That was kind of a loose definition of a diary, but I didn’t point that out. Quite rightly, I had other things to concentrate on right now.
I returned my attention to the still crackling knife, my eyes growing truly wide as the sparks crackling over the tip looked strong enough to burn my hand into a cinder.
I took another rattling swallow. “What happens now?”
“Now, you return home to the future. You take that knife, and you use it to destroy the final contract.”
“Final contract?” I pointedly looked down at the spot where the contract had rested before Mary had dramatically destroyed it. “Haven’t you already dealt with that?”
“Only one of them. For another exists. The one McCain took from the past to the future.”
I shook my head. This time travel stuff could get mightily confusing.
“You must destroy it with that knife.”
“Hold on, I’ve seen McCain in the future, and he sure as hell isn’t carrying around a great big book.”
“It is likely that he has transmuted the book into another form. An object he is always keeping with him.”
I opened my mouth to object but stopped as an image slammed into my mind.
I offered a tight nod. “I think I know what the contract is. It’s his sword.”
Mary let out a wry chuckle. “Aye, that’s his style. Now, child,” she pressed forward, plucked up my hands, and wrapped them tightly in her own, “you must destroy that sword.”
I took a rattling gulp. “To do that, I have to get it from him first, and that’s going to be impossible.”
“It won’t be impossible, for you will find a way. Once you have destroyed the sword, turn on McCain.” As she spoke, her gaze became immeasurably darker, as if her eyeballs had been transported into deep space.
My stomach shook as my lips jolted open. “Sorry? Turn on McCain?”
“You must stab him through the heart with that knife.”
Cold, sickly expectation slammed into my stomach and threatened to make me retch.
Mary shook her head. “No, it won’t kill him. It will return the remnants of Max’s soul to McCain. It’s the only way to make McCain whole again, the only way to finally remove the curse and the only way to bring him back to normal.”
I couldn’t say a word. I just stood there, open mouthed as I stared at her, her hands pressing tighter against my own.
“You can do this, child. For the future has waited too long for you. I’ve waited too long for you.”
Her words and the look in her eye finally jolted me out of my reverie. “What do you mean you’ve been waiting too long for me? You exist in the past. How do you even know I exist?”
“Future sight.” She plucked one of her hands off mine and tapped a stiff finger against the side of her head. “As I said, I used some of the last of my true power to sight you. And now you’re here you must finally do what the rest of us McLanes could not. Use your special power to end this.”
“Special power? What are you talking about?” Excitement and hope swelled in my heart as I realized I was about to find the answers I’d been desperately searching for.
I didn’t get the chance.
Before Mary could answer, she twisted her head to the side in a tight, obviously desperate move, her pale eyes growing wide. “You must go. You must go. McCain is hurting your friends. Close to killing them. Go.”
With that, Mary McLane locked a hand on my shoulder and shoved me backward.
I expected to tip over and knock my head against the edge of the table. I didn’t. Darkness opened up behind me, and the scene in the cottage simply drifted away. The last thing I saw was Mary’s grim but determined expression. Her lips parted open, and she whispered, “good luck.”
That word echoed through my mind as I finally arrived back in the future.
Chapter 8
I landed face-first in a pile of gravel, my chest bouncing up and down as I struggled for air. It took several seconds until the residual effects of the spell waned, and I could control my body once more. Warily, shaking from head to foot, I pushed into a seated position.
And I saw the destruction.
It was a war zone. I’d never seen anything like it in my whole life. Nothing from TV, nothing from my worst nightmare. It was like the scene was being choreographed by the Devil himself.
I pushed up to my knees, and I had to duck back down as a metal pole appeared from somewhere and whistled overhead. As it shot past my face, it flattened my fringe over my sweat-caked head.
“Jesus,” I spat as I rolled forward, punching to my feet.
The dagger slipped off my lap and tumbled to the gravel, dashing against my shoe.
I had just a second to stare down at it before someone sailed out of the shadows of a mound of trash to my side. At first, my gut tensed as I thought it was McCain.
It wasn’t. It was Jim.
“Hey, Chi,” he said in that same chipper tone he always managed even in the direst of situations.
Before I had the chance to return the greeting, he scooped forward, looped an arm through mine, and pulled me backward. “McCain’s attacking,” he managed through tense breaths that tore through his sternum like waves from a tsunami.
Before he could pull me away, I resisted, fell down to my knee, and plucked up the sacred knife with my free hand.
“What’s that?” Jim turned over his shoulder, his
