Chapter Twelve Emma Baldwin #2
The pain on his face makes my voice shake as it rises. I’m almost certain the only reason I haven’t been punished for the way I’m speaking is because they think I’m gonna die. They pity me. And I hate it.
“Stop assuming you know what’s best for me!” I say. “You don’t take the time to get to know me!”
My family tries to reassure me; their voices are a blend of love, concern, and restrained anger. But I ignore it all.
“I never asked for this,” I say, my voice cracking.
“Why couldn’t we be normal?” Tears stream from the corners of my eyes.
“I’d rather have nothing but peace than sit here with crystal stars over my head and magic that was purchased with the blood of my ancestors.
I didn’t want to lose Grace. And now I could die too.
” I’m shaking, sobbing, and all of a sudden the fake fight I wanted to start to interrupt their plans feels so real.
“Mom and Papa, don’t pretend you love me when you’re about to leave before a fight that could kill me!
I need you here! I need my family. Now!”
My family rushes to hold me, their voices full of love and anguish as we embrace in front of the table.
“We were planning on coming right back … I didn’t know you’d feel this way, Emma,” Mom says, her voice soft as her tears. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I feel a pang of guilt for my harsh words and the devastation on their faces. They’re trapped in the shadow of this curse too, and none of us have a guidebook for handling this. But instead, I say, “Keep your sorrys. I hate all of you!”
I push away from them, swallowing the bitter lie in my mouth. I love my family with every inch of me, even when I hate their actions. But I need them home and concerned tonight, instead of going near the fleet of Bentleys. So I storm out of the dining room.
Pausing outside, I hear Grandmère speak. “With Emma’s fragile state, we all need to be here to help her focus on training. We can’t risk her having a breakdown this close to the Tether. It could end her.”
“We’ll stay,” my father says. “Meantime, let’s give her some space tonight.”
My mother hums her agreement.
Thank God. My shoulders relax as relief washes over me. I head upstairs and lock myself in my room, the ornate wooden door hiding me from everyone I hurt.
I lie on my bed. Moonlight filters through the lace curtains, casting patterns on the walls and giving my bedroom an otherworldly glow.
I push myself up and pace, nervous about my plans for tonight.
I glance around, taking in my room. The turquoise velvet chaise longue adorned with gold tassels, a chair upholstered in pearls. All this luxury and no peace. No joy.
The fireplace crackles; its ever-changing flames make different shades of warm blue light dance on the white grand piano that plays itself, filling my room with an eerie melody.
I try to still the fear and excitement racing through me as I grip the phone. After three rings, my best friend and I are chatting away.
“Are you sure you can trust him?” Ariella asks, unaware of the blood feud and time travel involved in my plan but still not loving me running away to see some boy I barely know. I bet she’s crinkling her thin upturned nose at the idea like she smells something that stinks.
“No, that’s why I want you to tell my family and get help if I’m not back in three days.”
“I don’t know, Em,” she groans. “Going alone isn’t smart,” she warns. “Don’t you read the newspapers? You could get kidnapped or murdered or something. I should go with you.”
The clock in her room ticks loudly as she sighs, and I laugh.
“So we could both be captured?” I can almost see her pouting lips.
No, Ariella can’t go into the past with me.
She can’t know I can travel through time.
Gran says it’s too dangerous for anyone outside of the family to know we have that ability.
And I trust Ariella, but that kind of knowledge might put her in harm’s way.
I flop down on the bed, exhausted. “I was fine when I met him before,” I tell her.
“I’ll be fine now.” If the bloodlust from the curse doesn’t bubble up and make us kill each other …
“I left something there that I need to get back.”
“Nothing is important enough to take scary risks like sneaking out and leaving the city alone, Em.”
“It’s Grace’s necklace.”
She’s silent. She knows how much that necklace means to me, so she knows there is no talking me out of this.
“Promise me you’ll do what I ask,” I say.
She’s still quiet, probably playing with the gold ribbon she always wears in her blond hair and staring down at her shoes with scared blue eyes.
“Please, Ari!” I plead. “I’ll give you all the juicy details when I get back.”
“You better,” she replies solemnly. “And if you’re gone more than a day, you better call me or else I’m getting Demetri and we’re hunting Malcolm down. Burning his concert to the ground. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, relieved to have her support even from miles away. “No need to turn into an arsonist. I’ll be fine.”
We talk late into the night. My house is quiet when Ariella and I hang up the phone. My four-poster canopy bed with plush turquoise-and-orchid- colored curtains begs me to crawl under the covers and sleep, but my mind is too busy.
Instead I sit at my magical vanity table.
My fingers brush over the crystal vase filled with fresh orchids that never wilt or need water.
The mirror reflects various times and places.
I think of Malcolm and see him sitting on a bench, looking handsome in a navy suit, his hands clasped together anxiously.
He’s waiting for me at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893. I sigh, glad to see him waiting.
He really does want to end this curse.
“I’m coming,” I whisper, determination surging inside me.
When everyone is sleep, I style my hair, change into something fitting for the time, and creep across the plush white star-shaped rug in the center of my room.
With a deep breath, I step onto the balcony attached to my bedroom and try to calm my nerves.
I tell myself that this is important, that I can use Malcolm as a tool to help me end the Tether.
With my palms on the warm wrought iron railing, I look around, checking for people.
The railing is flaking from time and weather, but it’s still solid and strong.
Our courtyard is draped in the veil of moonlight, the fountain surrounded by lush tropical plants, creating a serene and enchanting scene.
The sycamores and oaks reach high, nearly kissing the sapphire sky and glinting stars.
The trees are in full bloom, their branches thick with pink and purple flowers as emerald leaves and branches flutter and bend, reaching out to touch the night around them.
Like they want to be free of this place too.
A dark shadow moves at the other end of the house, snatching my focus. I squint. Something bright glints close, like eyes, shining in bright red. I inch back slowly, my heart thumping. For a crazy moment, I get scared someone will hear it and discover what I am up to.
I creep silently across the balcony and wince softly as I slam into the doorframe.
I sneak back into my room, close the doors behind me, and glance out through the curtains.
It’s Sheree, the bodyguard who beats me up during battle training.
Her eyes glow red as she moves closer, her afro a halo above her beautiful dark face.
She high-steps in a black minidress, her red fingernails wrapped tight around her gun, which glints in the silver moonlight.
I pull myself deeper into the shadows as she clip-clops across the walkway beneath my balcony, then disappears to patrol another part of the house.
I sneak back onto the balcony, close my eyes, and recite a spell Grandmère taught me.
I visualize a ladder, its rungs shimmering and made of pure stardust as it descends from the balcony.
The wind kicks up, whipping skinny branches and emerald leaves.
As I continue to chant, the wind whips harder, lifting my hair and shaking shutters on some of the windows. Even the balcony vibrates with energy.
“Please work,” I murmur, my heart pounding in anticipation.
I open my eyes. The ladder gleams before me, like it’s woven from threads of pure starlight. It leans against the balcony, welcoming me. I climb onto it, take a hesitant step, and joyfully discover that it supports my weight.
Here goes nothing, I think, gripping its steamy rungs and climbing down with a sense of determination. I look around for security guards and the Bentley I’d seen on the street. But the car isn’t there. It must be parked with the others now. When my shoe hits the ground, the ladder vanishes.
The cinnamon scent of magic and the smell of polished metal and leather fills the air as I hurry into the spacious car hangar.
The fleet of Bentleys are all parked inside, lined up like silver soldiers in formation.
Moonlight filters through an open door, casting spooky patterns on the walls.
I rush to the time-traveling Bentley on the far right, its sleek silver exterior gleaming under the soft lighting.
Its blue rims glow, emphasizing its sculpted design and the unforgettable Baldwin family crest on the car grille.
A thin cloud of glitter surrounds all the Bentleys now, looking like stardust.
Thinking I hear the tapping of a security guard’s six-inch heels moving closer, I crouch behind the car until I’m sure the coast is clear.
I stand and stretch my palms toward the Bentley.
Eyes closed, I picture another identical car.
I focus and clear my mind, like Gran has taught me.
My hands mimic the detailed swirls and loops that Grandmère did with her fingers during my illusion training.
My body flickers with energy. Sweat bubbles on my forehead and rolls down near my ear.
I paint another image of twin Bentleys in my mind.
My lashes part. Out the open door, I see stars ripple as glittering stardust cascades from heaven, raining down on a shimmering, translucent image of another Bentley that begins to form near the one I stand by.
Each detail of the car is meticulously crafted by my will—the sleek curves, the shiny chrome, the identical grille.
The illusion is so flawless anyone would believe it’s real …
unless they tried to drive to Paris in it.
I jump up and down by my creation, beaming. “I did it!” I rejoice quietly.
With my heart thumping, I leave the illusion car with the rest of the fleet and drive off in a real Bentley.
My destination: 10 AM, October 15th, 1893, Chicago.
“Malcolm, I’m on my way,” I whisper as I drive to the past to figure out how to rewrite my future.