Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Something inside me turned at the very idea. But no. “I can’t be. I’ve fixed nothing.”
“What if you can, but you haven’t? You are the wildcard who fiddles with time and travels between worlds. Impenetrable to flame. You’re blue, a shade required to make green. Andrea is tied to Elowen but also your family through Morris. She could have passed the Ember to Elowen who passed it to you. Hidden it in you.”
All good points. “I’m not the one messing with time. Not the Ember.” I moved farther into the room. “Andrea must have come back to life.” She was put in those shells for that very reason. “But if I’m the Ember, I don’t know how to use myself, and that’s worse than not being the Ember at all.”
As I stuffed the journal and rocks—along with their assortment of bits—into the backpack, I thought out loud. “Those rocks must do something. I packed them for a reason.”
“I have an idea what they do.”
When he offered nothing else, I huffed. “Well? Inform the rest of the class, please.”
“And miss the light of realization dawning in your eyes?” Delight curved his lips, as if we would both like the surprise. “No, I don’t think I will.”
I hmphed. First, he kept the key to the code to himself—I knew he knew it—now this. “What was it you told me? Secrets never stay dead.”
He offered his cuffed wrists. “Would you like to negotiate for the information?”
“Not yet,” I muttered. Soon.
“Fine.” He winked. “I prefer you this way. Pretending you’re immune to me.”
From the center of my being, an ache pressed outward. “Okay, stop being all cute and distracting. In less than an hour, we leave with the king to find the Ember.” I stayed mum about my plan to free him sooner rather than later. He wasn’t the only one who could withhold.
Jasher wouldn’t attack me. He might attempt to capture me to make his table-turning warning into a reality, but he wouldn’t hurt me. Of that, I was certain. And if I was wrong, well, we’d find out, and I could finally stop mooning over him.
He rose with effort. I breathed in sharply, unprepared for the sight of his wings. The left one hung at an odd angle, the hard outer rim broken in one place.
“Who hurt you?” I demanded, ready to do murder.
“I hurt myself, and I’ll answer no questions about why,” he stated, catching my wrist as I reached out to assess the damage. Despite his firm tone, his hold remained gentle. “I’m already healing.”
My fury dulled, but only slightly. I drew back and rubbed the heat his hand had seared into my skin. What had happened? What had he done? Why keep it secret?
Though desperate to learn what had occurred, I didn’t push. For now, I continued to prepare for our trip, packing toiletries and the sturdiest outfits from the closet. Not that any of them offered more coverage than a genie costume.
Upon completing my task, I perched at the foot of the bed to await the king. But the journal. It was no longer inside the pack but beside me, and open, words appearing on the page, as if being written by an invisible hand.
My throat worked. So time didn’t just move forward. It doubled back, crossed itself, and left messages.
Trembling, I lifted the tome. I didn’t recognize this handwriting. Just knew it wasn’t mine or the king’s.
Every ounce of me aflutter, I read.
I have not the vocabulary to describe the horrifying beauty of the Ember, though I will try. She is a light too bright, as harsh as a blade, alive, burning with a fire able to consume everything in its wake.
The first moment I beheld her, I did not recognize her importance. I only knew the beast inside me quaked in terror.
She died once, though the shells brought her back. But I have the shells now. If I kill her again, will she stay dead?
My mouth opened and closed, no sound escaping. The beast inside me. Had Ian written this? Correction: Was Ian writing this now, in another timeline? But how would he have seen Andrea? Unless she had, in fact, revived?
“What?” Jasher demanded.
I tried to explain, but my thoughts were crashing together. Andrea had died; Morris had placed her inside “shells; shells the author now possessed. Andrea, who was the Ember, must have come alive again, as Morris had hoped—but only after his death.
A life for a life.
My shock crested. I waited, hoping, praying for more information. When no other words appeared, my lungs flared wide, desperate for air.
“Moriah?” Jasher inquired, reminding me to breathe.
A firm double-rap sounded at the door.
My gaze whipped to him. He watched me, intent, as he stuffed Kevin in his back pocket.
“You may enter,” he called, his voice a low velvet drag. A spider coaxing a fly closer.