Time for the Lost

by Chess Desalls

  Ashlyn looked back and forth between us, with her lips parted as if we were the most interesting people she’d met in a while. She was probably right.

  “Get ready,” I whispered, a little louder than necessary. “He’s going to start telling us about all the insight he has, and how that makes him know so much more about us than we know about ourselves.”

  Her lips worked themselves into a quirked smile.

  “Don’t listen to her, Ashlyn. My daughter’s only been a healer for a couple of years according to her timeline, which I’ll have you know is quite short compared to my experience.” He shrugged as he dragged his knuckles across the baglamas, striking a mock menacing chord. “But now that she’s engaged to be married, she thinks she knows everything.”

  I stared him down, daring him not to laugh. He lasted a second longer than I thought he would, before I joined in. Ashlyn’s smile deepened. I put my arm around her shoulders as we prepared for travel.

  ASHLYN ADJUSTED well to Edgar. The moment we grounded, she looked up at the sky and basked in the warmth of the suns.

  “As I was saying,” Dad bellowed as he rose from his grounding stance. “You and your mother are much greater actresses than I could ever hope to be.”

  “I find that hard to believe, Plaka, given your flair for the dramatic.” Valcas grinned as he walked toward us.

  Dad sighed. “I’m going to need your help here, Ashlyn. Surely you can see how outnumbered I am. But before I go in search of your friends and family, there is something I must let my young daughter know—a secret I have kept for these past couple of Earth years, ever since that night at the TSTA Gala.”

  I flinched, suddenly worried that our playful banter did indeed turn into something more serious. “Is it something about the conflict between the TSTA and Aboreal?” I asked, feeling my blood go cold.

  “No, although I suspect that matter will continue to be long and drawn out. Bree’s posturing seems to be contagious; it has infected Aboreal more than it has the TSTA.”

  Sometimes I wondered whether he was unhappy that neither side had started a war. Ivory had stayed with Nick the entire time, just in case. Or so she said.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What is it?”

  “I will preface my secret with a word of advice: No matter what differences you may have, they can always be put aside.”

  “Okay, and?”

  “Trust each other with your whole hearts, because you may have a child one day who will need your help to make an escape.”

  I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”

  “I recall your concern at the Gala, Calidora, when your mother left me alone on the dance floor. I remember you running outside after her.”

  “Yes,” I said slowly. “I felt bad for you, but I also wondered what you could have said to upset her.”

  His smugness gripped me by the gut.

  “You never said anything to upset her, did you?”

  “Of course not. It was one of the best nights of my life. I merely told her to act upset, to run off because I knew you would follow. I hadn’t known she was so formidable an actress.”

  Valcas snickered as my face turned red. I shoved him lightly. “You were in on this too?”

  “Let’s not forget Plaka’s message here. Trust, dearest.”

  I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. I had no choice but to trust. I was convinced that the timeline discrepancy between me and Valcas would never be fixed, and my healing of the Lost made going back in time to recover the recipe for Edgar’s youth elixir far from tempting. Perhaps a solution to our problem would present itself in the future; until then I could only trust and hope. At least Valcas and I wouldn’t be going through it alone. Mom and Dad had the same problem now; and I knew that, together, we’d learn how to make the most of our time in the present.

  A book is not the product of one person, but of many. Thank you to beta readers, Christal Ferrance, Marilyn Keily, Rhonda Levinson, Jim Lock, and Patrick McQueen. Their tough love comments and feedback polished Calla and Valcas’ story.

  Thank you to Stephanie Parent for her copy edits and Kathie Middlemiss for her proofreading skills. The work of these professional editors help minimize the annoyance of being pulled out of the story by typos and other such nonsense.

  And thank you to E.M. Tippetts Book Designs for the interior formatting and www.damonza.com for the cover art. They have made the inside and outside of TIME FOR THE LOST visually beautiful.

  Thanks so much for reading Time for the Lost!

  If you got here by reading Travel Glasses and Insight Kindling first, then extra special thanks for experiencing three volumes-worth of story with me, Calla and Valcas.

  If you picked up this book because of the awesome purple cover and are otherwise new to the story, I invite you to take a look at earlier installments. Travel Glasses and Insight Kindling are both available in ebook format for Amazon Kindle, Barnes&Noble Nook and Apple iBooks. The audiobook editions are available through Audible, iTunes and Amazon.

  For more information about upcoming books, please visit my website at www.chessdesalls.com. You can also find me at Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest and my blog.

  Chess Desalls is the author of the YA time travel series, The Call to Search Everywhen. She's a longtime reader of fantasy and sci-fi novels, particularly classics and young adult fiction. Her nonfiction writing has led to academic and industry publications. She’s also a contributing editor for her local writing club’s monthly newsletter. The California Writers Club, South Bay branch, has awarded two of Chess’ stories first place for best short fiction. When she's not reading or writing, she enjoys traveling and trying to stay in tune on her flute.

  Want to read more by Chess Desalls?

  Ivory will be taking center stage in the upcoming novella, Ivory of Aboreal, set in the worlds of The Call to Search Everywhen. Learn more about her life as a Chauffer and how she met her one true love. Sign up for Chess’ email list for more information on when the book releases!

  Until then, enjoy Chess’ short stories published in the following anthologies, available for Kindle, Nook and iBooks.

  “Lantern” by Chess Desalls

  Five days before Halloween, all sixteen-year-old Tori has on her mind is vacationing with her family and scoring lots of candy. Her grandmother’s estate, with its Gothic spires and trails that lead out to the woods, holds an unexpected secret: a lantern that lights up for Tori and nobody else. Certain that it’s a ghost or a prank, she investigates further and discovers a mysterious life that shines in the darkness.

  Excerpt from “Lantern”

  Prologue

  Fingers trembled along the grains and splinters of a broken leg.

  “What was that obnoxiously loud crack?” yelled a voice muffled by sounds of approaching footsteps.

  Jared’s eyes prickled with tears. He blinked rapidly as he picked up a fallen piece of pine. He rubbed the space above where his knee had once been, tracing along the leather straps that held the other half of the leg in place. A scowl of pain marred his face. He’d fallen hard this time, somehow managing to twist his prosthetic underneath him and snap it in half.

  “Well, what now? Must you ruin everything?” A young woman with the same dark eyes as Jared glared at him. She wiped soiled hands across an apron patched with rags. Her lips puckered when she noticed the broken leg. “I cannot pay for a replacement. Enjoy thumping about on the one leg you have left.”

  “Moretta—”

  She snorted before stalking out of the room, extending and exaggerating each step taken with her two good legs.

  Jared gritted his teeth as he lifted himself from the floor. Pain lanced from his ankle to his knee. He knew he shouldn’t have been running, but he had to strengthen his good leg if he was going to be useful to anyone. Moretta had taken care of him long enough. She wanted a husband, and Jared was tired of hearing that he was the reason she couldn’t get one. He had plenty of theories why Moretta ha
d no offers, which he was sure she would learn for herself. Once he was gone.

  “Two days,” he muttered. “If I’d lasted two more days for my apprenticeship with Machin to begin, I could have avoided this altogether.”

  The walk to Machin’s cottage would be a long one. Jared decided to busy himself by building a crutch from scrap lumber and metal screws. He hobbled to his workbench and rolled up his sleeves. His arms were muscled and strong from hammering and cutting wood. His inventiveness and ability to work with his hands had impressed everyone in Havenbrim, except for Moretta. Jared was sure these skills were what convinced Machin to hire him for the position. Machin had also called him an intelligent young man, which was news to Jared given Moretta’s frequent declarations of his stupidity.

  Jared’s lips stretched into a lopsided smile. All remnants of pain, both mental and physical, faded at the prospect of getting to learn how to read and write. If he caught on quickly, Machin would teach him figures as well. As if these opportunities weren’t enough, Machin had promised that he would make Jared whole again. Jared assumed that meant a high-end prosthetic, something part machine that could flex and bend just like a real leg. Until then, a crutch would have to do.

  Lost in daydreams of a brighter life, Jared worked on the crutch through mid-meal and supper, ignoring Moretta’s howls and insults as he carved and shaped a simple length of wood into a work of art. After tightening the screws and smoothing a rough patch with glass paper, Jared set his handiwork aside. With a sigh, he dropped his head forward and to the sides to loosen the tightness in his neck.

  Hungry, he wiped his hands on a towel before pulling from his pocket the last piece of fig cake wrapped in paper. “This will have to do for tonight,” he said to no one in particular as he munched the cake. There was no way he was going to ask Moretta to heat up week-old pottage; and the rats, he noticed, wouldn’t eat it cold. Jared chewed slowly. The fig cake had been a gift from a girl in town who he’d assumed pitied him for his infirmity. He’d no clue that she’d been flirting—that the batting of her eyelashes was meant to make her look attractive, not to hold back tears of pity.

  While readying himself for bed, Jared flinched in surprise when he realized the broken end of his prosthetic was still attached to his thigh. He unbuckled the leather straps and tossed the contraption aside before settling onto the mattress laid out near his workbench. “Two more days,” he murmured as he drifted off to sleep.

  1

  Five Days before Halloween

  Tori smiled as she watched her brother bounce across garden stones to avoid touching the grass with his shoes. It was his new favorite game since arriving at their grandmother’s house.

  Absently trailing her fingers along the curls and bends of a wrought-iron bench, Tori looked up past her brother at the eighteenth-century plantation, renovated many times over until it resembled a haunted mansion. The main building was huge with gables topped with neo-gothic spires. Multiple levels of porches looked out across gardens and walking paths leading to the woods. Leaves flecked the surrounding lawns with yellows and reds, filling the air with the spiciness of autumn.

  Tori sucked in a breath when the toe of her brother’s shoe caught the edge of a stone.

  “Kimmy!” she yelled out, just before he landed on his stomach, his fleece jacket adding a smear of blue to the mix of colors. “Careful, come here.” She wrapped her arms around the boy to soothe him before the surprise of falling wore off and turned into a tear-fest.

  His given name was Kenneth; his toddler pronunciation of the nickname Kenny had always morphed into Kimmy, and so the name stuck. He squirmed in her arms but smiled in that way she knew meant he didn’t want her to let him go.

  “Are you ready for Halloween?” she said, looking into his giant blue eyes.

  “Candy!”

  Tori laughed. “That’s right, we’ll get lots of candy this year. Everybody’s going to love your costume!”

  Last year’s lady pirate and parrot ensemble had been a bust. Kimmy, dressed as the parrot, had refused all forms of candy, insisting that parrots only wanted crackers.

  Tori’s friend Shawna had been horrified at the idea of dressing up in matching costumes with a sibling thirteen years younger. But Tori thought it was kind of cute. She loved having a brother. She’d waited so long. There would have been a sister between her and Kimmy, but her mother had miscarried. Her parents weren’t the only ones who’d been devastated. Besides, Tori wasn’t proud, especially where candy was involved.

  “What are you dressing up as this year, Kimmy? You remember?”

  “A candy bucket.”

  “That’s right,” Tori laughed, tapping his nose. Halloween was only a few days away, but she’d had a year to prepare their costumes and coach Kimmy. She’d even designed her own homespun version of a lollipop princess from one of Kimmy’s board games. Operation Candy had to be a win.

  “Kimmy! Tori!” called a voice from one of the porches.

  “Yes, Grandma?”

  “It will be getting dark soon. You should bring Kimmy inside.”

  “Okay, be right there!” Tori took Kimmy by the hand and led him up a walkway from the garden to the house. The floorboards underneath a canopy marking the entrance creaked just like in old haunted houses she’d read about. This is going to be the best Halloween, she thought as she opened the door and stepped into a room with floor tiles curling with leaves, braided twists and diamonds.

  “I haven’t been here since I was your age,” she said, raising three fingers toward Kimmy, who lifted three fingers back. Smiling, Tori scooped the boy up in her arms and flipped him behind her so he could ride piggyback. “That was thirteen years ago. Everything feels familiar, but I can’t remember any of it.” She studied the staircase that rose from the entryway and split into two sides, one veering off to the left and the other to the right. “Phew,” she whistled. “This place is crazy big.”

  Tori found her mother and father snuggled before a fireplace in a room that was way too large to be a normal living room. It was like someone had built the house around a ski lodge. “Comfy?” she asked, grinning.

  “Hey, Tori baby,” said her mother. “Was Kimmy behaving out there?”

  “Yep,” she said, prying the boy off her back. She twirled him while making airplane sounds before dropping him on her father’s lap. “Grandma was just worried that it was getting dark outside.”

  “Not worried,” said a voice as a woman rounded a corner, her hands filled with a tray of mugs. She peered at Tori over her eyeglasses. “My property is as safe as can be. Your grandfather saw to that. It’s just that Kimmy is young and will need to go to bed soon.”

  Out of respect for the matronly presence of her grandmother, Tori nodded. Behind the glasses—trifocals with bone-white frames—her grandmother’s eyes were a deep blue, like Kimmy’s and their father’s. Tori and her mother both had eyes of dull hazel. Both sides of the family had dark hair, everyone except Kimmy, who had blond curls.

  Tori beamed as she accepted a mug of steaming cocoa. She inhaled its sugary sweetness before taking a sip and sitting down. Her chair, high-backed with claws carved into its armrests, gave her a slight thrill.

  Grandma’s property is as safe as can be. That didn’t sound fun; the hugeness and creepiness of the house had so much potential. But her grandmother’s self-assessment provided an opportunity. “So, if it’s safe, can I go back outside for a walk? There are a lot of grounds to explore, and we’re only here for a few days.” She gave her parents her most angelic smile. “I brought my favorite hiking boots. Please?”

  “Okay, baby,” her mother said, running her fingers through Kimmy’s curls. His eyelids closed halfway. “But don’t stay out too late, avoid strangers, and if ever in doubt—”

  “—scream fire and run back to the house. Yes, Mom, I know. I’ve been babysitting Kimmy since the day he was born. I can handle it.”

  Her father smiled. “We trust you, hon—it’s just the crazies o
ut there in the world,” he said, thumbing toward the door. “That’s who we’re worried about.”

  “I said that it’s safe, Carl. As long as she stays on the paths, she’ll be fine.” Tori’s grandmother bobbed her head in disapproval, her white curls plastered in place, as she collected the mugs and set the tray on a table. She pulled a lump of knitwear from a chest wedged next to the fireplace. “Here, take this sweater with you. The most danger you’ll run into out there will be the cold when the sun sets. Go on now, have fun.”

  “Thanks, Grandma.” Tori had noticed her grandmother’s indignant look as she’d reminded everyone of her property’s safeness. It was as if her grandmother wanted someone to go out there, to enjoy what she and her late husband had spent their lives building.

  Once outside, Tori tied the sleeves of the sweater around her waist. Her long-sleeved flannel was warm enough for now, buttoned up over her T-shirt and jeans. Thick socks lined her boots.

  A fresh breeze skimmed across her cheeks. It felt good to be outside. As much as she loved her brother and her family, being alone every so often helped her to recharge.

  2

  Tori strolled along the paths, passing different types of gardens. Some were filled with flowers and hedges; others were modern combinations of rocks, gazing balls, and small pools teeming with fish. She ran her fingers along a gate that surrounded rows of evergreen seedlings.

  “Grandma’s property doesn’t seem to end,” Tori murmured. I wonder who takes care of all this. She hadn’t seen a soul inside or outside who wasn’t a family member, excluding the cemetery, which she had yet to visit. During the drive over, her father had explained that the plantation had once produced tobacco. Since the renovations, the crops from the nearest fields were replaced with recreational gardens and other aesthetic features. Tori’s grandmother continued her husband’s tradition of renting out the remaining property to local families and owners of Christmas tree farms.