Chapter 6
Skyla
The past dissolves into a swirl of blue sparkles before dumping us into another episode of Skyla’s Greatest Mistakes. Not that the last place we were in was a blatant mistake, but it sure as heck led to a few whoppers.
The lights are dim, and teenage bodies are littered everywhere, all hunting for their next regrettable hookup like it’s a competitive sport.
Emily Morgan’s cavernous living room pulses with piano music—something dark and moody that perfectly matches the house’s haunted aesthetic.
The air is thick with the competing scents of contraband beer and pricey perfume, both trying to mask the homegrown weed, and the unmistakable aroma of bad decisions waiting to happen.
We’ve rewound time so far back from that fated Halloween party that we may as well have gone back to the Garden of Eden.
“Eleventh grade,” Logan whispers beside me as he nods with recognition. “Chloe’s welcome home party at Emily’s house.”
I nod. “Right after the horrid day that Chloe was resurrected by Dr. O, and she wished me the scariest happy birthday I’ve ever heard in my life. To this day, those words still haunt me, and that says a lot considering I have to hear them once a year.”
I scan the room, taking in details that memory had mercifully blurred.
Emily’s creepy dragon collection gleams in glass cabinets, their ruby eyes seeming to follow our every move.
The massive painting of the faction war we hadn’t yet fought looms over the dining area like a prophecy none of us understood at the time. And it was just that, a prophecy.
And there, near the doorway, stands my younger self with Logan of yesteryear, examining that very haunted painting with the naiveté of someone who still believes they have control over their destiny.
“I remember this night,” I say, my stomach growing hot at the memory. “This was right after I discovered you were a Count—when I was still reeling from finding out that everything I thought I knew about you was a cleverly packaged lie.”
Logan winces. “Not my finest moment.”
“You had a lot of those,” I tease. “Good thing you made up for them later.”
We watch as the old version of Chloe slinks across the room toward Logan, then leans in to whisper something in his ear. The old me notices, and my face shifts from confusion to anger as Chloe punctuates whatever she’s saying with a smug, “Well done.”
“I wanted to rip her extensions out,” I mutter, the anger still surprisingly fresh after all these years. “I was already furious about your Count-sized secret, and then seeing her congratulate you like you’d just pulled off some elaborate con against me...”
“She was trying to drive a wedge between us,” Logan says, his eyes never leaving the scene. “She always knew we were stronger together than apart.”
“Smart girl,” I concede reluctantly. “Too bad she’s just as wicked as she is smart. And we’re still much stronger together than we ever were apart.”
“I’ll agree to that,” my mother is quick to add.
We watch as the past version of me storms away from Logan, seeking out Gage, who’s standing near a window, looking bored and hot. The guy turned brooding into an art form.
“Look at us,” I say softly. “So much drama, so many secrets between us, and somehow we still survived to have babies and mortgages.”
Candace drifts forward, watching us like we’re her personal reality show. Knowing her, we probably were. I get the feeling she did that a lot when it came to the entire lot of us.
“This moment,” she says, gesturing toward our past selves, “would make an excellent anchor point. Before the faction war truly escalated, before lives were lost, before everything changed for the better and the worse.”
“You can say that again.” I sigh at the thought.
Logan narrows his eyes. “Why this moment? What makes it special beyond teenage heartbreak?”
“The innocence,” Candace answers smoothly. “You still had choices, paths not yet taken.”
Something in her tone raises the hairs on the back of my neck. There’s an eagerness lurking underneath her words, a hunger I can’t quite identify.
“Do you both agree?” she presses. “To have this point in time as your anchor?”
Logan and I exchange glances. I have a feeling that whatever game my mother is playing, we’re still no closer to understanding the rules.
“I suppose this is as good a moment as any,” I say, taking another look around. “It’s so far back we may as well be at the beginning.”
Logan nods. “Better than watching Michelle try to climb me like a tree, or Lexy threatening my life at the Halloween party.”
My mother beams triumphantly. “Excellent.”
Without warning, she places her hands over our heads, her palms hovering just above our hair. A pulse of blue light emanates from her fingers and washes over us like an icy, cold wave.
“With this gesture, I create a bond of truth and righteousness among the three of us,” she says it loud and strong, her voice taking on a formal, almost ceremonial quality.
“We are in full agreement and have graciously offered to live out our days as tributes who will have always, shall always, and will always put the holy cause of Celestra above all, even above our own lives and those of our loved ones. For it is for the greater good of all we love that Celestra shall prosper forever as a part of the Holy One’s chosen faction. ”
Why does this sound less like we’re setting an anchor and more like some kind of binding celestial contract that is sealed with kisses and maybe souls?
“Do you, Skyla and Logan Oliver, agree to these terms?” Candace asks, her eyes glowing with an intensity that seems excessive for a simple time marker. But then, nothing is ever simple with my mother.
Logan looks as confused as I feel, but neither of us seems able to formulate a single word. The blue light shimmering around us isn’t just pretty to look at—it’s frozen every protest we have in our throats.
We shrug at one another, and right now, Logan looks as tired as I feel. It’s late. We have a family to get back to. And honestly, I couldn’t care less where we anchored ourselves so long as the kids are safe from Demetri’s wicked talons.
“We do,” we answer in unison, the words feeling pulled from somewhere outside of our exhausted selves.
Candace takes a deep breath, looking rather pleased with herself as her entire being glows a brilliant shade of blue—not the gentle shimmer of before, but a nuclear blast of celestial power that temporarily blinds both Logan and me.
“Then it is done,” she declares with finality.
The light recedes, and I blink to clear the spots from my vision just in time to see Candace beginning to fade like morning mist under a white-hot sun.
“Whoa, whoa, hold your horses,” Logan says, reaching for her arm, which is quickly evaporating. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t stay,” she says, already far too transparent for her own good—or more to the point, ours. “But don’t worry, you won’t be here forever. Time marches on. To secure the anchor, you’ll need to remain for a moment.”
“What?” I hiss, trying to grasp at reason. “But as soon as the anchor is set, we’ll still get to go back to Whitehorse, to the night we left?”
“Oh, you’ll get there sooner than you think.
” Candace winks, and it looks like a supernova is taking place in her eye.
Her entire being lights up in a blast, the most electric shade of blue I have ever seen.
“Now behave.” A dangerous smile curves her lips.
“And have a little fun while you’re here. You both deserve it.”
Before we can demand another answer out of her, she vanishes completely, leaving only a faint blue shimmer in the air where she once stood.
“I don’t like this,” Logan mutters, reaching for my hand. “Something feels wrong.”
“Agree. I think we should—”
My words cut off as a strange sensation washes over me.
It’s as if I’m being pulled through water against a very strong current, and judging by the look on Logan’s face, he’s feeling the very same thing.
Only we’re not getting carried out to sea, we’re getting carried across the room, and I see our past selves freeze mid-conversation, their forms suddenly glowing an electric shade of blue, the very same shade that surrounded Candace just before she left.
“Logan?” I gasp, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.
“Skyla, I think we’re—”
The rest of his sentence is lost as we’re yanked forward, our consciousness hurled across the room like celestial projectiles aimed directly at our younger selves.
There’s a moment of disorienting double vision, seeing both through our current eyes and through the eyes of our past selves, and then a violent fusion as the present merges with the past.
We jolt upright and look at one another with the shock of what just happened written clearly across our faces.
I look down at my hands—and they look smaller, smoother, unmarked by the trials that would come.
Far fewer pale freckles that demarcate light driving, aka time travel, in general.
I’m a clean slate, and oh so very young.
“We’re teenagers again,” I marvel, still examining my hands, my arms, my gloriously youthful waist.
“Full factory reset,” Logan says with a little hop as if he were testing out a new pair of sneakers.
“She didn’t say that was going to happen,” I say, stunned, as I flex my younger fingers.
Logan frowns, scratching at the scruff on his face as if confirming his own transformation. “I have a feeling she didn’t say a lot of things.”
I meet his eyes, and a shiver runs up my spine that has nothing to do with Emily Morgan’s drafty house. We’re trapped in our old bodies, bound by a vow we didn’t fully comprehend, with no sign of my wily mother to explain what nightmare might come next.
And somewhere in the future, our children sleep peacefully, unaware that their parents just made a deal that may or may not protect them—and my mother never makes a deal that doesn’t cost everything.