call between Mona and Terease, and finding the CeCe relic in the Relic Archives. When I finish, they seem as puzzled as I am.

"Wow! I should meditate on this again. Maybe it'll be clearer this time." Sam lays the newly constructed sundial bracelet on the floor, but Stu interrupts before she begins.

"No need, pretty lady, it still won't work."

Sam appears stunned into silence. Instead of arguing her point of view, she just sits there, turning bright red, probably because Stu just called her pretty.

"What do you mean?" I ask him. I'm getting impatient, especially with my new hypothesis.

"Okay, just bear with me. I'm going somewhere with this," he insists. "Who reads Latin?" he asks, gesturing toward the bracelet.

I wait for someone to answer, but instead, Sam hands the sundial bracelet to Bishop.

Bishop holds it up, rolling it around in his hands. "Where? Where's the bit in Latin?"

"It's right here." I point to the front of the locket, Mona's piece. "It says Tempus Rerum Imperator. Just like on the front of the Academy building."

Bishop translates, "Times—rules—all."

"Close enough. The exact translation is 'time commands all things,'" Stu says as though the words mean something. We just look at him, waiting.

"So?" I press.

"So, Miss Sera, what you have here is the ultimate relic. In this case, time commands all desires, because this relic will take you or anyone else to their most desired location in time—but in your case, straight to your mom."

### Chapter 31: A Compromise

Stu holds the bracelet between two fingers. It dangles toward the floor. Filtered light catches the bracelet's diamond chips and casts shimmering rainbows on the far wall. He sits in silence as though he's allowing what he just explained to sink in. "The ultimate relic," he called it. A straight road to whatever the possessor desires most.

"Explain," Bishop says, skeptically.

Stu pulls out his notebook and flips it open to a loose sketch that looks exactly like the green gem. "This," he points to the gem in the drawing and then to the bracelet, "is an emerald from Unika's crown, the first Wanderer of Egypt."

We're all stunned into silence. Even Perpetua seems to perk up in her seat at the information.

I recall the story Mona told me about the Egyptian king and his quest for plentiful fields of grain. My memory lingers over the details of the matching oversized mural in the main atrium.

"Originally, Unika's crown was symmetrical with two gold coiling scorpions, two seeing eyes, and in the middle, a winged scarab. A scarab that held this very gem." Stu sketches the crown on an empty page. His lines are so fluid, they look as though he's drawn them before, a thousand times. He holds up the book for us to see.

"Impossible. It's only folklore." Bishop scrutinizes the sketch.

"No. Very possible," Stu says. "After Unika's death, his wife, the Queen, dismantled the crown into four pieces. The scorpions went to Bomani, their eldest son, the eyes went to his middle daughter, Saqqara, and the winged scarab was willed to go to the youngest child, still unborn at the time."

"A Protector, Seer, and Wanderer," Sam says.

"Yes, that's what the story suggests. But the gem, the fourth piece," Stu holds up his finger, pointing to each of us, "it was special. The Queen kept it for herself. She believed that the gift, from Amun-Ra to Unika, contained special powers. Powers only possible from contact with the gods. And she was right, it did.

"The gem turned up again in the late fourteen hundreds or early fifteen hundreds, at which point, it must have been added to the sundial bracelet. Whoever made it knew its capabilities and documented them in the book that I found. Special relics like these have caused all kinds of wars."

"Wars?" I gulp.

"Wars among Wanderers," Bishop clarifies.

It's something that hadn't occurred to me. Wanderers have their own histories. Ones more in depth than the few murals and folklore I recently learned about. These are history lessons we wouldn't learn in a Normal's school. But that isn't the most unfathomable part. The part that seems inconceivable is that all these items found their way through time, to me.

I look over at Sam. Her eyes sparkle for the relic. I can see she can't wait to touch it again, to feel its energy.

"Why can't I meditate on it? I want to learn more about it." Sam reaches to grab it back, but Stu pulls it away.

"You can't because it has no real life path. Whoever holds it creates the path to what they desire most. When you searched it, you saw yourself with it, didn't you? What did you see?"

Sam squirms. "Um—that's personal." Her cheeks turn scarlet. Bishop instantly laughs. He's read her thoughts, but even I can tell that she saw herself with Stu.

"It's the same as Amun-Ra showing Unika what he wanted most, a fruitful harvest. And when Sera holds it, it will show her the way to her mom," Stu continues, oblivious.

"It works the same as a relic? I mean, you just run with it and think of what you want most?" I can't believe it can be that easy.

"Although, I'm not sure what will happen, since it does the thinking for you. So, no keyword is needed for this relic, and you don't have to run. Legend says you need to walk into a sun pillar's shadow, just like Unika," Stu explains.

"A sun pillar?" I've never heard the term.

"An obelisk," Bishop clarifies.

My eyes grow wide, and I jump up from the floor, tripping over Perpetua's restrained feet on the way to Sam's window. When I reach it, I press my forehead against the cold glass and look at the tall obelisk, standing in the Academy courtyard.

"When I originally wandered with the bracelet, it was fragmented. It could have taken me anywhere?" I exhale and the glass fogs up in front of my face, blocking my view.

"Yes," Stu answers. "But in your case, I think it was trying to point you in the right direction, a starting point in front of an obelisk. Because of the fragmentation, the trip could have been random. And it was, for the most part. Like I told you last week, it's unheard of for someone as young as you to wander back twenty-some years. You're lucky you made it back alive!"

"Now what?" Sam joins me at the window.

"You and I need to get outside without Terease seeing you," Bishop adds, pointing at me.

Perpetua jerks around in her chair to get our attention. Stu rips out her sock plug.

"I'm coming with you!" she yells.

"The hell you are!" I retort.

"If I'm getting in trouble for being a part of this, I want to see what that relic does for myself."

We all look at each other, considering her words.

"Besides," she adds, in her gooey, sweet, evil voice, "if you don't take me, I'll tell Jess to call Terease, and she'll come and take the bracelet, and then you'll never find your mom." She smirks. She knows she has me in a corner.

"And if I'm coming with you—" Stu starts.

"Whoa—wait, Stu." Bishop holds up his palms. "You've already been in enough trouble this week. I think you should stay," he says. "Sera and I can go. Sam will be watching."

"Fine!" Stu yells. "I'll just untie Perpetua now, and we'll see what she does."

Bishop stiffens. I gawk at Stu and Perpetua. Why is Stu turning into such a little rat now? It just doesn't make sense.

"I'll need my Protector when we go. Besides, if Sera's mom is alive and happens to be this CeCe thing that Terease is so scared of," Stu insists, "I'm gonna need her."

The blood drains from my face and my body turns cold with chills. Mona's conversation on the phone plays in my head. She said, "I think, eventually, it will be our best defense against CeCe." The words hint that CeCe is something to be dealt with. Something or someone Terease is afraid of. That image horrifies me. Because until now, Terease is the thing I'm most scared of. I hope, for the first time, that Mom and CeCe are not the same person. I'd be happy enough to find her in the past, just like I originally hoped. It will be enough to see her again, to talk to her, no matter what part of history she exists in.

"Fine!" I yell at Stu and Perpetua. "Just don't blame me when Terease finds out you were involved." I'm completely annoyed. Maybe Stu's team loyalty is overriding his common sense. I realize I'd do the same for Bishop, but still.

My brain switches tracks. I turn back to the window. Ideas for sneaking into the courtyard, unnoticed, churn in my mind. Quickly, a solution presents itself.

I spin to face them. "I've got an idea."

•

Getting into the courtyard unseen turns out to be easy—too easy. In doing so, I've proven to myself that every problem doesn't need to be solved like a time-traveling freak. In this case, doing something normal, something a mischievous, _Normal_ student would do, grants me exactly what I want.

But I don't stand here alone, every student in the east building mills around the Academy yard in the snow. Students from the sophomore class, still dressed in their eighteenth-century costumes, give the pedestrians of Chicago a reason to stop and stare. Older students hang around in circles, gossiping about the cause of them being here.

All together, the group creates quite a scene. Every student in the west Academy building presses their nose up against their classroom windows, looking out at the circus before them. If they didn't wonder about the east boarding school before, they do now.

I laugh to myself. Terease, Mr. Evanston, Ms. Midgenet, and every other teacher at the Academy are distracted by my stroke of genius—pulling the fire alarm. The alarm served two carefully planned purposes. One: getting me to the courtyard. Two: saving _the old me_ , the one hidden on top of a dusty shelf in the Relic Archives, from Terease.

Gabe flutters around the yard, asking each sophomore to make sure their costumes don't get wet from the snow. He pushes them back onto the cleared walkways, horrified at the possibility of water-damaged costumes. The chaos leaves him just as distracted as the faculty. And that's exactly what I need.

Red and white lights flash repeatedly from several emergency vehicles. Terease stands across the yard arguing with the fire chief. How can she possibly let firefighters into the school when the Society has so much to hide?

I'm now wearing a Venetian mask and cape I borrowed from Bishop. My team, unfortunately including Stu and Perpetua, crowds around me, hiding me from view.

Not far away, Macey stands awkwardly between Xavier and Quinn. Even from this distance, it's obvious their love triangle still exists. Her eyes scan the crowd. When she spots Bishop, she walks over. Her Venetian hoop skirt and brown curls bounce with each stride. Xavier and Quinn follow like puppies.

"Heya," she says in her cheery voice. "Have you seen Sera?" she asks Bishop.

"In a way—I guess," he says. His eyes dart around, avoiding her. His expression turns uncomfortable.

Macey towers so high over everyone else, she simply peers down and sees me.

"Hey, lady. Where have you been?" Her gaze bounces around our group, assessing the situation. "You're hiding—what's going on?" Her Protector instincts kick in, and she inches closer to Xavier. Quinn takes notice of the change, probably reading her mind and scans the crowd, looking for trouble.

I shrug in response. She surveys the entire courtyard again. Her focus circles back. " _You_ did this, didn't you?" she says, then laughs so loudly that Terease turns to look at us.

I duck, grab Macey's arm, and yank her close. "Macey—shh! You're gonna ruin everything!"

"You bad girl! What in the world are you up to?" She leans forward, smiling impishly, waiting for the gossip.

"Sera, if you intend to do this, let's do this now," Bishop pushes.

"Seraphina Parrish, what have you done?" Macey asks for the second time.

"I'm in a little bit of trouble." I peek around her toward Terease, who has zeroed in on our group. I can read her face; I'm familiar with that look. Terease's pitch-black eyes are searching the brains of my group, hoping to find me. I'll be the one she can't get a vibe on. Her body tenses when she locks eyes with me. I gasp and turn away. When I glance back, Terease excuses herself from the fire chief and stalks in our direction.

Macey measures the fear in my eyes and doesn't push any further. She just looks back at Terease's face and understands. Macey turns without saying another word and races straight toward Terease to head her off.

"Now, Sera! Let's do this now!" Stu yells at me. I open the face of the bracelet. Bishop, Stu, Perpetua, and I lock hands. Sam, Xavier, and Quinn take two steps back.

Terease and Macey collide. Macey's arms flail around. I lift my wrist to the light from the blustery winter sun so it catches the emerald's face. As I do, Terease reacts, but not with anger. "No!" she screams. Her hand reaches out as though she wants to grab and stop me.

A blast, golden and hot, shoots from the green gem and touches everything within sight. I shield my eyes and lean away from the blinding light. Slowly, the light softens, and I peek back to see the result. Every person and every single thing has frozen solid, except Bishop, Stu, Perpetua, and me. The now silent world hangs stuck in a real life photograph.

A pigeon hangs in midair, a few feet above me. Its wings are spread wide, gliding toward the ground, perhaps to scoop up a scarce piece of winter food.

Shocked, Bishop, Stu, Perpetua, and I all rotate in our spots to observe city life at a complete standstill. My attention falls to Sam. Her lifeless blue eyes gaze off into space, and her mouth hangs open in the shape of an O. Her flat hair, previously flying in the freezing wind, now hovers in the air, weightless. Stu waves his free hand in front of her vacant eyes, but she doesn't react.

The hot blast melted all the snow. Now, only large pools of water cover the sidewalks as proof that it ever existed.

Above us, agitated clouds lash around, swirling restlessly. Their wicked teal-green colors move independently from the frozen city. The sun appears from behind the clouds and slides across the sky. It rounds the atmosphere as though time continues to move forward, but nothing else does.

The sun's rays cast quick, angular shadows across the buildings, like video from a time-lapse camera. I notice the ground in front of us. The obelisk's shadow, like a watch hand, creeps from the twelve thirty position to approximately the two thirty position.

Then it halts.

We all look at each other. This is it. In the front, I pull Bishop's hand. Our group progresses single file, hands linked. We advance into the shadow of the obelisk, just like Unika did thousands of years before us.

### Chapter 32: Walking Shadows

The overbearing sun, in its new position, holds its spot. With Bishop, Perpetua, and Stu hand in hand behind me, I step forward cautiously onto the newly revealed grass. My heart races, unsure of what will happen when I walk into the obelisk's shadow. A few cautious steps later, I stop. Several students stand frozen, blocking my intended path.

"Just walk through them," Stu yells from behind, reading my mind.

At first I think he's joking, but after further evaluation it seems the only option. I lift my hand to test the theory first, letting it sink into the boy in front of me. My fingers disappear, tingling with his energy.

"It'll be okay, Sera," Bishop says.

I hold my breath and step forward, completely submerging myself into the boy's essence. His body encases me with the pressure of water. For a moment, I become a human relicutionist. A few hours of his life slip before my eyes. It's exhilarating and kind of gross at the same time. I exit the other side of his body and gasp for air.

When I look back, the boy's clothes tug forward as Bishop walks through, pulling Perpetua behind him.

I turn forward to continue and halt in my tracks.

Terease stands frozen before me. Her lacquered nails reach toward my face. Her black eyebrows angle into peaks, and her red lips gape open. Macey stands frozen, just outside the shadow's borders. I wish that I could switch their positions. I'd do anything to avoid seeing the evil that churns within Terease's lifeless frame.

"What are you waiting for?" Perpetua's voice twists in annoyance. My hesitation lasted longer than I realized. "Scared, Seraphina?" she badgers.

I don't acknowledge her remark. I only imagine my mother waiting on the other side of Terease. _I have to walk through her. There's no other way._ I stand up straight and take a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I step into her black, leather-clad body.

Her soul matches the darkness in her eyes. Blackness roils around me. An uncomfortable chill races up my spine. Unlike the student I just passed through, she guards her soul, hiding her secrets. I linger within her body longer than intended. My senses lift away, drawing me toward an evil that pulses just outside my reach. Bishop tugs me back, like a balloon that's floating away. I bounce for a moment, weightless, before I remember myself. His hand, in mine, tethers me to reality and brings me to my senses.

But in Terease's murk, I grasp her final thought. The emotion lingers from before she froze solid. I can't read the exact words, but I'm now overwhelmed with her dread—Terease's intense concern.

Bishop pushes me from behind, and I vacate her body through the other side, gasping for air. Her alarming emotions linger, encasing me like a second skin. I watch Bishop travel through her, but when he does, he seems unfazed by the experience. So I push her distressing feelings out of my mind and continue on.

When I reach the apex of the shadow, I know we're going somewhere in the next step, but I have no idea where. When my toes hit the ground, a white light blasts, enveloping me. Forceful winds push, warning me away. Leaning into the air, I drag my group toward a luminous, radiating wall. When I look back to check on them, I only see silhouettes and hair tousled by the force of the whipping winds. The distinct scent of ocean salt swirls around us, but we're miles away from the ocean, or we used to be. The air is chilled with dampness. Icy drizzle pelts my face as I step through to the other side of the vortex.

Stumbling forward, I almost fall off a set of wet stairs. Bishop grabs my arm before I hit the ground.

"Thanks," I say and steady myself. It's nice to have him here. With Bishop in close proximity, I feel safer. I turn to smile at him, but his attention falls on our new surroundings.

"London." He surveys the horizon, lined with buildings.

We stand at the river's edge in London, underneath another gigantic obelisk. Two huge, rusted metal sphinxes flank us. Based on our surroundings, I estimate us to be on true time, but I can't be one hundred percent sure.

"Cleopatra's Needle," Bishop says. "This is the Thames River." He points at the water. A ferryboat glides past. "My home isn't too far from here." He looks off into the distance.

"Should we drop in on your _mum_ for tea?" Perpetua asks, making fun of him by mimicking his accent.

"You were always quite good at imitation." He grimaces and looks away.

"Now what?" I ask Stu, ignoring Bishop and Perpetua. When I speak, a cloud of condensation rolls from my mouth. The chilly temperature here rivals Chicago.

"We should do it again," Perpetua chimes in. Up until now, she's reserved her breath for the sole purpose of annoying me. She must really want to see if the bracelet will work. Either that or she tagged along because she can't bear to leave me alone with Bishop—probably the latter.

"There's no light." I squint, looking up into the drizzle.

"I think the weather will turn in our favor if we try it again," Bishop says, assessing the evening sky.

I open the sundial bracelet. All four of us interlock grips again. I hold my arm up, with the sundial's face toward the sky. It happens in almost the same way as the last, but the raging clouds move first, revealing the sun. The hot blast of erupting light makes time stand still for the pedestrians and cars passing by. The sun drifts eerily to its new position.

The shadow of the obelisk stops on a particular spot like a sundial. I drop hands with Bishop and walk to the water's edge to balk at the long gray shadow, hovering across the murky water of the Thames River. The twenty-foot drop off the side of the walkway makes my stomach twist with anxiety. _I have to walk over water now?_

Perpetua laughs quietly to herself. When I turn to snap at her, Stu steps in front of her with his arms crossed. He's protecting her now?

"Okay, just relax, will you?" Bishop steps between us, attempting to defuse the tension. "This is nothing compared to what we've already practiced, Sera."

"Maybe, but I still don't like it," I grumble.

"Have faith, please?" His eyes squint into their familiar, smiling arcs under the now sunny sky. How can I deny him anything when he looks at me this way?

Reluctantly, I climb up onto the retaining wall. My insides wobble as I stand up straight. My arms, stretched wide, seek balance.

A horrible screeching noise surrounds us. Metal rubs against metal. We spin to look at the source. Next to the obelisk, the sphinxes' eyes glow red. Their marble pedestals rumble and crack beneath them. The statues roar to life, causing a mini earthquake. The movement lashes us all, sending shock waves through the plaza.

"Animates!" Stu yells.

"We gotta go, Sera. Now!" Perpetua shrieks from behind.

The stone wall trembles under our feet. I stumble, losing my balance, and almost slip off the edge.

The sphinxes roll their heads in unison. They release another hideous scream. Cringing, I cover my ears.

"Now, Sera!" Bishop yells over their cries. We clasp hands again.

I look down at the shadow sitting upon the water, and I wonder if the petrified river will hurt when my body hits it. Tightening my grip on Bishop's fingers, I step one foot over the edge and onto the air. But when I do, the air is as solid as the earth. Another step forward and my body hangs, suspended twenty feet above the Thames River on the shadow cast by the obelisk.

Happy with myself, I look back to Bishop. But everyone's watching the Animates who have risen with alarm to their feet. The sphinxes contract their bodies into a crouch, readying to launch themselves at us.

I yank Bishop's arm, signaling him to move. I run as fast as I can across the shaded area, hovering over the water. My foot crosses over the apex of the obelisk's shadow at the moment I turn and see Perpetua kicking her legs in frantic defense against the approaching mechanical half-beasts. I run faster, praying I can pull them to safety.

Each member of the group falls on top of me, crushing my shoulders into the ground. But I don't blame them. Why are there always stairs on the other side of the obelisk portal? One by one, they roll off. But I just lie on my side, looking off across the piazza at our new location. I know exactly where we are.

Perpetua stands above me and gives me a nudge-kick. "Get up, Sera. People are looking." Hundreds of tourists walk past us, snapping photos.

Bishop offers me his hand. I reach out and grab it, ignoring the radiating warmth it leaves behind. We all glower at the new obelisk in front of us. But this time, the pillar sits in the middle of Piazza Del Popolo in Rome, Italy.

"Another one!" Stu stomps his foot awkwardly. "I can't believe we're doing this again. Maybe this thing is broken," he says, pointing at the bracelet on my arm.

Perpetua gives him a punch, but I don't understand why.

Bishop steps a little closer as he scans the area.

"What's wrong?" I can tell he senses danger, but I don't see anything. Only tour groups and taxis weaving around the plaza.

"Something's off. Stay close," he whispers.

I glance over at the four small lions seated at the base of the obelisk. They don't look like they're going to move. Not yet.

"Can Sam see you?" I ask Bishop. I hadn't thought of her until this moment.

"Yes, but something's wrong. She can't talk to me, but I know she's there. I think she still might be frozen until your task is completed—until you find your mum."

"All right, let's get this show on the road," Stu interrupts.

"How do we know when we're in the right place?" I ask him. I'd hoped that my mom would just be standing on the other side of the portal, waiting for me with open arms.

"I'm not sure about that. I guess we just keep going until it stops working." Stu shrugs his shoulders.

They walk toward me, and we lock hands again, I hope for the last time. At least it doesn't appear that I'll be walking on air again. A wide berth of pavement stretches around us on the piazza.

I lift my arm, tilting it toward the evening sun. This time, I shield my eyes only halfway, attempting to glimpse the blast. The explosion of light hits quickly, warming the cold gray buildings on impact. Everything solidifies from the initial blow. From the center of it all, a sparkling fog rolls off the emerald and into the distance. When the glittery smoke hits the surrounding buildings, they lean away like rubber.

Everything stands lifeless, except for the clouds. They swirl angrily around the sky. The sun drops, lowering itself into an impossible northern spot. It falls behind the obelisk, casting an extra long shadow across the stone piazza, pointing at one of the twin churches standing at the south end.

I step onto the shadow, sensing this will be the final path. I'll see Mom soon.

With locked grips, we walk the long shadow across the piazza and ascend the staircase of the Church of Santa Maria dei Miracoli. While living in Rome with Ray, I passed the church on numerous occasions, but never had the opportunity to go inside.

The obelisk's shadow casts across the closed entrance doors of the church. Instead of opening a door, I walk through it, just like I did with Terease. When I do, I linger for an extra moment to feel the door's life path.

A darkly tanned Roman man, a woodworker, hundreds of years before my time, sits, carving the details of the door's design with ancient tools. The sweat from his brow drops onto the wood, infusing itself there. The same man installs the doors. Countless faces walk through them over several hundred years to worship.

Sam would be jealous, knowing that I'd seen so far back in time, something I know she can't do just yet. She'd die if she knew about the souls I'd explored. _Supposedly,_ that's not even possible.

An impatient nudge advances me forward. I want to ponder the door's life path longer, but when I step beyond the door, a new scene consumes me.

Rich gold inlays and extravagant oil paintings cover the interior of the church. In front of the altar, facing us, stands a children's choir. They're frozen, singing out in silent song. Many people sit in the pews, most likely parents. I look from one person to the next, searching for my mom.

"We still haven't reached the end," Perpetua pushes.

She's getting on my nerves, but I keep walking and hold my tongue.

The sunlight from outside penetrates the facade, letting the shadow continue on through the church. The apex lands at the foot of an open archway, flanked by two small obelisk statues. They guard a set of dark stairs, descending below the earth.

Something moves in my peripheral vision. My head jerks and my heart races at the thought of seeing my mom. Not just one person moves, everyone does. In slow motion, life blooms around us. Sounds advance from a whisper to a song. The choir's angelic voices, in full strength, echo beautifully through the circular church.

The obelisk's shadow dims at the moment I reach its end.

"This must be it," I say. Without thinking, I squeeze Bishop's hand.

Bishop squeezes my hand back.

### Chapter 33: Friends for Life

The choir's song, so beautiful in the background, seems a fitting soundtrack to the hope that surges through me. We're so close to my mom now, I think I can feel her. Looking into the dark entrance, I envision our reunion.

"Sam's back," Bishop whispers. "We must be close."

I smile; I knew I was right.

We descend the blackened, ancient staircase. The tunnel isn't the kind of place you search for a light switch, so I grab the rugged wall for guidance.

"Is your mom the crypt keeper or something?" Perpetua jabs when our surroundings turn almost pitch black.

I want to respond in a snarky way, but Bishop's hand brushes mine. The simple gesture defuses my anger, allowing me to let her comment go.

Just as all visibility disappears, a dim green light snaps on, glowing from much farther down the corridor. It emits barely enough illuminated ground to guide us.

"Wait." Bishop grabs my arm.

"What?"

"Sam doesn't think we should go. Something's off," he cautions.

"If we don't go now, we'll lose it." I look between the disappearing green light and Bishop's grip on my arm. "What if this is the bracelet guiding us?"

"No, I don't think we should. Neither does Sam."

"Well, Sam's not here, and I say we go," Perpetua grumbles.

"Me too," Stu offers. I look at them both, shocked that they'd stick up for me. "We've come this far," Stu challenges.

I look at Bishop—it's three against two. From what I can see, his jaw tightens as he deliberates mentally with Sam.

"Fine," he unwillingly consents and stomps off ahead of us.

We continue for what feels like forever, weaving through a maze of underground catacombs. Little rushes of fur skim my ankles. I know rats roam below the earth, but I don't want to work myself up. So for each one that passes, I simply cringe and walk a little faster.

We wind around under the church and back toward the piazza. Rows and rows of domed ledges extend the length of the walls. I avert my eyes from them, knowing they contain dead bodies. I don't need to see the ancient, decaying remnants for myself.

The corridor ends, opening into a room. As we step in, the dim green light unexpectedly snaps off, leaving us in the thick darkness.

"Great!" I huff out loud.

Bishop grabs my arm and forcefully flips me behind his back. Stu and Perpetua huddle against us. I recognize the tactic from Defense Arts class.

Green flames from several wall torches spring to life.

I scream at the newly revealed, gruesome scene. Several mummified monks hang, fully dressed, on the wall. Their bodies, arranged in awkward positions, remind me of marionette puppets.

To the left, a wall lined with a thousand skulls stares back. A black snake slithers out of an eye socket and drops to the floor. I jump back, startled. From the ceiling hangs the most heinous item, a chandelier made from small finger and toe bones.

Stu hides his face in my arm and whimpers. Bishop and Perpetua remain focused on a dark niche in the corner. The green light suddenly shows itself again.

That's when I realize we aren't alone.

Raucous laughter comes first. But the man doesn't need to step out of the darkness for me to recognize his voice.

"Francis?" I call out over Bishop's shoulder.

He coughs and stumbles into the room. Someone's pushed him from behind. Four more figures appear from the shadows—the gang.

The lead gang member steps forward.

"Well, well, it's about time." The boy smirks, strutting up to us in a cocky manner. His dark hair, wild and unkempt, spikes away from his head in every direction. One long earring drapes to his shoulder. Black eyeliner wraps his dark eyes.

"Francis, you'll no doubt be rewarded for your duties," the boy says. He looks down at the bum holding the green light. I can tell he holds no real regard for the man.

"Was ah team effort, boss," Francis mumbles.

"I'm Drake," the leader says, looking us over. "You appear to be intelligent people, so you'll want to follow me."

"We'll go nowhere with you," Bishop says. He and Perpetua stiffen, ready to fight. Another group steps out from the corridor, instantly outnumbering and surrounding us.

"Are you positive?" Drake asks, then sneers. He holds his hands out, directing us toward their numbers. "Four against twelve?"

Bishop and Perpetua relax their stance just enough to signal surrender.

"That's what I thought." Drake grins.

Francis, still on the floor, begins laughing. He struggles to push himself to his feet. As he does, he coughs and spews snot across the room. Everyone ducks.

"Francis, you're repulsive!" Drake scolds, giving the bum another unforgiving push to the floor. Drake steps over Francis and waves his arm for us to follow. Like we have a choice.

I turn and give Stu an angry look. The sundial bracelet did not work. Because I'm absolutely positive that my deepest desire does not include finding the Underground.

We follow our captors through a new corridor, but this isn't a catacomb, or at least there aren't any bones—thank goodness. Green torches light the dank tunnel. Putrid sludge drips from the walls. Horrific groans echo in the distance. Trash litters all available floor space. The smell increases as we walk and I recognize the stench. It smells just like the gang—a disgusting garbage dump.

Tension increases as we walk. Bishop guards the front, Perpetua the back. As Stu and I huddle together in the center, I wish I were the Protector. Instead, I'm just some stupid weakling who can't defend herself. At least not in the way they can. If I ever make it out of here alive, I will learn everything Bishop knows about defense and more. I don't want to feel this helpless ever again.

The walkway descends in a wide spiral. Arched windows with simple Tuscan columns line the inside wall. You can see through them and into a humongous open circular shaft. In the center of the shaft sits the bottom half of the obelisk from the Piazza Del Popolo above. The pillar cuts down through the ceiling and into the open room, just like Olde Town. But here, there's no weather machine or buildings, just decrepit rocks. _Do Wanderers always live below obelisks?_

When we reach the end of the spiral corridor, we step out onto an oversized stone balcony without railings. The protruding piece of earth hangs precariously over a massive pit—the bottom I can't see. I stand in the middle, shivering, not wanting to move too close to the dangerous edge.

A thin, natural bridge attaches the balcony to the midpoint of the obelisk. On the other side of the shaft, a much larger suspended platform connects the obelisk and the far wall.

My gaze rakes the circumference of the moldy walls. The huge shaft with levels and levels of archways reminds me of a crumbling colosseum. The opaque ceiling allows light to filter into the space. How, I can't explain. I know that up above, flat stone completely covers the piazza. From here, I see tourists' feet shuffling about and stopping when they take photos. Flashes from their cameras twinkle above. They're oblivious to what lurks several hundred feet below them.

Hundreds of grungy people quickly appear in the windows surrounding the shaft, peering down at us as though they're spectating a sport. Their murmurs increase in volume. I wish I could make out what they're saying. They probably know more than I do about why we're even here.

I look back at Stu. "So much for your deepest desires." I narrow my eyes.

"Sorry." He only shrugs and looks back at the four people guarding the exit. Now, my one comfort is knowing that Stu is probably more scared than I.

Snarling noises echo through the cavern. Whipping my head around, I look across the narrow bridge. Four shapes float out from behind the obelisk and stop before us on the other side. They must be important because the crowd hushes to a silence.

The lady in front makes my skin crawl. I slide my hands over my arms to rub away the chills. Her bright red hooded cape contrasts sharply with the drab arena.

In line behind her paces an oversized, mutated beast-dog. Its muscles are bulging and overgrown. They pulse and flex as it patrols the space behind her. Its piercing canine eyes latch onto mine. The creature's tail lashes angrily back and forth as though it's anticipating the perfect time to attack me.

Directly behind the dog-beast stands a feeble bald man dressed in a monk's robe. Hunched over, his cloudy gaze wanders aimlessly over the ground, seeing nothing. He holds his hands at his waist as though he's in prayer.

A figure rolls a wheelchair-bound person into position directly behind the bald man. A green velvet cape drapes over their lifeless body.

There are many others surrounding them, but they appear to be the guards for the motley group. I watch the four main figures with a keen eye. They move in a peculiar way, resembling a slithering snake. Each part follows the part before, vertebrae slithering in motion. The person in the wheelchair, all the way in the back in the shadows, acts as the head, the point from which they move.

"You idiots!" the lady in red screeches. The crowd gasps. "Separate them and strip them of their relics!" she screams, but she doesn't have to. Her words ignite like wildfire through the cavernous space.

Immediately I'm ripped away from Bishop. A group of women encircle me. Like my worst nightmare come true, they tear and rip off my clothes. I scratch, kick, and fight with them, but there are too many hands pulling and yanking at my body.

The crowd laughs. They must see everything. The others must be getting stripped too. I hear Bishop fighting and yelling.

I collapse to the floor, curling up into a ball, embarrassed. My naked body shivers in the cold. When I look up at the grungy women, their human wall parts—opening a space only large enough for one person to squeeze through.

Perpetua appears in the opening with an evil smirk on her face. However, _she_ is clothed. She holds up a gray robe, offering it to me.

"I'll trade you," she says in her snotty voice. I can't comprehend her meaning until I follow her line of sight. It lands on my wrist. The sundial bracelet sits heavy on my arm. It's the only thing left on my body.

"What are you doing?" The words twist out of my mouth.

She approaches and bends down to meet my eyes. She drapes the robe around my back, letting it fall over my body. As she does, she whispers in my ear, "And don't even try to wander in this robe. The only place you'll land is in a dungeon. I promise."

I stand and shrug into the robe, closing it tightly around my body. The women restrain my arms and shoulders. Perpetua grabs my wrist and unlatches the bracelet. I just stare at her, failing to understand why she's doing this. She speaks again, but not in her normal voice. This time, she speaks in English but in a beautiful, clear Italian accent. "I'm so very sorry, Seraphina. I know if things were not like this, we would have been such good friends. Amici per la vita." She laughs in the back of her throat. "I must take this back from you now." She dangles the bracelet. Her lips curl on one side. Perpetua spins and struts away.

As she walks, I envision her in a gold, shimmering cloak. _Perpetua_ is my supposed "friend" from Venice, the lady that returned my mom's bracelet. I wrestle with my captors, trying to break free, but their fingernails dig painfully into my skin, drawing blood.

Perpetua runs across the bridge, presenting the bracelet to the lady in red. The lady snatches it from her, surveys the relic, and holds it up to the light.

"Exeter!" the lady yells. She tosses the relic over her head to the bald man. He catches it without lifting his blind eyes.

His head tips back and his eyes roll back into his head. The bracelet hovers above his palms. For several seconds it floats through the air emitting gold light, until it releases and drops back into his grasp. _He is her Seer._

"It is restored, Cecero," he says in a monotone voice. Cecero—what a horrible name. I spell it in my head. C-E-C-E-R-O. I suck in air and want to scream. My blood boils. She is Cece. I study her further. There's no way that she's my mother. I eye her waterfall of blood-red hair, spilling over her cape, and her pure white skin. I look more like Ray than her, and that isn't much.

Immediately, I understand this entire meeting between us is a set-up, but I can't understand why they have gone to so much trouble. I glare at Francis, the person who originally sent me on this path.

He stands behind me, smirking. "Sorry, kid." He shrugs. "Needed tha money."

I turn back to Cece. She kisses Perpetua on the forehead. "You've done an excellent job, my pet," she says, then strokes her blonde hair.

"I couldn't have done it alone," Perpetua chirps, glancing back to the balcony where I stand.

"Yes, so true. You're so kind, never taking all the glory."

"Come here!" Cece yells out, pointing to the spot in front of her.

I look back, waiting for Francis to step forward.

### Chapter 34: A Choice

I turn and look at Francis, but he doesn't move. He only leans against the wall, picking at his fungus-covered teeth. When he finally does move, it's only after Stu and Jessica appear from behind him. Together, the two swagger across the bridge.

My jaw drops.

When they reach the other side, Cece leans over and grabs each of their chins, letting her disgusting black fingernails wrap around their faces. "All of you have done a wonderful thing. You shall be rewarded handsomely." Like a proud parent, she kisses them each on the head. "Now, off you go," she says with a flick of her hand.

Stu and Jessica clasp hands, prance past the group, around the obelisk, and into the shadows.

I steal a glance at Bishop to gauge his reaction. Perpetua, someone he cared about, betrayed him. She's always been mean and nasty to me, but I never would have seen her transforming into a treacherous villain. Visibly angry, Bishop stares ahead, grinding his teeth. His muscles tense beneath his gray robe.

We should've never come here. He and Sam were right, and I should have listened to them. I only have myself to blame for the situation we're in.

And poor Sam—she just witnessed everything through her connection with Bishop. I know she's devastated over Stu.

After a quick analysis, it seems Stu carefully planted himself into our ring of friends, pretending to be an outcast of Perpetua and Jessica. They played on our good nature, hoping that he could gain our trust. And he did. He and Perpetua very easily guided us to this point, tricking us into piecing together the sundial bracelet. They must not have known how to retrieve the final pieces themselves. For the final betrayal, Stu and Francis manipulated us into delivering the relic to Cece.

"Francis!" Cece yells across the room.

Moving faster than imaginable, Francis stands before Cece in a split second. He bows his head in absolute reverence and holds out his dirty hand.

"You have served your purpose," she says in a dull voice. With a screech of a thousand crashing cars, she lifts her foot and kicks him square in the chest.

In slow motion, Francis' bulging body arcs away from her, flying backward through the air and over the edge of the balcony. His arms and legs windmill as he reaches to grab something—anything.

"No!" I scream, reaching toward him, struggling with my restrainers.

Francis plummets into the sinking darkness of the pit. He may have tricked me, but he was just a defenseless man, a Seer without the ability to transcend the layers of time with his body, only his mind. His garbled screams last forever, until they fade into nothing.

Happy with herself, Cece paces from side to side. Her red cape drifts behind her, curling up at the edges. The dog-beast and the bald man glide smoothly in line with her. Together, they form a human snake, anchored to the person in the wheelchair.

The crowd murmurs, waiting for her next heartless and explosive move.

Cece spins around, looking at me. "We're sorry. We've been so rude." She refers to herself in the third person, apologizing with false sincerity.

"Greetings." She pauses, holds her arms out, and nods her head. "We'd say that we've been expecting you, but you can already see the truth of that for yourself—can't you?"

The ruthless mob laughs.

"You have what you want, now let us go!" Bishop demands with a struggle. His captors restrain him.

Turning, Cece grabs the bracelet from Exeter. "There are a great many things that we want, young man, but this is only one," she says in a beautiful, sinister voice.

"Seraphina—child—come close so that we may see you," she coos.

"No." I shake my head violently. After watching her kill Francis, no way.

"We said, come here!" She points directly at me.

"No!"

"I think our guest needs a little help!" Cece shouts.

A sweaty, muscular man with an arm sleeved in tattoos grabs my waist. I fight with him, frantically hitting his leg with my fist.

"Sera! No!" Bishop screams. Instantly, there's a scuffle I can't see.

The man muscles me across the narrow bridge. I hang, pinched in his grip, feet and head dangling over the edge, the pit of nothingness below. Immediately, I'm sick, almost passing out from vertigo and his stench.

He tosses me on the ground in front of Cece. I look away from her, but she captures my chin in her palm; her black nails curve around my face. She clenches them, snaring my cheeks.

"Look at us!" she screams like a crazy woman and jerks my head toward her.

I look right through her. I'll never give her the respect of looking her in the eyes. I will defy her until my end.

"You have Eliza's eyes," she considers.

Pursing my lips, I don't speak. Her grasp locks my face in place.

"The most stunning part," she chuckles to herself, "you actually believed you'd find your mother here," Her head tips back in laughter. The sound ripples through the shaft and ricochets off the ceiling.

"Didn't you?" she asks darkly, pushing for an answer.

"I didn't expect to find a snake!" I spit at her. The crowd gasps at my response.

Cece smacks my face with the full force of the back of her hand. When she does, her garnet ring slices my flesh. I recoil, grabbing the wound. Warm blood trickles down my cheek. The crowd hushes to a silence.

She reaches down to touch my skin, drags her fingers through the red fluid, and then admires her blood-covered fingers. She lifts her hand and slowly rubs the blood onto her own face.

My eyes narrow. She's deranged.

She inhales deeply, continuing to rub my blood onto her skin. Her eyes flutter. An expression of ecstasy crosses her face as though she's taking a hit from a drug.

After she regains her composure, she grabs my arm and stares. "And you have Eliza's defiant attitude," she says, "but it will not serve you well. It will only serve us. We promise you that!"

"You don't know anything!" I yank away from her.

Enraged, she shakes violently. The dog-beast growls and snaps his teeth. The bald man trembles. They spasm in their spots, as if electricity courses through them. Even the person in the wheelchair quivers. And when they do, one dainty hand falls out of the green cape's sleeve. It clutches the handle of the wheelchair. The person is not old and weak like I imagined.

When their wicked vibrating subsides, the group breathes deeply in unison, calming themselves. Cece paces in contemplation.

"What shall we do with her?" she asks the crowd. "Shall we send her into the pit?" The crowd cheers. I stiffen with fear. She walks dramatically in a circle.

"Or shall we make her one of our own?" she says to herself, peering down at me with her coal-black eyes.

"Never," I say under my breath.

Cece rushes me, lowering her eyes inches from my face. "We tricked you into reconstructing the relic," she says in a playfully sinister tone. She holds up the bracelet, dangling it in the air. She wiggles it, tempting me to reach for it.

My jaw clenches. Mona's conversation on the phone replays in my head. "I think, eventually, it will be our best defense against Cece." I wonder if "it" is the bracelet, and I wonder how I can use the relic to hurt her. I cock my head, staring at it, letting the possibilities run through my mind.

"We're quite certain we can get you to do _whatever_ we choose. We know your mind better than you do." Cece's mouth lifts at one corner.

Determination surges through me. I glance back at Bishop, sending him a look I hope he comprehends. He nods. In one precise motion, I smack the bracelet out of Cece's fingers. The bracelet slices through the air and lands ten feet away. I dive for it, sliding on my stomach across the floor.

I quickly flop over on my back, but Cece has already descended. Her dog-beast snarls over my face. Its mouth foams, anticipating a fight.

She places her hand on the animal's head. "Relax, Cerberus. There's plenty of time for that." Her hand gently strokes its head. "He's such a good Protector, isn't he?"

An animal for a Protector? I don't have time to understand how that's possible. I scurry backward on my elbows with the bracelet in my grasp. One arm slides off the edge of the balcony, pushing free several loose rocks. The top half of my body hangs over the edge, the black pit yawns below me. My heart races out of control. The beast inches forward, growling. Hot breath from its fanged mouth puffs on my legs. Warm drool drips on my bare foot.

"Wait!" I yell.

I extend my arm in the air over the blackened pit. The bracelet dangles from my hand.

"I'll drop it!" I scream.

I hope this will act as a bargaining chip, one that can free Bishop and me. There's a long pause. My heart pounds erratically. Finally, Cece's face folds. She bursts into hate-filled laughter. Tears roll down her cheeks.

Confused, I look over at Bishop. He's advancing on the guards: kicking, punching, and flipping around in maneuvers that seem impossible. The crowd cheers him on. He makes his way to the center of the bridge. My stomach clenches, seeing him there. Black emptiness drops into nothing on either side of his feet. I have to get back to him to get out of here.

"Drop it!" Cece yells out, egging me on.

I look at her, confused.

"See? You're already doing what we want, and you don't even realize it." She laughs, delighted with herself.

Her team rumbles with laughter. I hadn't put the relic together, just so she could destroy it. It might have been her intention all along, but I can't let her do that now. Silently, I still cling to the hope that it might take me to my mom—someday.

The person in the wheelchair jolts. Part of their face appears from behind the hood. I gasp, and my heart thuds to a piercing stop.

The laughter and cheering of the crowd, Cece and her group prodding me, Bishop fighting with the guards, it all fades into absolute silence. The person in the wheelchair is my mom. I focus only on her face.

She's been here all along.

"Kill him!" Cece commands the guards. Her horrible words pull me back to the moment.

A guard strikes Bishop down. He falls to the floor of the bridge. The tattooed man kicks him in his rib cage several times. Bishop screams out, his misery unleashing through the cavern.

The crowd cheers.

I'm horrified.

The Protector-beast snarls. My hand trembles, still dangling over the pit. Unsure of what to do, I know I'm trapped. Bishop needs my help, but I also need my mom.

"Join us!" Cece offers. "You'll become an outcast like all of us here when the Society finds out what you've done. You'll only know your true strength here, with us. The Academy will keep you weak, revealing only their truths. There's so much more you can learn with us." She reaches out her hand.

I can't focus on her horrid words. The bracelet had worked, and Cece knew the truth all along. I glance between Bishop and my mom, trying to choose. The one thing I desire most sat here all along, sleeping peacefully, serenely, ageless.

I look back at Bishop, now unconscious. The tattooed man steps forward onto Bishop's arm, breaking it under his weight with a sickening crack. It flops limply, dangling over the edge. I shudder with agony, feeling the pain that should have rippled across his face. Another guard squats down and shoves Bishop's lifeless body over the edge of the bridge and into the endless black pit.

### Chapter 35: A Painful Silence

Bishop is going to die.

My world stops to a painful silence.

I do what my entire being tells me not to. I take one last look at my mom, carving her perfect face into my memory. Then I roll myself over the edge of the balcony, letting go of everything that I ever wanted. My mom, the beautiful, serene woman in the chair, falls away from my view in an instant.

Cece screams in disgust as though she knew this was coming. Her anger recedes as I drop through the pit in an uncontrolled free fall. Repositioning myself with my head falling first, I collapse my arms at my side. The position carries me swiftly through the air like a torpedo until I collide with Bishop and latch on to him.

With the force of a meteor colliding with earth, we slam into a wormhole. This time we slide through, slowing our speed, and finally crash into water. We rebound off the bottom of the Academy's pool.

Just coherent enough, I pull Bishop up into the fresh air. With all the energy I have, I lift and float his face above the bloody surface.

When I reach the shallow end of the pool, I place his head on the perimeter ledge. His lifeless body sags below the water. My face crumples, the bridge of my nose burns. Tears prick my eyes. I can't fathom losing two people I care so much for in one day, even though I never truly had either. I rest my head against his chest, praying to hear a heartbeat. When my ear touches his body, he unexpectedly wraps his good arm around my back and tenses slightly.

I exhale in relief, but I can't hold it any longer. Tears drip down my bloodied face.

"How?" He barely moves his lips to form the word.

"How, what?"

"Relic?"

It's enough for me to understand. We had no relics to wander with, only the useless gray robes and the sundial bracelet, which I opted not to use, just in case. I roll over and untie my robe, opening it just enough to show a small area of my stomach. His eyes roam my bare skin. He lifts his finger and lightly touches my belly ring.

"I got it right before I moved here. The women who took my clothes missed it." I look down at it. The skin, ripped and torn, is bleeding. "I forgot about it until I slid across the floor on my stomach, trying to grab the bracelet." I close my drenched robe. Drained of energy, I collapse next to him on the floor.

The front doors of the Academy clang open. A group of students rush in. The sound surges through the atrium. Voices trail off in all directions, but some rush toward us.

"Oh, my God!" Sam's voice shakes as she approaches.

"Stand back." Terease stalks in behind her; I recognize the sound of her boots. She drags Bishop from the pool.

"Gabe, stop the paramedics from leaving!" Terease yells.

Gabe flitters away in a panic, whimpering. Now in true time, fire trucks and ambulances stand by from when I pulled the fire alarm. Terease stands above, blocking the red and white lights that reflect in a kaleidoscope of colors on the glass ceiling.

"Sera, tell me you still have the bracelet," Terease asks as though it's her only concern.

I nod.

She visibly relaxes. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No," I lie. I'm not sure if she knows what it even is, but I suspect she doesn't. That's fine because I'm not ready to tell anyone. I need time to wrap my own head around it. My mom is still alive; on true time, I think. There are so many questions that need to be answered. Why had I been lied to? Or perhaps, no one knew. Why is she in a wheelchair? _She looks just like me._ Why had she never looked for me?

How can I even begin to explain to Mona or Ray? He doesn't know anything about my new life. Maybe—for right now—it's enough to know the secret...she lives.

Paramedics rush in. One asks a question, but I can't comprehend his words. Nearby, students swirl, turning into blurs. Their chatter mutates into a high-pitched buzz. Bishop is safe. I'm safe. My mom is alive. I hold on to her ageless image in my head. My eyes slide shut, gravitating into a haze of nothingness.

•

Someone strokes my forehead.

"Finally," Mona says. I'm only slightly more alert when her blurry face materializes.

"You've been out for a while. Just a concussion and a few staples," she says.

"Thaz it?" I want to laugh, but I'm too doped up. "Where—staples?" The words drag out in a slur.

"Your head. You took quite a spill."

"Bishop?" I mumble.

"He'll be fine. He's in surgery for his arm right now."

I moan, remembering.

I drift again to the buzzing of the hospital's fluorescent lights.

•

A moment before I knock on the door, I fiddle with my outfit.

"Come in," Bishop's velvety voice sings out.

The door creaks, swinging open. We've been roommates for weeks, but this is the very first time I've seen Bishop's room. A shade of peanut butter covers the walls. Books sit in tall stacks around the edges of the room creating mini-skyscrapers. When he called himself a bookworm, he wasn't kidding. The item that surprises me most: a large professional camera. It sits on his desk next to a stack of photographs. I drift to them, ignoring him.

"Why don't you make yourself at home and have a look around," he jokes.

"Thanks," I say, sifting through the prints comprised mostly of architecture. "They're really good," I offer. Then I walk to the wall, examining the framed photos. Stalling, I browse the books, the ones standing upright and on the bookshelves. His eyes follow my every step. I take my time, working up the nerve to look at him. After our encounter with the Underground, I became self-conscious around him. Finally, when there's nothing else to look at, I meander to the chair next to his bed and sit. He's laid up, still recovering.

"How are you feeling?" My eyes search the floor.

"I'd be better if you'd look at me."

I want to. In fact, my eyes ache to see his. But now that he's free of Perpetua, I don't quite know how to act. My face warms with embarrassment. I realize it's much easier to avoid him, rather than try to figure out how to be normal around him, which, as it turns out, is nearly impossible.

Finally I give in, looking up at him from under my lashes.

"Better," he says, focusing on me.

One side of my mouth curls. His eyes smile back as they always do. Bishop is much too handsome for his own good.

"Sam said you wanted to talk." My toes tense, and I lift my heels off the floor.

"Yes, well, you've been so busy, we haven't had time to chat."

"It's Terease, she's been interrogating me like a secret agent."

"Yes, I figured she would," he says. "What I want to tell you is—thank you."

"For what?"

"I'm afraid I haven't been the greatest Protector, have I? We go out wandering and nearly die, and you're the one that has to save me!"

"It was nothing." I play with the cuff of my shirt.

He places his good hand on my knee. I look up at him wistfully. "Sera—it was _everything_ ," he says. "So, thank you. I hope I can make it up to you someday."

He squeezes my knee. "I'm sorry, Sera," he says earnestly.

"About?"

"That you didn't find your mum. I know how very disappointed you must feel."

I wasn't positive until this moment that he hadn't seen her for himself. With only part of her face revealed behind the hood and all of his fighting, how could he have noticed? After deliberating, I decide to keep the secret to myself. Not because I don't want to tell him, but because I need more time to process the information.

"It's okay. Just wasn't meant to be," I say. His hand falls away, and I rub my palms down my jeans, wiping away the tingles that he unintentionally left there. "Not yet, anyway." I look up, rolling my lips in onto themselves.

"What's become of the sundial bracelet?"

"Terease took it for 'safekeeping.'" My fingers form air quotes. "But it seemed more like a trade for my three weeks of expulsion."

"Only three weeks?" His eyebrows rise in surprise.

"Yeah, I think she's going soft."

His laugh fills the room. The warm sound delights me.

"She sat me down, and we had a wonderful chat," I joke.

"And?"

"And I received a fine lesson on the Underground."

He gives me a curious look. "What did she tell you?" He wants to compare notes, I guess.

"They're the bad guys, of course," I joke, but then I become serious. "She said they're the outcasts of our Society. They regard Cece as their queen, of sorts. She leads them to manipulate history in their favor, among other things. We have an entire group of Society agents dedicated to stopping them."

"That's more than she told me. Knowing Cece's their leader would have been helpful," he amends. He's probably thinking about how Francis tricked me into believing Cece and my mom were one in the same.

"I guess learning about a gang of time manipulators isn't something you learn about in the first few weeks of school, is it?" he asks.

"No, in fact, she said they don't normally discuss it until university. Time traveling is so much to deal with for new students, they'd rather not make the situation more complicated than it needs to be."

"Makes sense," he offers, nodding his head in agreement and pursing his lips.

"So, how are you feeling?" he asks.

Instinctively, I touch my head. "The staples came out this morning. They were really starting to itch."

"Yes, I know what you mean." He looks down at his cast in a sling. He grabs a pencil from his nightstand and shoves the eraser end inside his cast to scratch his arm.

I laugh and relax a little.

"And Bishop," I squirm in my seat, "I want to say—that I'm sorry."

"About?" He looks up.

"Perpetua." I exhale. It's the first time I've said her name to him. My face blushes with guilt. If I'm being honest with myself, I'm more than a little happy to have her out of the picture.

"Don't be." He seems serious. "Actually, it's come to my attention by a rather loud little birdie that you were under the impression that Perpetua and I were dating."

My mouth drops open, and I stare at him. "You—weren't—dating?" Hadn't one, rather tall, _very loud_ , little birdie told me they were?

"We had a date as friends, the night of Gabe's party."

"A date...as friends," I repeat. I'm going to _kill_ Macey.

"Yes, and I have to tell you, it was only because she begged me to go with her. I told her I would, only as friends, of course. But from then on, something seemed very off. Every single time she came around you, it nearly put me on edge, as though you were in danger. I guess you saw me arguing with her about it on a few occasions. I'm embarrassed about that. And I also felt leery of Stu."

"You knew all along?"

"No. Not really. I mean, how could I ever have imagined that they posed a true threat? They're just students, after all. I discussed it with Sam, but I think she was so enamored with Stu, she couldn't see clearly either."

"I think Perpetua used me to get information about you." He laughs at the thought. "Now that I see that she and Stu were connected with the Underground, I imagine she kept them well-informed of your whereabouts."

"Makes sense," I consider. The gang showed up everywhere. When I think back, things always seemed a little off between Bishop and Perpetua. Now I understand, it's because they were never really together. That's why they didn't act like a couple—they weren't.

"Anyway, I felt I needed to explain—about Perpetua." He looks up apologetically.

"No, you don't have to explain. I mean—you should date whomever you want." The conversation is taking an awkward turn. I squirm in my seat, staring at my hands.

"Yes, I do." He leans in close, and his eyes lock on mine. "I wanted to explain my actions in Venice."

Heat rushes through my body. We still haven't discussed our almost-kiss.

"I didn't want you to think that I would have tried to kiss you if there were anyone else. I guess I understand why you took off. And it makes me like you even more." He pauses in thought. "Unless—unless you took off for reasons other than Perpetua."

Lost, looking at his dark lashes, I realize he's staring at me, waiting for some kind of hint. Is he actually asking me if I like him? I close my mouth. "Um—"

"I guess I'm being absurd but, I'd like very much to take you on a proper date."

"A proper date?" I repeat.

"Is that something you'd consider?"

He's being so formal; it's confusing. All this time I swooned over him, believing his heart belonged to someone else. And all along, he really wanted me.

My smile broadens, and I can't control it. Quickly, I gather my emotions, attempting to play it cool. "Sure," I say, not wanting to sound too excited. "But what about your arm, your bruises?"

"They're telling me I can move about in the next few days. How about a date this weekend coming up—like Friday?"

"I think I have a meeting with Cece that night, I'll have to check my schedule."

We laugh together.

"So, it's a yes, then?"

"Yes." I smile, and he takes my hand, wrapping his fingers around mine. A surge of energy washes through me as his thumb lightly brushes my skin. We both look at our hands, finally together.

### Chapter 36: A Secret

Due to Bishop's injuries, our team's studies remain on hold until Monday of next week, at which point, we will only take up a modified schedule. With the lack of action around here, the weekdays have crept past.

The extra time allows me to reconcile in my mind that my mom still lives. Even though I saw her for myself, her existence seems unreal. Is she on true time? I think so, judging from our surroundings in Rome. I worry about why she's in a wheelchair. Is her condition serious enough that it would hinder her from looking for me? Whatever the reasons are for us not being together, I'm happy. She's alive. This fact trumps every other emotion of confusion, disbelief, anger, hurt, and distrust.

Now that it's Friday, I allow time for myself. I let every thought of my mom go, at least for the evening. In time, I'll uncover the truth. For now, I need to focus on a perfect evening with Bishop.

As I brush out my hair, relief sweeps over me. I'm happy knowing that Ray won't witness my first official date. In the past, he repeatedly threatened background checks on potential boyfriends. For as long as I can remember, I've imagined suitors sitting at our kitchen table, filling out the equivalent of a job application before acquiring permission to leave the house with me.

This is easier. Although I miss Ray, our separation allows me to grow up and do the things I want without his concerns and worrisome meddling.

I peruse my closet, pulling out multiple clothing choices. The possibilities sit in a tossed mess across my bed. I inspect the options, noting that my decision might be easier if I knew the location of our date this evening. Unfortunately, Bishop has remained tight-lipped about his plans.

"I saw what you did," a voice accuses. Sam walks in and shuts the bedroom door.

"What are you talking about?" I glance over my shoulder.

"I saw her."

"Who?"

"Your mom." She puts all her weight on one leg and crosses her arms.

I put down the jacket and turn completely around to engage her. "What do you mean, you saw my mom?" She would have only seen what Bishop experienced, and according to him, that didn't include my mom.

"Don't worry, Bishop doesn't know," she says, walking around, inspecting my room.

" _What?"_

"I saw what he saw—a glimpse of the woman in the wheelchair. Your mom."

"Bishop never saw anything like that." I attempt to call her bluff.

"He did," she assures me. "He saw her but didn't make the same conclusion. I see what he sees, but I have my own thoughts, you know. I made the connection. He didn't. Her face—it was yours, just slightly older."

"So?" I say combatively.

My secret is out. I found my mom, but I'm not ready to share that information yet. I don't even completely know how I feel about the situation. What's Sam's angle?

"Don't get defensive," she responds. "It's just—" Her eyes search the room.

"Just what?"

"I know you had to choose between your mom and Bishop. I didn't see it exactly, but I know you did."

I turn around to conceal my emotions, pretending to consider the outfits. It physically hurts to think about how close I came to having my mom back.

"It was the right decision. Bishop needed me. He was going to—die." I choke out the last word. "Just don't tell anyone about her—okay?"

The air is punctuated with silence as I wait for her answer. She walks past and plants herself on the bed. She reaches out and places a hand on my arm. "I just want to say that I'm glad you made the decision you did, and I'm glad to have you on my team." She smiles a little, even though I can tell she's uncomfortable sharing her feelings.

"I think you should wear this one," she says, pointing to a ruffled skirt and leggings, "with the gray boots—they'll complement this outfit."

"They would." I agree then realize she hasn't promised to keep her mouth shut. "Sam, can I please count on you to keep the secret?"

"For now," she says, and picks up a scarf and folds it into a perfect square. She's the annoying little sister I never had. At the thought, I realize I'm happy to have her on my team, too.

"Thanks." I smile.

"So, you think I should wear this?" I point back to the outfit she's chosen, changing the subject.

"C'est beau," she says in French. France is the topic of the Night Classes this week. Sadly, our team missed the field trip to Paris. I always wanted to see the city, its beautiful architecture and shops.

I walk to the closet to find a matching set of earrings in my jewelry box, but when I return for Sam's opinion, she's gone. Where she sat, rests a note.

My name, in crappy boy handwriting, scrolls across the front. On the inside...

### Very much looking forward to our date this evening.

### Please meet me in Olde Town, outside the theatre,

### at 7 p.m. Be sure to bring a warm coat.

### —Bishop

When I step across the bridge into Olde Town, twinkling stars sprinkle across the ceiling like a planetarium. I stroll to the theatre under the Clock Tower Building and sit down on the wide stone steps. Students stream past, up the stairs, to see the evening movie. With Bishop's injuries, it makes sense that we might do something normal. Something a Normal couple would do, a movie date.

A puttering noise echoes in the distance and increases as it nears. The noise doesn't alarm me, it just doesn't belong in Olde Town. I glance over my shoulder and down the nearest darkened tunnel, waiting for a machine to appear.

Gabe darts out of the shadows on an old wood-veneered scooter. He screeches to a halt in front of me. Bishop sits behind him.

"Hey!" I jump up.

"Mon amie!" Gabe says, swinging his leg off the bike.

"What's this about?" I point to the scooter.

"Oh, Sera, you two are going to have so much fun." Gabe air-kisses each of my cheeks. He turns and playfully twirls off in the opposite direction. "Bonsoir!"

I turn to Bishop. "What's with the bike?"

He holds up a shiny black helmet. With one hand, he carefully places it on my head. "This bike is our relic for this evening," he says, as he fastens the strap under my chin.

"Our relic?"

"Yes, Sam spent all week searching for this." So Sam knew the destination of our date all along.

"We can wander with this?" I look the bike over, and then I look back at Bishop.

"Yes. As it turns out, motor vehicles do the trick quite nicely."

I guess if running could work, why not this?

"There's only one catch," he says, flashing his dimple.

"What?"

" _You_ have to drive." He holds up the keys.

"Is it safe?"

"Your driving? That remains to be seen," he says with a chuckle.

"No!" I smack him lightly. "I _mean_ if we leave the Academy—are we safe from the Underground?"

"I think we'll be fine. Without Stu and Perpetua spying on you, how will they locate you?"

"Good point."

"So you'll drive?" His eyebrows arch, indicating that he's unsure if he should relinquish the keys. _Bishop doesn't know what he's in for_.

I flash a grin. "Hop on!" I swipe the keys with confidence. "Where to?" I ask, flinging my leg over the seat.

"No, no. I'm still in charge of this trip," he says. "It's a surprise."

"All right, whatever you say." I turn on the bike after he settles. He wraps his good arm tightly around my waist. The motorized bike lurches forward, and I make a quick U-turn. We accelerate back down the dark tunnel as fast as the scooter will allow, and the world folds in behind us.

Together we journey through a prismatic haze of dark blues and purples. I grasp onto the bike, Bishop onto me. After only a few moments, we explode through the other side of the wormhole, racing down a wet, paved walkway along a river.

I still don't know what city we're in. Low-rise historical buildings wrap around us in the darkness. Chilled air caresses them. The city lights glow a hazy pink in the most beautiful fog I've ever seen.

"It's just a little farther," Bishop says.

We ease around a long bend and that's when I see it. The black iron latticework winds a thousand feet into the sky, and disappears into the fog—the Eiffel Tower.

"Paris!" My face beams.

"Surprise," he says quietly in my ear. "I know how very disappointed you were when we missed the field trip."

"This is much better," I say, and then I slow the bike to a crawl.

"You can park just up there, next to the street lamp."

I park the bike. We dismount, and I take off my helmet, then help Bishop with his. His sling-covered arm remains tucked under his bomber jacket, on top of a vest.

He grabs my hand and pulls me toward a long, elegant barge. We step across a wood plank and onto the boat. Except for the staff, the dining boat is empty.

A slender man, all in black, attends to us immediately. "Monsieur Bishop, I presume?" the man asks.

"Oui," Bishop says in a perfect French accent.

"Your dining table is prepared on the first floor, but the preferred view is from above." He stretches his arm out, gesturing to the stairs.

"Merci beaucoup," Bishop says. He pulls me up a flight of metal steps and into the open, chilled air. We cross the length of the ship and walk over to the railing.

We stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the Eiffel Tower. Its iron lace glows in a multitude of changing reflected colors: purple, blue, green, white, and then back to purple again.

"It's beautiful!"

"It was built in 1889 for the World's Fair by Gustave Eiffel. It stands 1,063 feet high," he explains.

"I'm just glad you didn't want me to jump off of it," I say with a laugh.

"We could—after—if you want?" He nudges my shoulder playfully.

"You're kind of showing off—you know?"

"How?"

"Paris—on the first date? How are you ever going to top this?"

"You'll be quite delighted with what I have in store for you, Miss Parrish."

My face flushes. _He's planned for more dates._ I smile, and we lean into each other. "I can't wait," I say. He wraps his good arm around my back and squeezes, snuggling close. My eyes water slightly in the crisp breeze.

The tower sits across the Seine River and stands in a park filled with trees. Colors emitting from the tower reflect on the river, mirroring everything.

"The colors—they're changing faster now. What's that noise in the trees? Is that cheering?" I ask.

"Well, yes."

"Why?"

"Just watch."

The colors on the Eiffel tower flash faster, frenetically, switching from one color to the next. Then the tower turns completely dark. One large white block of light appears at the very top, radiating behind a haze of fog. The light block descends as though it's falling slowly to the bottom. When it reaches the ground, the people in the distance cheer enthusiastically. White blasts of light pop on and off in a chaotic array of bursts around the entire tower in a breathtaking fireworks display.

"Happy New Year," he says with a smile.

"New Year?" I turn to him. He unwraps his scarf with his good arm. Gently, he wraps it around my shoulders. "What year is it?"

"The perfect year." The words roll out of his mouth in silvery clouds, just as they did when I saw him in the Academy's courtyard.

"What makes it so perfect?" I grin.

"Being able to start it with my Seraphina, my angel from the painting."

He tugs on the scarf, pulling me closer to his chest. When my body meets his, I feel his heart beating wildly and out of control with mine. His hand reaches for my face. He lightly touches my beauty marks with his thumb.

"You are simply lovely," he says softly.

I thrill inside. _He sees me._

His hand drifts to my neck and slips behind my loose hair. His touch warms me as I slide my arms into his jacket. My palms settle on his defined back. His head dips down until his forehead meets mine. We sway, taking in each other. I inhale his presence, happy to finally be able to do what I've wanted to for so long now.

His face slides to my ear, and he kisses my lobe. His breathing sends tingles on an electrical race through my body. The fluttering tickles cause my shoulders to scrunch up next to my ears. We both giggle. His lips graze along my cheek, and finally our lips brush. His breath warms my face, and then he finally kisses me. Softly. Sweetly. It's exactly the way I've always imagined. Perfect.

He drops his hand and slides it inside my jacket to the small of my back and pulls me closer. My hands travel up his chest and twine around his neck. I lift myself toward him, kissing him deeper, knowing I could never be close enough.

After an amount of time I cannot measure, we finally break away from each other, breathless.

He tips his chin down and speaks softly in my ear, "I wish you wouldn't have given the sundial bracelet to Terease."

"Why," I ask, and press my head against his chest, pushing my arms back into his open jacket and around his waist.

"If I had it to lead me to my deepest desire, I know it would always be a direct path to you."

### To Be Continued

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Dedication:

Thanks to my little sister, Tabitha,

whose unwavering support allowed me to believe

that painting pictures is as easily achieved with words.

This painting is dedicated to you

And

to my husband, Warren,

for always believing in my creativity,

no matter what form it takes.

I love you.

Special thanks to:

Christa Howell, Jen Lowe, and Tabitha Preast.

You are the best cheerleaders any gal could have.

Leslie A. Sanchez & Lynley Anne Herbert,

thank you so much for your help with

the book's Spanish and Latin translations.

