Revelle
: Chapter 12

Dewey wasted no time. At eight the next morning—an ungodly hour by Revelle standards—he called a meeting with my family in the repurposed warehouse by the docks. Our soon-to-be winter theater.

Per Dewey’s request, Trevor stayed glued to my side as we walked over together. At least the Edwardian was good company. He’d even stayed late after last night’s show to teach me the first of his mind control techniques.

As we wove through the eerily quiet streets, I scanned for any threats, but at this hour few tourists were awake, let alone plotting against us. No, to replace the true culprits, I’d have to walk the Day District, and Dewey had forbidden me to set foot there. But if I used my magic—

“Too dangerous. If another Edwardian heard you . . .” Trevor shuddered. “Let me do the investigating for now. If anyone’s planning something, I’ll hear it first, okay?”

“Do you ever rest?”

He laughed outright, a high-pitched sound that made me smile. “Mr. Chronos gives me every Sunday off so I can bring my grandmother to church, mostly so she doesn’t get herself in trouble. She’s a bit like your nana, I suppose. She says what’s on her mind.”

An old Edwardian lady with a mouth—what a combination. “Is she your only family?”

“I have plenty of family. Two sisters, a brother, a nosy mother, and a quiet father. A few cousins, too, though not as many as you. But I like taking my grandmother to church.”

“Why?”

He winced. I shouldn’t have posed it as a question; he had no choice but to respond.

“It’s quiet, I suppose. People’s thoughts are much more peaceful during Mass.”

I hadn’t given much thought to Edwardian magic, and how they couldn’t simply turn it off. “Well, I’m glad you work for Dewey.”

“I’m glad you work for him, too.”

“I don’t.” I turned the corner, Trevor right beside me. “I work with him.”

Trevor smiled but said nothing.

This early, the waterside promenade was a ghost town. No music, no tourists, only the skittering of litter over the cobblestones and the occasional clamor of metal chains against a ship’s hull. I glanced around, unable to shake the feeling that someone was hiding in the gray mist, waiting to strike.

Trevor cast a wary look toward the Day District, their lantern lights cutting through the morning fog. We both knew where the enemy lived.

I pulled my shawl closer. “Any leads on yesterday’s attack?”

“I’ve personally spoken to every Edwardian who works in the Day District. No one has heard anything about a plan to take out Mr. Chronos. The only thing out of the ordinary are the Strattoris. Apparently, a few boys have gone missing.”

“Missing?” I asked. “Or ran away?” Once they were old enough to board the ferry on their own, plenty of Strattoris abandoned their family’s strict religious lifestyle.

“That’s on my list of things to replace out. With my family’s magic, few secrets remain uncovered in Charmant. All it takes is one of us hearing the right thought, then anyone who hears that person’s thoughts is also aware of it. Anyone who hears either of those people’s thoughts also knows, and so forth. If the secret is interesting enough, it spreads like wildfire. An attempt to take out the Night District’s bootlegger and mayoral candidate is certainly newsworthy.”

He was right; the Night relied on Dewey. From the brothels to the hotels, our customers expected a bawdy good time, and that meant booze.

“Is it possible for an Edwardian to keep a secret?” As soon as I uttered the question, a ball of panic twisted my stomach. Trevor knew my secret.

He smiled knowingly. “With enough training, yes. In order to reveal a secret, they have to be directly asked about it. Speaking of which, have you been practicing those exercises?”

“A little.” Uncle Wolffe and I had reviewed Trevor’s mind control techniques after he’d left last night. “Is it really as easy as singing in my head?”

“For beginners, yes. Just practice with the same song. Once you get good at it, we can move on to more subtle techniques.”

And then I’d be able to slip into the Day and see which lightstrings looked the guiltiest.

“Your cousins are behind us.”

Sure enough, Colette and Millie were crossing the street a ways down, their gait purposefully slow, as if they were trying to keep their distance from me.

“No, they’re not,” Trevor said quietly. “They’re actually hoping you’ll wait for them.”

“Really?” I slowed my step as I glanced over my shoulder again. They still wore their stage makeup, and their eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. Another long night in the Fun House while I slept soundly.

I wouldn’t blame them for walking right by me.

He tapped the side of his head. “Can’t lie, remember?”

I squeezed his arm. “One of your best traits.”

Millie stifled a yawn as they approached. “Morning, Luxie girl. Mr. Edwardes.”

“Miss Revelle,” Trevor breathed. “You look absolutely radiant today.”

She grinned, her tired eyes glittering. “I love that you can’t lie.”

“Are you Luxe’s bodyguard now?” Colette asked.

“Yes. Until the election.” Twenty-three days away.

Colette leaned closer. “And what will you do if someone is thinking about harming her?”

With his narrow frame and modest height, Trevor wasn’t exactly formidable. “My instructions are to yell and make a lot of noise.”

The corners of Colette’s mouth quirked. “That could work.”

Once we reached the warehouse, Trevor held the door. Colette entered first—and gasped.

The warehouse had already been transformed into a theater. An absolutely gorgeous one.

It wasn’t as tall as the Big Tent, and it didn’t open to the night sky, but a sparkling mural of a celestial starscape graced the domed ceiling. The stage was wider than the one at home, and the pit floors were dark, scuff-free oak. Rows of seats climbed in sweeping arcs, the velvet such a deep black, it soaked up the little light from the open doors. There was no piss smell, only the faint aroma of fresh paint and new wood.

“He did all this already?” I asked Trevor breathlessly.

“Yes. He started months ago.”

Quite a gamble. What would he have done if we hadn’t agreed to his proposition?

Dewey stood at the back of the stage, looking as dashing as ever in his closely tailored black suit with the infamous diamond-shaped clock. As he bent to show Aunt Caroline the pulley ropes controlling the curtain, the maroon bump on his temple caught the light. He hadn’t sought a Strattori for yesterday’s injuries, instead wearing his bruises like badges of honor.

As Colette and Millie checked out the box seats, someone disappeared through the curtains, their large frame unmistakable. Uncle Wolffe. We’d hardly had a chance to speak since the attack.

I slipped backstage after him, weaving through the maze of empty rooms. The lights back here had yet to be installed, cloaking the dressing rooms in a quiet, eerie darkness.

“Uncle Wolffe?” I called.

Sniffling echoed from a few doors down.

I followed the noise, all too aware of how easy it’d be for someone to hide back here and grab me. But Trevor likely tracked my every thought, and my family was only a scream away.

“Uncle Wolffe?”

“In here,” Uncle Wolffe’s voice boomed.

I found him in a dressing room with Nana, who sat on the floor, her eyes wet. Uncle Wolffe crouched beside her. He was a wonderful showrunner—organized, fair, and absolutely brilliant at replaceing ways to keep us afloat—but emotional support was not his forte.

“What’s wrong?” I wrapped my arms around her, resisting the urge to magically smooth away all her pain. Other than the occasional prank, we never charmed our own.

“She’s been back here for an hour.” Uncle Wolffe rubbed the bits of white powder that still clung to his temples, remnants of last night’s show. I was, perhaps, the only Revelle who’d managed to get a few hours of sleep.

“I’ve got this,” I told him, rubbing her back.

Relieved, he straightened. Dark circles stained the skin under his eyes. “You good?”

With yesterday’s attack, with cozying up to Dewey, or with the fact that the Chronoses are gunning for us? But I only smiled. Uncle Wolffe had enough to worry about. “I’m good.”

Once his footsteps faded, I stroked Nana’s soft white hair. “What’s wrong?”

“This is a mistake,” she rasped. “We shouldn’t be meddling in the election. And we can’t work for one of them!”

“We don’t work for him; it’s a partnership. And with Dewey, we’re protected from any Chronos attacks. He can always just go back and warn us. Even if he only travels a few minutes, it’s enough to stop the worst from happening.”

“The worst has already happened. They already took my sweet girls!” As she uttered the words, she shattered against me, a fragile doll deflating.

Her raw grief was a serrated knife, and it tugged on the stitches holding my heart together.

“They were my daughters.” Nana’s voice trembled. “Adeline, too. I couldn’t have picked a better wife for Wolffe, but Bonnie and Catherine were my babies.”

She covered her head in her hands as she tried to contain her sobs. In the year after they drowned, Nana had gotten so lost in her grief, she couldn’t replace her way out of it. She’d been a ghost of herself: a white-haired, frail woman who never wore makeup, never left her room. The family had nursed her back to life, but whenever grief struck again, it struck hard.

No wonder Uncle Wolffe had left; he never spoke of Aunt Adeline, never even spoke of Roger after he left Charmant. As far as I could tell, he had yet to acknowledge his return.

A selfish part of me wanted to leave, too, but my mother had always been the best at soothing Nana, at keeping the family calm. With her gone, Nana needed me.

As I crouched in front of her, she uncovered her face, her bangles sliding down her too-slim forearms. “They blamed those magic haters, but the Chronoses were behind it somehow.”

“I know, Nana.” The family who owned the boat rentals despised people with magic. They blamed them for the disappearance of their daughter years earlier. But that didn’t explain why, after years of living peacefully in the Night, they’d decided to drown three Revelles. It didn’t matter. The Chronoses strapped them to the electric chair and fried them for it.

“My girls were destined for greatness, and they never got to achieve it. The Edwardians hardly even investigated, and the mainland coppers couldn’t be bothered. Easier to let a couple of nobodies take the blame.”

Our mothers, the infamous ABCs. How the mainlanders had loved them. The New York Times even did a full-page write-up about their trapeze act. My mother had been so proud, she’d kept it pinned on the mirror in the bedroom we shared.

I squeezed her hands. “Things are going to change around here. If Dewey wins—”

“What if he loses? We’re putting out our necks for him.”

“He’s going to protect us, Nana. Either way.” I’d make sure of it.

She held my gaze. “I don’t trust him. I don’t trust any of them.”

“Do you trust me?” I gave her my most innocent smile.

She almost laughed. I took her hands and helped her to her feet. “C’mon. Let’s see why he got us up at this awful hour.”

I kept my arm over her shoulders as we wove through the maze of dressing rooms. Once we reemerged on the stage, Aunt Caroline spotted us.

“Not bad, Luxie girl,” she whispered, throwing me a grateful smile as she wrapped her arms around Nana and led her to the front row.

Uncle Wolffe clapped. “Everyone take a good look around. Because in twenty-three days, we’re having our first show here.”

“I thought this was going to be our winter theater,” Uncle Thomas called.

Despite the cool morning air, beads of sweat glistened on Uncle Wolffe’s forehead. “Mr. Chronos here has asked us to perform at his election night party. Press from as far as the mainland will be here. It’ll be great publicity for us, and a way to celebrate Dewey’s victory with a bang, as only the Revelles can do.”

And it would drive a knife into the heart of the Chronoses—the Revelles performing in honor of the current mayor’s excommunicated son.

Dewey stepped forward. “If yesterday’s attack taught us anything, it’s that the Revelles are about to enter a new era of prosperity.” He made eye contact with each skeptical face. “My family sent a time traveler on a suicide mission to assassinate me. If it were as simple as them sabotaging my victory, my uncle would have only had to travel from election night—about three weeks from now—to stop me. But he aged so much, it killed him within minutes, which means they were trying to prevent something further down the road: the Revelles rising up.”

My family watched him, their careful expressions not betraying any emotion.

“You see, my family fears your magic. Your influence. But with a time traveler on your side, not a single Revelle will be harmed. You have my word.”

I couldn’t help myself; I had to know if my family heard the truth of his words, of how much we had to gain in a partnership with Dewey. Turning away from the stage, I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself for whatever punishment my magic solicited today.

The pain swarmed me like one thousand knives through my skull, the need to cry out all-consuming, and still no lightstrings, nothing but black, black, as I dug deeper—

They blinked into existence. Revelle lightstrings were a little different than typical ones: more iridescent, shimmering like wet paint. Nervous but listening intently as Dewey described the increased security, the rehearsal schedule for the election night extravaganza.

Like fireflies gathering at dusk, the first sparks of hope spread through my family. For once, success was within our grasp. Almost.

But Dewey’s lightstring was fraught with his perpetual caution. He was so careful to keep his every emotion in check, so afraid that my family might view him negatively. I knew better than anyone how exhausting the spotlight could be.

They believe you, I whispered down his lightstring. They’re beginning to think of you like family.

His eyes found mine, his genuine smile so boyish that a pang of guilt tugged at me. But I had to keep him close to us. Too many people were depending on it.

Dewey handed Uncle Wolffe a bottle of champagne. My uncle popped it with a long knife and sprayed it in sweeping arcs over the pit. Uncle Thomas yanked the bottle from him and poured some over Uncle Wolffe’s head. Naturally, Uncle Wolffe tackled him in retaliation. As they rolled across the stage, Aunt Caroline jumped on top. Aunt Marie wasn’t far behind.

From the first row, Nana relaxed into her seat. “It’s not a party without at least one wrestling match.”

Dewey motioned for me to join him, a deep scarlet tinging his lightstring as I crossed the stage. Not just desire. Something a little more . . . amorous. The line between business arrangement and genuine feelings was becoming blurred.

Would that be so terrible? Charmant needed to believe we were in love. And there were far worse people to date than Dewey Chronos.

His dark eyes glittered as he slipped an arm around me, caressing my lower back.

“Uncle Wolffe!” Millie called. “Any ideas for the show?”

Detangling himself from his siblings, Uncle Wolffe settled onto the edge of the stage. “It’s a lot to piece together in twenty-three days, but picture this: an enormous American flag, each star replaced with a sparkling crystal.”

An excited murmur passed through my family.

“The flamethrowers will battle with fiery muskets. The cancan dancers will wear curly white wigs, like bawdy founding fathers, and their bloomers will be stars and stripes. Of course, the Trapeze Three will star.”

Millie clapped excitedly, her eyes replaceing mine. Even Colette grinned.

“Luxe will star,” Dewey interrupted, “alone.”

Like a storm cloud over the sun, my family’s lightstrings dimmed. If I could have crawled backstage, I would have.

“And I was thinking black and gold, like fire and night. Those are my colors, after all. And diamond-shaped clocks everywhere. A jewel and a clock: Fitting, isn’t it?”

Wolffe’s mouth formed a tight line. “I thought the creative would be up to me.”

Dewey rubbed my shoulders. “Luxe is the face of the Night District. And if my sources are correct, the Big Tent’s profits have increased threefold since she began starring.”

“How did you—”

“Luxe will star,” Dewey interrupted. “She is unparalleled.”

“So she’ll just catch herself?” Disdain dripped from Colette’s words. Even Millie’s perennial smile failed her.

Dewey slid an arm around my waist. “She’ll share the spotlight with no one.”

“That does sound like Luxe,” someone muttered, followed by snickers.

It took effort not to wince, especially as their lightstrings darkened with disapproval. Charming Dewey to abruptly change his mind might raise suspicions. I’d try later. For now, I sharpened my smile and shrugged, the haughty star they knew so well.

Dewey lifted his champagne. “To Luxe, whose hard work made this all possible.”

Back straight, head high. My family raised their glasses, but their subdued applause wasn’t loud enough to mask the theater doors clicking shut behind Colette and Millie.

Uncle Wolffe clapped his enormous hands. “All right, everyone, go home and sleep. We still have a show tonight.”

I squeezed Dewey’s arm. “I need to get ready.” My act was hours away, but if I left quickly, I might be able to catch my cousins.

He glanced at his watch, but I leaned into his lightstring. You want me to rest.

“You’ll take Trevor with you?”

“Of course,” I murmured from beneath my lashes. Your generosity is appreciated.

Before I could ease up on his lightstring, he leaned down, his lips parting.

Oh. He wanted to kiss me.

Revelle eyes burned into my back as I leaned in, too.

His lips moved with practiced skill over mine, his hand resting on the back of my head, anchoring me in place with surprising gentleness. It might have been a great kiss, albeit brief, had my aunts not been standing a few feet away.

I wish we didn’t have to stop, I whispered down his lightstring as I pulled away. The perpetual throbbing in my head worsened.

Dewey caressed my back. “Was that okay?”

“Of course.” Not a lie, exactly, but my emotions were too jumbled to sort through. You wish to let me leave now.

As I walked to the exit, blackness obscured the doorway, and as soon as Trevor and I stepped outside, darkness cloaked the bright sun, the tourists . . .

“Miss Revelle, are you all right?”

With my eyes squeezed shut, I massaged my temples and eased my grip on Dewey’s lightstring, eventually letting it go.

Trevor handed me a handkerchief. “Your nose.”

I dabbed at my nosebleed, my magic’s petty punishment for working overtime lately. As if I had a choice. “Did you happen to hear Colette’s or Millie’s thoughts when they left?”

Trevor winced. “Yes, but please don’t ask me to repeat them.”

Wonderful. They hated me. “Where were they headed?”

“To Roger’s barn.” He offered his arm as we stepped off the curb.

I’d make this right. With a little more magic, Dewey would understand that I couldn’t perform without them. Twenty-three days was plenty of time to convince him to let us have the show Uncle Wolffe envisioned for us.

I’d make this right.

Trevor watched me from his periphery. “Do the nosebleeds happen often?”

Usually, I told people I was sensitive to the heat, but Trevor was always honest with me. “Only when I push myself too hard. It’s the cost of my . . . other magic. Pain.”

“I must admit, that’s a relief. When I first realized what you could do, I thought it might be shadow magic.”

Shadow magic was the sort of thing our older cousins used to threaten when we wouldn’t stop pestering them. It gave me nightmares as a child, their taunts about slitting our throats or using a life-sucking kiss to turn us into magic-less wraiths who did their bidding. “My lightstrings are the opposite of shadows.” I paused, turning to face him. “Shadow magic isn’t real, is it?”

He smiled. “No.”

Like my mother had told me countless times.

When we reached the barn, Trevor tipped his hat. “I’ll wait here.”

He was doing me a favor by staying out of my head. I squeezed his arm in gratitude.

As I pulled open the heavy barn door, Roger pressed his fingers to his lips. “You just missed Col and Millie,” he said in a low voice.

My heart sank. “I’m sure they’re glad of it.”

“Can you blame them?”

Not one bit.

Jamison’s cot was too small for him, and he let out a little sigh as he shifted in his sleep. After spending so much time with Dewey, everything about Jamison seemed large. His long legs, his broad hands relaxed at his sides. It was hard to be around him without remembering his body pressed against mine in the alley. Or that incredible kiss.

“How is he?” I asked, examining a few books stacked on the windowsill.

“Concussed. His ribs are bruised, not broken. Same with his cheekbone.” Roger adjusted the silk square he’d tied over his head, his latest attempt to protect his relaxed hair from the humidity. “It could have been much worse if you hadn’t stopped Frank Chronos.”

Frank Chronos, the biggest prick in a family of pricks, according to Dewey. The only nice thing anyone ever said about him was that he loved his son and spoiled him rotten. “His face looks better than yesterday, at least. Less swollen.”

He produced a small block of ice from the hay. “Effigen ice. Colette got it for him.”

I pressed my finger to the little square, surprised by the sudden chill on my fingertip. Regular ice was a rare enough commodity in Charmant. “Did he tell you about the beach?”

“I can’t believe he finally found it. The guy deserves closure.” He produced a half-eaten croissant from a cloth napkin and took a bite.

“From Sweet Buns?” I asked casually.

He sighed. “Trys got it for me.”

“You really don’t want to see Margaret?”

“No.” His tone shut down further questions. “Does Dewey have any leads?”

I shook my head. “The only man who knows why he did this traveled back so far, he’s now a pile of bones. We may never know.”

Someone was making knots in our timeline, trying to trip us before we had a chance to succeed.

Jamison shifted, and his damp hair fell into his eyes. I nearly reached out and brushed it away. Nana never let the Revelle boys’ hair get that long. The moment it neared their eyes, she chased them, shears in hand. A mean crescent bruise surrounded Jamison’s right eye, his dark lashes fluttering against it as he stirred. To think I’d once mistaken him for a Chronos.

Better that he wasn’t Dewey. With Dewey, I was in control. And judging by today’s kiss, he wasn’t going to walk away anytime soon.

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this.” It felt good to utter those words with the confidence they required. “We’re so close, Roger. Now that Dewey’s leasing us the new theater, we’ll have an income year-round, even in the winter. All I have to do is keep him—”

“Completely and utterly wrapped around your finger?”

“I was going to say ‘alive,’ but yes. That helps.”

“You know I’ve been in your shoes.” Roger fiddled with a straw of hay. “It’s never a good idea to have the same customer, night after night. They tend to get . . . obsessed.”

The man who’d caused his scars had certainly been obsessed. “I’m not using magic. Not yet, anyways.”

“Jewels aren’t the only way to charm a guy.” He flicked the piece of hay at me. “If our mothers were still alive, they’d throw you on the next ferry and keep you hidden away on the mainland until the mayor’s son fell out of love with you.”

It was growing harder to picture them here. Alive. They would have been world-famous by now, and affording Dewey’s outlandish prices would have been no trouble. Aunt Adeline would have passed the star’s baton to Colette, and I would have been happy by her side. We’d still be as close as sisters.

“He’s not in love with me,” I finally said, “and my mother hated the mainland.”

“But you don’t. You really should get outta here one day. It’s incredible out there.”

“Is it, though?” I ran my finger along the spine of the book beside Jamison’s cot.

“After I left, the first place I went was Harlem, to visit my mom’s family. My gran took me to my first jazz club.” He paused, his smile growing, eyes distant. “That’s when I knew: Charmant may be a big party, but the mainland is coming around. There’s art. Culture. Jazz.”

“The mainland passed Prohibition,” I countered. “They only recently discovered that women are smart enough to vote. And if I’m not mistaken, your parents’ marriage would have been outlawed in most states.”

He arched a brow. “So I should stay in Charmant, where talented Black acrobats are replaced by their less qualified white cousins?”

My cheeks burned. “Touché.”

“There’s more to that story, and we both know it.” He studied me carefully. “You and my father are hiding something. Ready to tell me what it is?”

“Forget all about the mainland, and maybe I will.”

“Says the girl who keeps the mainland penny I gave her underneath her pillow.”

Before I could chastise him for going through my things, Jamison stirred, and Roger sprang into action, hovering over his sleeping friend. The intimacy of their friendship struck me yet again. How lucky Roger was to have someone he could talk to about anything, both the mundane and the big hurts.

Some of us had to manage those sorts of things alone.