Everything is muted: I’m the only one awake in the house. Still, it’s clear immediately that there are more people here than usual. Of course there are. I sense Mom and Jodi in their respective bedrooms, but there’s also someone on the futon in Jodi’s office. My dad. And on the first floor is the unfamiliar but surprisingly sharp presence of Anya, who must be asleep on one of the couches. Her energy is different from that of my parents, more vibrant. More like Jodi’s, owing to her psychic abilities.
She’s beautiful. Anya. And five years is a long time.
I shake my head, attempting to clear it of the invading thoughts. It takes a moment to realize the ideas aren’t mine. My heart lurches when I connect them to my mom. Even her resting mind is full of turmoil this morning.
My body aches when I sit and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. It’s hard to tell whether I’m worse off physically or mentally. I grab the fluffy yellow robe off the back of my desk chair as I stumble to the stairs. It’s not until I’m on the floor below that I manage to pull it on correctly, and I’ve edged open the door to my mom’s room by the time I’ve tied it closed over the oversize tee-shirt nightgown Jodi helped me into last night. Mom’s face isn’t peaceful in sleep: There’s a deep crease between her eyebrows and her lips quiver. I cross to the bed and settle on the mattress beside her.
She shifts a few times, stirring. Her eyelids flutter before opening. A smile touches her lips when her gaze falls on me. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I return. “How’d you sleep?”
Her mouth twitches. “I should be asking you that. Jodi and your dad filled me in a little about what happened last night.” She stretches out her hand, fingertips grazing my cheek. “I get the feeling the situation was worse than they let on—and what they described sounded pretty dangerous.”
I catch her hand in mine. “Did you and Dad get a chance to talk?”
Her expression gives away nothing. “A little.”
I need to connect with her about this, to know what she thinks. But I’m hesitant to press too hard. “It’s strange, right? Having him here?”
Mom’s mouth presses into a firm line and she blinks a few times. “It’s not what I expected,” she murmurs. Her cloudy expression clears and she squeezes my fingers. “But I suppose my expectations never included anything supernatural, so I’m adjusting.”
There’s more to her words than she’s letting on. I can sense a lingering disappointment beneath the surface, but I make an effort not to search too deeply with my abilities. She deserves the space to deal with things without me poking around in her thoughts. I already feel guilty enough for picking up on her concern regarding Anya.
Her concern. As if the same one hasn’t crossed my mind. It’s something in the way the two interact with each other. They’re almost too familiar. Is it possible in the last half decade the two have crossed the line separating them from partners seeking to destroy Seth to… something more?
In my reality, my mom never dated after Dad left—never even appeared to have an interest in pursuing a romance with anyone else. And that was when he left without explanation. Although I don’t know for certain what happened in this timeline, I find it even less likely that Mom would have done so here. Not only did this version of my father give her at least a little in the way of reason for his leaving, we’ve also been living under the same roof with Jodi, my dad’s sister. But does that mean Dad’s been as faithful?
Mom shakes her head, her thin lips doing their best imitation of a smile. “Besides, I’m much more concerned about everything you’re mixed up in.”
Just like that, she’s back into mom-mode. I can almost see the shift play out across her features, in her body language. Her own problems can be put aside as she focuses on me. I’ve seen her do it before—tamping down her own anxiety about making ends meet in order to console me over broken friendships and troubles at school. Guilt swoops in my stomach. She shouldn’t have to worry about me. She has a right to spend energy dealing with her own issues. But maybe it’s a coping strategy: When things are too complicated in her own life, she can worry about mine.
A creaks sounds out in the hallway. Mom and I both look through the open door. Dad emerges from the office, sandy hair rumpled, clothed in gray sweatpants and a long sleeve tee shirt in dark blue. He pauses when his eyes lock on us. His body surges forward like he intends to join us, but his feet stay planted firmly on the floorboards. “Good morning,” he calls in a hoarse whisper.
“How did you sleep?” Mom’s tone is casual, but there’s an edge of formality to it.
“Well,” Dad says, but he’s lying. The futon left him with a crick in his neck and his mind was restless. But he won’t tell her that.
They’re like strangers. The realization takes my breath away. In all my fantasies about my father’s return, he slipped seamlessly back into our lives, but it was foolish to think things would be that easy. Emotions not my own press in on the edges of my consciousness and I stand, stepping hastily toward the door. I need to get away from here, to clear my head. I mutter something about needing a shower as I edge past my father and toward the stairs to my room. My parents’ concern shadows me as I ascend, but I do my best to block it out.
My mind continues to fill as I make my way through my room to the bathroom. Space typically helps clear my head, but today the house doesn’t seem big enough. I turn on the water in the shower and strip off my robe and nightgown. My parents will be fine, I try to convince myself as I step into the tub. They just need time to sort through everything. In any case, I can’t obsess over it, not with Seth still out there, with the threat to Clearwater just as real today as it was last night.
My parents’ thoughts have ebbed from my brain, but a new set of emotions surges inside. These are different—sharper, more distinct, and incredibly familiar.
Surprise, incredulity, anger, confusion—all directed at the idea of my father being in town. Except it’s not news to anyone in this house.
But these thoughts don’t belong to people in the house. The more I focus on them, the clearer that fact becomes. Still, it doesn’t make the truth any easier to accept. I’m sensing these things through my psychic abilities, but those are typically tied to being near to someone—unless I’m really trying to connect with someone or something beyond. But this is as effortless as breathing, like I’m somehow linked to…
The binding spell. It’s the only explanation. And as that knowledge clarifies, so do the identities of the people whose thoughts I’m experiencing: Owen Marsh and Fox Holloway. I’m somehow tied to each of them. We realized this last night after Seth disappeared, but my exhaustion has been too complete until now to fully appreciate the effects.
My first almost-boyfriend from an alternate timeline, Owen, and my recently ex-boyfriend from this reality, Fox, have a direct line on my emotions, and I on theirs. I can’t see this ending any way but badly.
Last night, Dad said that the binding spell was the only way to save my friends’ lives, and I understand that. If the powers of the psychics and witches hadn’t been combined, it’s possible Crystal, Lexie, Bridget, Griffin, and Fox would all be dead right now. But the anchoring spell that tied the witches to Seth’s crystal has been severed, the magic discharged back into nature. I hope the link that connects us to each other can be broken easily, but doubt nags at the back of my mind.
Right now, it seems nothing in life is designed to be easy.
Chapter Three
Fox and Owen must have been asleep when I first woke up, because their thoughts have plagued me since my shower. “You don’t understand. I feel like I’m going crazy. I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this.”
My aunt Jodi turns from the stove and leans against the adjacent counter, heaving a sigh. A faint stream of mostly transparent steam shoots out the spout of her tea kettle. I wish I could direct the clouds into my head to mute the noise buzzing there. “Don’t you think you’re being the slightest bit overdramatic?”
Jodi rolls her eyes as the kettle releases a shrill whistle. She pulls it off the burner quickly and, with a practiced motion, pours it into the mug she prepared. A sweet, earthy scent fills the air. “The way you’re going on, you’d think you never heard another person’s thoughts before. From what I understand, the link is easier to establish than it would ordinarily be, but it’s not like it’s exactly a new thing for you.”
I don’t bother pointing out that while, yes, as a psychic, I have the ability to sense people’s emotions and sometimes to decipher their thoughts, it typically takes effort to do so, and the people I sense need to be nearby. Jodi’s a witch and no expert in psychic matters. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t linked me to Fox and Owen. I mean, of all the other choices, why them?”
She holds up her hands innocently. “I just cast the spell. There was nothing in it about picking which people got paired up. That happened on its own.” Before I can respond, she slides the steaming mug across the island. I take it without bothering to ask what herbs she threw in. Jodi has a particular talent for blending herb mixes for whatever ails a person. I hope today’s brew will help me stop feeling like I’ve been hit by a train.
Jodi surveys me expectantly until I take my first sip. I wrinkle my nose at the flavor and the corner of her mouth twitches. “Your friends should be here soon, right? I’ll go up and check on your dad, make sure he’s ready to explain everything to them.”
As her footfalls reach the stairs, a knock sounds at the front door and I make my way toward it as quickly as I can. Jodi asked me to text everyone affected by last night’s binding spell and have them meet here to discuss what’s going on. Before my hand even touches the doorknob, I already know who’s outside. I sigh with relief as I swing open the door to reveal Felix Wolfe. His shaggy brown hair is more ruffled than usual, and there are dark bags under his eyes. An uncharacteristic shadow of stubble hugs his chin and upper lip. He grunts a hello before tripping over the threshold.
I close the door and embrace him. In the last few weeks, he and I have grown very close. He’s the only one I told my secret—that Crystal Jamison and I changed something in the past and came back to a present that wasn’t our own. I’ve grown to rely and depend on him, and I’m relieved it’s he who’s arrived first.
Felix leans heavily into my arms. “I am so tired. I don’t think anyone in the history of the world has ever been more tired than I am in this moment.”
I struggle under his weight and press my hands into his chest. “You’re gonna knock me over.”
“Probably.”
Grunting with effort, I haul him into the living room and heft him onto the couch. He lands with a thud and collapses against the cushions. He really does look out of it. “What’s going on? The psychics all seemed fine last night when we headed home.”
He leans his head back, closing his eyes. “Bridget.”
I sit beside him, pressing my lips together. Bridget Burke, a witch in Crystal Jamison’s circle, isn’t someone Felix routinely spends any time with. “What about her?”
He moans. “She’s in my friggen head! No matter what I do, I can’t turn her off.” He opens his eyes, revealing a slightly manic gleam. “Are all girls like this? It’s just emotion after emotion. She’s happy, she’s sad, she’s angry, she’s afraid, she’s worried if her fake boyfriend’s still gonna like her. I don’t think she slept all night. Which means I didn’t sleep all night.”
I pat Felix’s hand, trying to be comforting, but I’m buzzing with too many questions. “You’re linked to Bridget? How did that happen? Who else are you linked with?”
“Who else? No one, thank goodness. There’s barely enough room in my head for me.”
I bite my lower lip. Although I haven’t devoted much time to attempting to guess who’s been linked with whom, I assumed that everyone, like me, had multiple links. “I’m linked with two people.”
Felix opens his eyes, fixing his hazel gaze on me. “Do I even have to ask?”
Another knock sounds at the front door, saving me from having to answer. He already knows anyway. I don’t know whether it’s our proximity or fatigue or the effect of the binding spell—or maybe a mix of them all—but I can sense his understanding clearly. Just as I can sense who’s on the other side of the door.
Crystal Jamison, Lexie Taylor, and Bridget Burke stand on my porch and barely nod a hello before crossing into the house. Although they all move more slowly than usual and their faces are drawn, exhausted, I can’t help being the tiniest bit impressed that they still managed to wear coordinating outfits—jeans and sweaters in orange and red. When I first found myself in this reality just weeks ago, I was expected to follow suit. But a lot has changed since then and the three barely spare an extra glance at my outfit—black pajama pants and a maroon hoodie.
An inkling of embarrassment shivers through me when Bridget clears the wall and enters the living room, followed by a tiny tremble of dread. If that’s how Bridget feels when she sees Felix, what emotions will course through me when Fox and Owen show up?
Before I can close the door, a dark blue Mustang pulls up in front of my house, followed closely by a Bria’s mom’s Camry. As Fox and his brother Griffin and Bria Tate and West Harmon climb out of their respective cars, stairs creak behind me as Jodi and my dad descend. My skin flushes and I look at the floor, not ready to face either Fox or my father at the moment. I’m still not comfortable with him being back, not given the circumstances and his companion. And things were complicated with Fox before the binding spell. He’s not stupid, he knew there was something between me and Owen even before last night, and his being linked to my mind doesn’t make the situation any less complex.
Dad clears his throat as Bria and West enter the house. “Is this everyone?”
Griffin comes in after West, followed closely by Fox. His stormy eyes flicker to meet my own for the briefest of seconds. “Owen’s close.”
My stomach clenches at his words. So overwhelmed by my own apprehensions, I didn’t sense Owen’s nearness, but now I know without a doubt it’s true. But if I didn’t sense it, Fox didn’t pick up on the information from me. Does that mean that in addition to each of them being linked to me, they’re also linked to each other?
Fox passes and I don’t stop him to ask.
“I’ll get Anya,” Dad murmurs as Owen’s Grand Prix pulls to a stop in front of the house across the street.
Jodi slips a hand around my waist, giving me a quick squeeze. “You go sit down. I’ll let him in.”
I’m not sure whether I’m thankful for her offer. Owen is just stepping out of his car and a familiar thrill courses through me at the sight of him—a reaction I’ve been fighting for the last few weeks, both because I was locked into a relationship with Fox and because Owen resented my alternate-self so much he could barely look at me. But now that he remembers...
I shake my head and start for the living room. We still don’t know why Owen is remembering our shared past in the reality I’m from. If it’s something that can start out of nowhere, is it something that could disappear just as easily? In the weeks since I found myself in this alternate timeline, one of the things I’ve longed for most is my Owen, but now that he is, for all intents and purposes, here with me, I’m having difficulty accepting it, difficulty understanding what it means and how to deal with it.
Bria and West now occupy the spaces on the couch beside Felix. Neither of them look quite as tired as Felix does, but it’s obvious they’re not at a hundred percent. The ends of Bria’s usually sleek bob flip out and under at random intervals, and her trademark heavy eye makeup is missing entirely, making her look much younger than seventeen. We
st’s hair is disheveled less in an artfully crafted way and more in an I-just-rolled-out-of-bed way, and his deep-set blue eyes are still filmed with sleep.
I scan the room. Crystal, Lexie, and Bridget fill the remaining couch. Griffin, predictably, has claimed the armchair, his long, slender limbs sprawling to take up as much of the available space as possible. Fox’s tall frame is bent awkwardly as he sits on an ottoman. I quickly realize there’s really no place for me to sit. I could perch on the ledge by the fireplace, but that would put me awfully close to Fox, and I’m not sure how either of us would like that at the moment.
Chair legs scrape against the wood floor and I turn to see my dad dragging dining room chairs across the hall. He smiles as he settles one behind me. As I sit, the low murmur of Owen’s voice as he greets Jodi familiarly reaches my ears. She sounds somewhat taken aback when she responds—as she should be. It wouldn’t surprise me if Owen and Jodi haven’t spoken in years—in this reality.
I glance up only briefly when Owen enters the room. When his eyes flicker from me to Fox before going to the floor, I take it as confirmation that all three of us are linked.
He takes the chair my dad set up closest to Felix’s couch instead of the one closest to me and I release a relieved sigh. It’s going to be hard enough focusing without him near enough to touch.
Jodi places a hand on the back of my chair. “Thank you all for coming. I can tell by looking at you that it’s taken quite an effort to get here.”
“Sorry, Jodi, but can we just cut to the chase here?” Griffin’s tone is quieter than usual, but he retains his usual grace. “Let’s skip the pleasantries and get right to the part where you guys explain exactly what the hell is going on with the spell you cast on us last night.” His lip curls as his eyes flicker to West. “And, yeah, I am a dick, so deal with it.”
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