“They can be killed,” I whisper, certain I’m right.
“Is that even possible?” Julio asks.
Noelle’s eyes light. “Chronos killed Ananke. It must be possible.”
“You can’t killtime.” Amber looks between us like we’re crazy. “What would happen to the world? To the universe?”
Poppy steps forward, resting her weight on Chill’s arm. “Chronosisn’ttime. He’s the embodiment of it. The same as you all aren’t really seasons and Gaia’s not really the earth. You only wield its magic. You’re vessels.”
And vessels can be replaced.
...few of us use our given names here.
“His name was Michael,” I say in a low voice, my mind spinning back to my conversation with Lyon in his office. The other Seasons dart wary glances at one another, as if maybe I’m losing my mind. “He was someone else once, just like we were. Chronos isn’t a name; it’s a title. And titles can be handed down. If we’re replaceable, then it stands to reason Chronos and Gaia are, too.” I think about the paintings in the corridor to the Control Room. How in every image, Chronos was depicted slightly differently. The image of one horrible painting comes crashing to my mind, the Titan Cronos devouring his son’s heart because he feared his children would one day overthrow him. How many Chronoses have there been throughout time? How many Gaias?
“How do we do it?” There’s a rabid hunger in Julio’s eyes. “How do we kill him?”
I look to our Handlers. Analyzing vulnerabilities, ferreting out weaknesses... these aretheirstrengths. But this isn’t an enemy any of us have battled before.
“Gaia’s magic comes from the earth,” Poppy says. “It’s why she built the Observatory underground. As long as she’s touching it, she can control it. Chronos’s magic must come from something, too. Something he touches.”
“His staff,” Noelle says. “I’ve never seen him without it.”
Suddenly, it’s as if the crystal itself is right here in front of me, light streaming through every facet of Lyon’s plan. “That must be what Lyon’s after. If Lyon possessed the Staff of Time, he could assume the throne.” He’d live forever and recover his teeth. This must be the ending he envisioned all along, the happy ending to his story with Gaia. “If Lyon made the rules, he could eliminate the systems Michael put in place.”
Hope shines in Fleur’s eyes. “We could all be together. Stay together. Poppy, too.”
Chill draws himself up, his focus sharpening. “Lyon’s been using us long enough. It’s about time we get something out of this.”
“Using us for what?” Marie flicks the wheel of her lighter as she thinks. “If Gaia’s so powerful and Lyon’s so smart, what did they need us for?” She frowns at the ground, like she hasn’t figured it out. But Marie, of all people, should know.
“We’re a diversion,” I answer. “Just like you and Hunter’s transmitter. You wore it to draw away Chronos’s Guards so we could escape the cabin without being noticed.” All this time, we were a beacon, a flashy distraction in the eye of the staff to keep Chronos from lookingtoo deeply into Lyon’s own mind—a mind Chronos no longer considered dangerous once he’d plucked out Lyon’s teeth. “Lyon used us to draw out Chronos’s Guard and thin the herd. He knew Chronos would eventually be forced to leave the Observatory and come after us himself, making him vulnerable to attack.”
“He’s staging an ambush,” Woody says, thinking aloud. “And we’re the bait.”
“Georgia Avenue. The Red Line Station,” Fleur whispers. The others look perplexed, but I know exactly what she’s remembering—our last hunt. I’d drawn Fleur into the city, rather than the mountains, making her weakness my strength. I’d left bread crumbs—the lilies and the notes and the maps—forcing her to stop and think so she wouldn’t follow too closely, giving me time to stay one step ahead of her. I led her underground to a subway, disabling communication and limiting her escape routes. When we finally came face-to-face, I was careful to place a barrier between us. “It was the perfect setup,” she says. There’s a scheming twinkle in her eye. “We’ve been hunted so long, we almost forgot what it feels like to be the hunters. “We leave him a clear trail to follow, but enough mess to slow him down. Then we position ourselves off the grid, claim the high ground, and wait. We play to our strengths, pick off his Guards, and hope Lyon and Gaia get there in time.”
“How will they know where to find us?” Julio asks.
“He knows.” My throat closes around the words. Lyon knows where we’re going. He’s known all along. I recall every cryptic piece of advice the man’s ever offered me—every word of encouragement, every thoughtful nudge...
...when you and Fleur have traveled this road as far as you can alone... go to that place you hold in your heart. The strength you need will find you.
But he meanthewould find us. He and Gaia. All this time, I should have known my choice of destination was never entirely my own. It was a seed he’d planted deep within me, long ago—a thoughtfully placed picture on his office wall. All those years I’d stared at that poster, daydreaming about Fleur. All I needed was a reason to save her and a shove out the door. He knew exactly where I’d end up.
Fear not, young lion... you hold eternal spring in your heart.
Cuernavaca. The City of Eternal Spring.
I look around me, at my friends. At our Handlers. At this ragtag army that’s fallen into my lap. They’re all watching me, waiting for me to come up with a plan. To make the right choice.
“We’ll need a map of Mexico,” I tell them. “We’re going someplace warm.”
We unload our packs from the sedan. Anything we can’t carry on our backs goes into the trash cans beside the public bathhouse. Noelle and the other eight Seasons wait for us, forming a caravan of three more cars down the street.
Julio unzips his guitar bag, his fingers barring the strings to keep them silent as he pulls the instrument from its case. A vagrant sits barefoot on the ground under the shelter of the bathhouse. He watches us through the threads of his dirty wet hair with the piercing eyes of a crow.
Julio sets his guitar in the man’s lap, wrapping the strap around the man’s shoulder. The old man stares down at the strings as if he’s not quite sure what to do with it. I fight the urge to pluck it out of his hands. To tell Julio we’ll all take turns carrying it. It’s hard to watch him walk away from the one thing he refused to part with when he started this journey, a thing that brought us peace on our hardest days, when it waseasier to speak through song lyrics than to struggle to find the right words of our own. But looking at Julio now, his hand in Amber’s and Marie close by his side, I decide maybe the guitar wasn’t the one thing he really needed after all.
