At some point, the two things I wanted most had become one and the same. Tavish and Albie felt like home—and I couldn’t get to them.
The child’s mother slanted a look in my direction. Bustling forward, she grabbed the little boy’s hand and pulled him away. When he protested, she shushed him and scooped him into her arms. Her words drifted back to me.
“…not safe to be around people like that.”
People like me. Now I was frightening children. I stood and headed back to the street. Late morning sunlight warmed the top of my head, making my scalp itch. My hair was one giant tangled knot. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a department store window and quickly looked away.
Don’t cry, I told myself, but tears burned my eyes anyway. Humans rushed around me. Cars rumbled and honked. Everyone hurried, eager to reach their destinations.
But I didn’t have one. I was just…adrift.
My feet carried me down streets that had become familiar. Eventually, the sidewalk cafe from the first day came into view. Its tables were empty, and I sank into the same metal chair. The waitress didn’t emerge. I probably looked too horrifying to approach this time.
More tears threatened, and I leaned my elbows on the table and dropped my head into my hands.
“Don’t dawdle, Georgina,” a woman muttered. “Your mother will have my head if you’re late. Everything is riding on this meeting.”
The voice drifted past, and I looked up out of habit.
A frazzled-looking woman walked hand in hand with a little girl who couldn’t have been more than four years old. They both wore long coats that looked too heavy for the weather. The girl’s glossy black pigtails bounced on either side of her head as they passed. When they got a few steps down the sidewalk, the little girl locked eyes with me over her shoulder.
“Hey, pretty lady!”
My heart stopped.
Her eyes were purple.
The woman tugged her hand. “Comeon, Georgie. We can’t be late.” A sudden breeze ruffled the hem of the girl’s coat. A barasta reached to her knees, the black fabric covered in embroidery.
Spells. The little girl was Georgie.
The woman hurried her forward, and they disappeared into the sea of pedestrians moving down the sidewalk.
I shot to my feet. This was it! This was why I was here.
Heart thundering, I pushed into the crowd, weaving between humans in business suits and pillbox hats. My hunger and pain were forgotten, the dragging exhaustion replaced with a surge of adrenaline. I had to find Georgie.
A man stepped in front of me, his briefcase swinging wide. I dodged, stumbling over the curb. Smothering a curse, I started forward again.
I got half a dozen steps when a taxi splashed into a puddle beside me, spraying brown-tinged water all over my dress.
Ahead, a pair of black pigtails bobbed between two men carrying briefcases.
I raced forward, but a group of tourists with binoculars moved into my path. They craned their heads back, pointing at one of the buildings. I tried to push past, but they were a solid wall of bodies.
“Excuse me,” I said, raising my voice over their chatter.
They didn’t budge.
“Please,” I said, rising on my tiptoes. “I need to get through.” I shouldered around them, earning glares and muttered complaints about “rude New Yorkers.”
I ignored them as I stumbled forward. Ahead, Georgie and the woman disappeared around a corner.
“Wait!” I called, breaking into a sprint. My shoes slapped against the concrete. The beads on my dress clattered. A man carrying a cardboard box stepped into my path. I bolted around him and pounded the last few steps to the corner. Chest heaving, I rounded it?—
—and collided with something hard and unyielding.
The chronomancer staggered back, his arms windmilling. His hair was the same wild, white shock, but his coat was a deep forest green.
