It was true. My ability to see the past had allowed me to solve those murders and defeat Fagan and his goons. Still, there was a heck of a difference between seeing the past and traveling here.
“Each time you come here, your ability to interact with and affect things increases. But the longer you stay, the harder it is to leave as your soul becomes grounded to this timeline.”
I blinked. It was all I could do. I was in no frame of mind to understand magical temporal dynamics.
McCain no longer interrupted us as he rested back on the floor, almost completely unconscious now.
“I need to defeat McCain. Don’t ask me how, as I really don’t understand how this magical timeline stuff works, but a version of him is in the future, and he’s wreaking havoc. I need some weapon against him, some chance. I know lying is key, but I need more,” I said, finishing with a gulp.
“Aye, lying affects McCain. He can’t tell the difference between a lie and the truth. It’s the cost of his power. His world is too narrow, and he no longer has the perspective to ascertain if something is right. He only sees what he wants. So you have the power to blind him with lies. But you’re right – you’ll need more if you want to defeat him.”
I let out a rattling sigh of relief. Finally, I was getting somewhere. But time wasn’t on my side.
Mary twisted her head to the side, her eyes drawing so wide, it was like they were trying to take over her face.
“What is it?” I hissed as I took a step toward her, hand outstretched.
“Something’s happening in the future, your future,” she managed, her lips drawing slack as if she barely had the attention left to remember how to move them.
My stomach lurched to the side. “What? What are you talking about?”
“He’s attacking.” Mary turned her attention back to McCain, furling on her foot, her skirts slapping against her legs.
My breath became stuck in my throat as the full horror of what she was saying hit me.
That bastard McCain would be attacking. And I was stuck back here.
“I have to go back and help my friends,” I spat, desperation shaking my every word.
Mary offered a tight nod that accentuated just how stiff her rope-like neck muscles had become. “Aye, child. You must. For it’s only back there in the future that you can end this. Now go. Go.”
Though I shifted back, pulled on the wings of my fear for my friends, I stopped. “Wait, hold on – I don’t know how to end this yet. There’s so much more you have to tell me. Please, what do I do next?” I begged.
“Hand me your knife,” Mary demanded as she jolted toward me.
The knife was in my back pocket. I whirled around, tugged it out, and handed it to her.
She considered the knife with a tight frown rolling her lips flat. Then? Then she drew it across her palm in a quick, brutal move that saw blood spill over her palm and splash against her boots and the marked floor.
“What are you doing?” I stuttered.
“Offering you a chance. Now hold out your hand.”
I winced but did as I was told.
I expected her to slice the knife from the tip of my finger down to the base of my palm, just as she’d done to her own hand.
She didn’t.
Instead, she started to incant something under her breath. Dropping her head low, as if she were in a trance, she finally brought her free hand out and pointed to the contract still pressed so tightly in my shaking arms.
I wanted to ask what the hell I was meant to do, but I didn’t dare interrupt her attention.
Though I knew full well that when I pretended to go into a trance, any sane person would be able to tell I was faking it, this was different. From the exact way Mary swayed on her feet, to the exact slurred quality of her words, this wasn’t a friggin’ game.
It was real.
Mary spread her fingers wide, and I figured she was asking for the contract.
Though I was kind of reluctant to give it up, considering what it meant, I pushed past my reluctance and handed it to her.
She snatched it up and twisted hard on her foot, the heel of her simple shoes grinding against the stone. She tipped forward and fell down to one knee in front of McCain’s comatose body.
I watched her carefully, and though she was still in a trance, I saw an unmistakable twitch cross through her pale, freckled cheeks.
I still couldn’t comprehend how she could love this man considering everything he’d done.
Mary placed the contract down on the floor directly in front of one of McCain’s massive arms, and the pages started to flutter open.
They settled somewhere in the center of the book. Mary continued to chant, and I swear it was her words alone that were controlling the wind, almost as if it were attracted to her every inhalation and utterance.
Tight, prickly nerves climbed up and down my back, scattering through my stomach and pulsing through my heart.
Mary’s words became louder as the wind now raced through the room with such speed, it flattened against my body and started to push me backward. “What’s going on?” I begged.
Mary didn’t answer. I doubted she could spare the breath.
Though the wind touched everything else in the room, for some reason, it couldn’t affect McCain. It didn’t scatter his short hair, didn’t tug at his shirt.
No. He remained perfectly silent and still as if he were cast out of stone.
As the wind reached its most
