Chaos (3 page)

Luc would bet anything that the boy and girl who had attacked Jas were Executors, just like Corinthe had been: servants of order charged with making sure that what was fated came to pass.

It wasn’t just the knife that proved it—it was what the girl had said about
only doing what they must
. Corinthe talked like that.

Corinthe
used
to talk like that.

But if they
were
Executors, why were they after Jasmine? He knew Executors faced severe penalties if they
failed in their tasks. Hell. Corinthe had been tasked with his death—at least, that’s what she believed—and she’d pursued him across worlds.

She was different, though. Corinthe questioned things. She was relentlessly fierce but also so vulnerable; he remembered being with her in the Land of the Two Suns, and how she had fallen asleep in his arms by the fire.

Ultimately, she’d sacrificed her life to save his.

Corinthe was dead. Pyralis had been saved. Order had been restored. So why had Jas been attacked? And why, then, had the Executors retreated? It didn’t make sense.

Unless …

Unless the Executors hadn’t been sent to kill Jas.

Was the attack a message to him? Did the Unseen Ones know what he intended to do?

Maybe the fact that Luc had found Jasmine mid-attack wasn’t coincidence after all.

Earlier, Luc had gone looking for the Crossroad, but in a city as big as San Francisco, in the aftermath of the worst earthquake in two decades, it was an impossible task. Still, his instincts were different than they had been. Traveling across universes, seeing worlds where order ticked like a clock and places where shadows and people lived separately—it had changed him, somehow.

Losing Corinthe had changed him.

And he had the archer, the necklace Corinthe had given him, which would function as a compass to lead him to another world. He would use it to find the Crossroad
that would lead him to Rhys, his friend from the Land of the Two Suns. Rhys had told him once that he turned back time. Luc would find him and have him do it again. They would rewind time and save Corinthe before any of this had happened.

In the bathroom, the water stopped running. A second later, Luc heard Jasmine begin to hum—some new indie song no one but fifteen people had ever listened to, he had no doubt. The sound made his chest ache. When Jas had disappeared, he’d been terrified he’d never have her home, and safe, again. How could he endanger her? If he continued looking for a way to save Corinthe, would the Executors go after Jasmine again? Would they succeed in hurting her?

He needed to make sure Jas stayed safe.

Then, if he could find the Crossroad, he could draw the Executors’ attention to himself. Having Executors after him was old news. He could handle it. After he found Rhys and got the information he needed, he could save Corinthe and then things would be over for good.

Back to normal.

Happily ever after.

In the meantime, Jasmine couldn’t know what was going on. Especially not how she had almost died in the Forest of the Blood Nymphs. If he tried to tell her—about Executors, and Crossroad, and other worlds, and Corinthe—she’d probably think the earthquake had shaken something loose in his brain.

He needed to protect her, and that meant she had to be protected from the truth.

The idea came to him at once: Aunt Hillary. As soon as the blow-dryer started going in the bathroom, Luc punched their aunt’s number into his cell phone, praying she’d be at home and would agree to take care of Jasmine for a few days.

She was home, and she was as snippy as ever. Aunt Hillary had the personality of an ice pick. But she agreed to come pick Jasmine up in forty minutes.

Luc put down the phone, feeling slightly better. Aunt Hillary’s house smelled like peppermint and lavender. She kept about a dozen cats around, too, and she had a way of making even comments about the weather sound like insults. Jasmine would be bored out of her mind.

Which was kind of the point.

Jas emerged from the bathroom in her familiar pink robe, her long hair, now dry, hanging loosely down to her waist. For a moment, Luc imagined it was a normal day—before the earthquake, before Jasmine’s capture by Miranda, before the Land of the Two Suns and Rhys and the world of memory mists.

Before Corinthe.

But when Jas scooted past him and reached for a mug, the long red scratch on her arm proved the past few days hadn’t been some kind of crazy, tangled dream.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He would never be at peace until he found a way to save Corinthe. In a universe full of hundreds and thousands of worlds, there had to be a way to bring someone back from the dead. Giving up was not an option.

“That shower felt amazing.” Jasmine smiled, and he
felt a surge of hope. His sister
was
okay. She was home safe.

Anything was possible and that proved it.

She filled the mug with water, stuck it in the microwave, and punched start. “Tea?”

“No thanks.” He took pleasure in watching her stretch on her tiptoes to reach the tea, rustle through the cabinets for honey—familiar, everyday motions. But it couldn’t last. Not yet. He cleared his throat. “Look, I need you to get dressed and pack a bag with some things.”

She looked at him with her eyebrows drawn down. “Where are we going?”

“
You
are going to Aunt Hillary’s for a few nights. I have something I need to do.”

“Aunt Hillary?” Jasmine echoed. She shook her head and returned to spooning honey into the mug. “No way. I’ll just hang out here. I’ve stayed alone a thousand times.”

“I don’t want you home alone,” Luc said sharply. Jasmine looked at him. He took a deep breath. “Look, there are things going on that I can’t explain right now. I need to know you’re safe.”

Jasmine turned to face him, crossing her arms. “Tell me,” she said. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.” She looked away. “Did I … was it something I took, Luc? Is that why I can’t remember anything?”

Her voice trembled a little, and it made his heart ache. Jas had OD’d earlier in the spring. A combination of Ecstasy and alcohol. Since then, she had sworn she would
stay off drugs, sworn she would stick with a psychiatrist. But Luc had spent months feeling like at any second, disaster would strike and he would lose her.

And then he
had
lost her—to Miranda, and the Forest of the Blood Nymphs.

He reached out and touched her shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And when this is over, I’ll tell you everything.” Maybe.

Jasmine’s dark eyes clicked back to his. “Promise on Mom?”

He made an X over his heart. “Promise on Mom. But for tonight, you go with Aunt Hillary. I already called her and she said it was okay. She’s on her way.”

Jasmine groaned. “What am I supposed to say when she starts asking about Dad?”

“You like fairy tales,” Luc said, cracking a small smile. “Spin her a good one.”

“Do I have to?” Jas asked as she sipped her tea.

Luc lifted his hands behind his neck and looked at the ceiling. After a long exhale, he let his hands fall to his sides and glanced at Jas. “It won’t be for long. Just trust me, okay? Now please go get dressed and pack a bag so we don’t keep her waiting.”

Jasmine sighed exaggeratedly, but she didn’t protest any more. She went down the hall to her room and closed the door. Luc glanced at the time. Ten o’clock. As soon as Jas was safely off, he’d use the archer to begin his search for the Crossroad.

He already knew where he would look first: the Land
of the Two Suns on the outskirts of the universe. Rhys knew secrets about the universe; he was the one who had told Corinthe and Luc about the flower needed to save Jasmine from the Forest of the Blood Nymphs.

Rhys would know how Luc could undo everything and save Corinthe.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her slipping from him, the sky lit up in oranges and reds as if a bomb had exploded the stars. He’d promised her that he would find a way to be with her.

He’d promised it to himself.

“I tore apart this apartment and I must’ve lost my phone last night—I mean, Friday night,” Jasmine said, fifteen minutes later. She emerged from her room carrying a small backpack. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, and without makeup on, she looked young and innocent. Like the sister he remembered. “What am I supposed to do without it? I still don’t know why I can’t stay
here
.”

“The people who attacked you today might have followed us home.” He debated whether to tell her more and finally settled for saying, “The truth is, I think I might know who they are.”

“You know them?” Jasmine’s eyes practically popped out of her head.

“I … recognized them,” he said cautiously. “At least, I think I did. I’m going to find out for sure.”

“They had knives, Luc,” Jasmine said softly.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything dumb. Not until I know for sure, anyway.” He grinned at her,
hoping she’d return the smile. But she just stood there, staring, looking troubled.

A loud car horn sounded outside and Luc went to the window. An old Buick was parked downstairs. Definitely Aunt Hillary. When he turned, Jasmine’s chin was trembling.

“This just feels wrong,” she said.

He crossed the room and gave her a big hug. “Everything will be okay, I swear it, Jas.” He’d been making that promise a lot lately.

She pulled away and made a face. “You are going to owe me so big.”

He smiled. He nudged her shoulder with his and picked up her bag. “You used to tell me that Aunt Hillary reminded you of the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“I think it’s the wart on her chin,” Jasmine said, and they both laughed. Then she got serious again. “You be careful, okay?”

“I will,” he said, and mentally added,
I hope
.

They walked down the two flights of stairs to the main door. Outside, the air was cool, and still layered with a fine white dust kicked up from the earthquake. It shimmered almost like snow in the air.

Aunt Hillary blasted her horn again. Luc rolled his eyes. Didn’t she see them right there? He jogged down the porch steps and yanked open the door to the dinosaur-era Buick. A blast of peppermint-lavender scent hit him right in the face.

Aunt Hillary hadn’t changed at all. Her hair was twisted into a tight knot, and she had on the brightest
orange lipstick he’d ever seen. The wart on her chin trembled as if it, too, were impatient. Her fingers, which tapped impatiently on the steering wheel, were covered in gaudy rings.

“Well, look at you two.” The tone of her voice made it clear she didn’t think they looked good.
“He
couldn’t even bother to come down and see you off. Or is he keeping a barstool warm already?”

Luc ignored her and stood back to let Jasmine climb in.

“Big-time,” Jasmine whispered, and then plastered on a smile. “Hi, Aunt Hillary.”

“Don’t you look just like your mother with your hair like that. Everyone always said she was a beauty, but I never saw it myself.”

Let the insults begin
.

“I won’t be long,” Luc said, ducking his head to address the words to Jasmine.

“Let’s get moving, then,” Aunt Hillary said. “Do you have any idea what the roads are like? You’d think a city this size, on the West Coast, would be able to recover from an earthquake faster than this.”

Jasmine gave him a look that begged
please let me stay and I’ll join a convent and never say a bad word again
, but he just leaned in and kissed her cheek. The sooner he got started, the sooner it would all be over. He hoped.

“This neighborhood certainly looks
interest
—” Aunt Hillary’s voice cut off when he shut the door.

Jasmine glared at him out the window as the car crept down the block. Luc watched until it turned and
disappeared, then ran back upstairs to grab his backpack and a jacket. The Land of the Two Suns got very cold at night, and this time, he’d be ready.

Luc stepped outside their apartment and pulled the archer from his pocket. It popped open and the tiny figure began to spin. It slowed and nearly came to a stop, pointing east.

Luc moved in that direction, his instincts sharper than they had been. Traveling across the universe, seeing worlds where order ticked like a clock or oceans were composed of shadows—it had changed him, somehow.

The archer, the necklace he had taken from Rhys, would function as a compass and lead him to another world. It pointed toward Market Square.

When he reached Third Street, the archer’s bow quivered right and left.

Luc’s heartbeat stuttered with it.

The Crossroad had to be close.

The sun had already dipped below the tops of the buildings around him. Power had not been restored to this part of the city yet, so dusk sat heavy; the buildings were dark brushstrokes against the faded-denim-blue sky. With most of the shops in this area closed, the streets were largely quiet and empty of people, except for the sounds of work crews close by.

It was a long shot, but he didn’t have anywhere else to start.

The archer had stopped with its tiny arrow pointed toward the Market Square angel.

Luc circled the angel statue, the same way he had that
morning. The archer swung safely on the chain around his neck. He hoped this was an entrance to the Crossroad.

Corinthe had told him to look for something out of place, something not quite right; inconsistencies, flaws in the logical tapestry of the world, were a sign of an entrance. He stared up at the angel, its pose strikingly similar to the enormous, blank-faced statues that had come alive and granted him passage to the Great Gardens in Pyralis.

He did a double take. The angel’s wings had been raised toward the sky earlier, he’d swear it. Now they were folded together, lowered.

The back of his neck prickled and his breathing sped up. Luc looked around to be sure no one was watching, then reached under his shirt to pull out the archer.

It leads you to your heart’s desire
.

Rhys.

Luc closed his eyes and chanted the man’s name over and over in his head. He pictured the Land of the Two Suns.