A pang strikes my chest. I wish Joshua were here. I rub my palms against the chair’s upholstered arms. Close my eyes to shut out the quarrel continuing among the three men. The Verity warms my soul, expanding and swirling. Which raises another question—how can I possess the Verity while Aidan retains it as well? Why is there another question for every missing answer? Why, why, why? How, how, how?
“Ugh!”
The arguing ceases.
Oh crud, did I vocalize my frustrations? Opening my eyes confirms my fear is reality.
It’s the king who lifts an eyebrow. “You are new.” He eyes my grandfathers. “Perhaps we should save this discussion, gentlemen. For a more private setting.” His tone expresses kindness but finality. “I am interested to learn more about our lovely newcomer.”
The old me would’ve been like, “Lovely? Ha!” But now I smile and say, “Thank you.”
Compliment accepted.
Bianca rises and comes to stand beside me. Before I can say more, she begins what is an obviously rehearsed speech. “I found her on the streets. As the Representative of the Third, I felt it was my duty to rescue one of our own.”
Representative of the Third. My heart falters, though I don’t know why this didn’t hit me sooner. Bianca’s not around during my time. Nathaniel never mentioned her, save a passing comment on a cold winter night . . .
“By then I was already grown and living in the Second with my wife and two boys.”
This is where they met. I’m living my own family history. What are the chances I’d land here, surrounded by my ancestors?
“And how do you know she is one of ours, Moretti?” Accusation does not coat Aidan’s voice. No. His tenor is more curious, inquisitive. As if he already knows but wants to know how she knows, you know?
He’s so much like Joshua I want to stand and hug him.
“Because I saw her appear out of nowhere.” Excitement speeds her words. “One moment the gutter was sewer water and then—poof!—she was there.” She pats my head as if I’m her lapdog.
I twist in my chair, dipping my head away from her touch. “Wait. You . . . watched me?” I shake my head. “No. I found you. Tapped you on the shoulder.”
Her red lips curl. “That is merely your perception, signorina. I had to be sure, you see, to be sure you are one of us.” She blinks so fast it makes me dizzy. “We are all Called. And we have a sense about these things.” She taps her temple. “We are drawn to each other because each of us has been touched by the Verity. But you.” Her eyes glisten, tears welling. “You are special. Different.”
Déjà vu makes me shiver. Oy vey. Is that what they say here? Because it totally fits. It’s my first day in the Second all over again. Someone change the channel, because I’ve seen this rerun and I don’t have the patience to watch it again. This is the part where my grandmother tells me how my mirrormark sets me apart. How it’s a sign there is hope in whatever darkness they’re currently trapped within.
But I can’t be their savior. I can’t stay and help them fight a war I know has already been won. I have to get back to my time period. But how do I tell them? I’d seem like a major jerkface. I wish Ebony were here. She never really cares how she comes off to people. Perhaps not such a horrible trait to carry after all.
It takes everything in me to rise and say what needs to be said. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I know my mark appears to be—”
Bianca’s eyebrows pinch. “Mark, mia cara? I am sorry. I do not understand.”
I laugh. Can’t help it. “My mark. The red lines on my face. I know what you’re thinking.” Actually, I don’t, because these people are clearly aware the Verity is alive and well. They don’t need my mirrormark to tell them it’s so. Still, they must think it means something. Otherwise there would be no call for such special attention.
My grandmother shakes her head once more. Then she reaches into her handbag and withdraws a compact. Hands it to me. I examine it. A flash of a memory. I’ve seen this before. But how can this belong to Ebony? It can’t actually be the exact same one I hid . . . something in. What did I hide? Paper . . . oh, never mind. I’ll never remember right now. Pause, skip, play.
The compact. It’s a replica of my sister’s. I imagine the first time I saw it, the first time Ebony—at the time Quinn—invited me to her apartment. I cling to something I recall so clearly, it could be happening in real time.
“You can sit anywhere,” Quinn says, waving her hand flippantly over one shoulder. “Just don’t put your shoes on the bed.”
For someone so perfect from lacy headband to nonscuffed heel, her room is a disaster. Bras slung over the bedposts. Seven different kinds of perfume scattered across her vanity dresser, caps off and discarded on the floor. Trash bin overflowing with lipstick-blotted tissues. Guess she spends so many hours on her appearance, she doesn’t have a second for anything else. Like cleaning.
If Mom knew my new BFF was this messy, she might restrict our time together for fear of a bad influence. Clothes trail my floor as in any teenager’s room, but this is a little much. Is that gum stuck to her mirror frame? Really?
I opt to sit on a low stool at the foot of her bed. A pile of fashion magazines rests atop the stool and I remove them, set them with care on the hardwood floor. Quinn plops onto the bed and dumps the contents of her Prada handbag onto the rumpled rose-gold duvet. Black bobby pins, peppermints, twenty dollars in cash, and an antique silver compact spill forth. Quinn takes a few of the bobby pins between her teeth, then twists some loose hair around her face and secures it behind her ear. Next, she opens the compact and checks her untainted complexion, showing her teeth, then rubbing beneath her eyes where a bit of excess mascara has gathered. Once she’s finished, she hands the compact to me.
I shake my head and look away. No and thank you. I don’t need a mirror to remind me of what I am already painfully aware of. My reflection never changes. I’ll always be marked. Always.
The memory fizzles with three blinks. This is crazy. How connected everything is. Quinn-slash-Ebony’s grandmother is mine. What are the chances not only that I would end up in this room with four people I am very intricately connected with but that Bianca would hand me this compact? That I would recognize it?
I glance up at her. Maybe there’s no such thing as coincidence. Could it be that I didn’t end up here, in this time and place, by accident? What if I was always supposed to come? What if my being here plays a role in future events?
Butterfly effect, anyone? And don’t think the double meaning is lost on me.
I open the compact lid with my thumb just as I did the last time I held it. The day Ebony and I found a pirate ship on the beach of Coney Island. Hey! I remember that. It’s progress at least. If only we’d known the ship was captained by Kyaphus, the vessel of the Void himself. I wish I could recall more of our time at sea. So much after boarding The Seven Seas is hazy at best—
A gasp escapes as I catch a glimpse of my complexion. I’m tempted to look Jasyn’s way. To see if he’s focusing to create what at first I believe is a façade. But no. This is different. Apparently there’s more to this time-travel thing than first meets the eye.