The weight of her words crushes me, regret settling on my chest, making it hard to breathe. This was a mistake. Coming here didn’t fix the past—it reopened a wound that may never close. That’s why my parents always refused to go back and save her, no matter how much I begged.
“Your future has written me out,” Grace says. Her fingertip touches the necklace in my open palm. It glows golden. She looks at the Tether on my leg, and it begins to glow bright and buttery gold too. Grace closes my palm around the necklace. “Keep it,” she says. “Maybe the ancestors gave me this so I could give it to you. Maybe it will help you survive this cursed life.” She gives a dimpled smile through sputters and tears. “The necklace grants one wish. Only one! So use it in a time of your greatest need. Use it for your protection, Emma.”
“Grace, I…” I look at Malcolm and remember the death match we’re supposed to fight. “I hate to ask, but I don’t know where to turn. I needanswers about the Tether, too,” I confess, guilty for burdening her. “I thought if I came back, I could save you, and you could help me stop it.”
“No!” Fear and desperation radiate from Grace. She quakes. “The witch will know. She always knows. She’ll sense the changes in time. The magic… When she figures out what you’re up to, she’ll punish our family, kill more people to preserve her power. And her stupid game!” Tears well up in Grace’s eyes. “Never take that necklace off again,” she says fiercely. “You’re Tethered. That necklace is your only protection now. Win the game! Fight for your future.” She sobs. “For your life. Don’t end up—” Her voice catches. “Don’t end up like me.” Tears cling to her lashes as she says, “Live, sis. Even if it means you have to kill to survive.” With tears making her brown cheeks damp, she glares at Malcolm.
Shock makes my mouth fall wide. How could my gentle sister tell me to kill? Why is she staring at Malcolm like a lion looking at prey? “You know, don’t you?” I gasp. “You recognize him!”
She smirks, wiping her damp cheeks as air wafts through her dark curly bangs. “Keep the necklace, and keep better company, Emma. It might save your life.”
I hear Mom’s voice on the other side of the mahogany door. It gets louder, closer.
“Emma, Demetri, I’ll be right back,” she shouts. “Going to get supplies.”
Malcolm looks panicked. Mom will recognize him. And if she sees him here, she’ll think he’s come to hurt our family, so she’ll try to kill him.
“We gotta go,” Malcolm says.
I look over Grace’s shoulder at our old house and see Mom’s shadow pass a window, grab a coat off a coatrack, and walk toward the door. My chest tightens. “Grace,” I say, my heart shattering. “I love you. Forever.”
“Ditto, little sister.” She kisses my forehead, but her eyes fall to Malcolm’s ankle as we break apart. “Be brave. Be brilliant.” She glares at Malcolm. “And kick his ass!”
The front door starts to open. Malcolm and I turn and run.
CHAPTER NINETEENEmma BaldwinATLANTA, 1976
After Malcolm and I part, I leave for home, but when I arrive, no one is there. There’s a note telling me they’re at the circus and giving me the location. I thought they had agreed to stay home in New Orleans to support me until after the Tether. Furious, I head right to the location. 1976, Atlanta.
When I arrive, I slip past a young couple entranced by the spectacle ahead. My scowl deepens as I move forward. Demetri’s voice is smooth as caramel balloons floating over the heads of the crowd. “Welcome to the greatest show on earth!” he declares.
I catch a glimpse of him in the center of the crowd outside the main circus tent. When did he start doing a preshow for the crowd?
This family with their magic, manipulation, and lies,I seethe. There’s no way I would have forgotten something as awful as the week Grace died without their magic robbing me of my own memories. The foggy gaps, the missing puzzle pieces in my mind. Malcolm was right. Someone has been playing games with my head.
Now look at my brother. Away from home and entertaining strangers.Demetri’s all disco glamour, from the tip of his fake afro, cinched by a sparkling silver headband, to his matching bell-bottoms and all the way down to the exaggerated height of his platform-boot roller skates. He twirls around with skating poodles entertaining paying customers.
A cheer erupts, pulling my gaze to the poodles on wheels, who pirouette and leap around him with magical agility. Their tiny vests are a sparkle of sequins mirroring their colorful little afro wigs, a nod to the time we are in that feels like a punch line to a joke I don’t find funny. How can the show go on like our lives aren’t falling apart?
The crowd loves these four-legged performers, their every graceful flip and turn on skates a testament to Demetri’s mind control—it’s a nifty trick built on deception. But lies and false promises are a skill set everyone in this family has. Even me.
The air is thick with cheers, the stench of popcorn, and the pulsing beat of classic hits. Above us, disco balls spin in the wind, sending fractured rainbows dancing across the awestruck faces of children and adults alike. With a final push through the crowd, I head to my mother’s private dressing area.
My heart thumps as I storm into her tent. “You’ve been lying to me all along?”
“What?” Mom turns from the mirror, her light brown skin shimmery in the light. One eye has sparkly blue eye shadow, but both widen in surprise at my presence and my attitude. “Have you lost your mind?”
My hands knot into fists. “No. But you tried to take it, didn’t you?”
“You’re upset, and you’re not making any sense. Why don’t you grab a bite to eat or take a nap, dear.” She dismisses me with a condescending wave. She turns to the mirror and starts putting shadow on the other eye. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“My memories!” I shout through gritted teeth. “You wiped them, didn’t you?”
Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t turn to face me. “Of course not. Why would you say that?” Her face looks guilty, though; her gaze fixes on the stage makeup on the gold vanity before her.
“Ever since Grace d—” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Ever sinceshe died, it hurts when I try to recall what happened. I can’t think of the week she died without migraines and things being hazy. You did this to me, didn’t you?”
“Grief and depression do strange things to the mind,” Mom says.
