Neven cleared her throat. “I would—”
“No, wait.” I scraped together my courage. “I have more to say. What do you want from me?”
“Are you unfamiliar with the concept of the Chosen One, or . . .?”
“First I’m not proactive enough, then I’m overeager. First I fail and get myself killed, then I’m too sensible by not risking getting killed. First you send support from other dimensions, then I’m cowardly for accepting help. First you freaking turn back time so I have a chance to save the world, then you scoff at me when I succeed . . . What do you want?”
The Power bored its eyes into mine. My eyes were normally brown; the Power’s eyes were similar, but a hazy glow obscured the color, turning even the pupils a cool gray. “We want you to be a hero. This means: To be proactive, but not eager. Heroic, but not foolish. Clever, but not arrogant. Brave, but not brash. Kind, but not meek. Independent, but not selfish. Practical, but not boring. Rebellious, but not irresponsible. Among other things.”
“Is that all?” I threw up my hands. “Couldn’t you have told me that sooner?”
“Couldn’t you have investigated the rift in your backyard sooner?” It sounded downright snarky. “Neven might’ve had a chance to mold you properly. As it is, you’ve failed. I’d apologize for taking up your time, but you’ve wasted an awful lot of mine, so let’s call it even. Enjoy your apocalypse.”
“Wait!” Rainbow said. The Power’s glow had started to fade, but now it welled back up. “That’s it? You’re leaving the rift open and abandoning us here? How are we supposed to go home?”
“I genuinely do not care.”
Tara stepped forward. “You can turn back time?”
“Only by a minute,” Neven said.
“So you can open portals,” she said, eyeing the Power like she expected it to correct her, “send girls and dragons and trolls from other dimensions and turn back time, but you can’t close the rift or send them home? That makes no sense!”
“It could easily send them home,” Neven said, “but it won’t. It could even close the rift, in a fashion.”
The Power shot her a dirty look. “This is outside your job description.”
“My job is to help Hazel avert an apocalypse.” Neven stared at the Power without blinking.
I raised a hand. “Hold up. I thought the Powers couldn’t fix this. Wasn’t that why they needed me to succeed so badly? Wasn’t I supposed to be their last hope?”
“The Powers That Be cannot close the rift itself,” Neven said. “They can close off the dimension, though. It’d be akin to boarding up a kicked-down door. The door remains broken, yet nothing can go in or out. Any connection with the Powers That Be or other worlds becomes impossible.”
“Permanently.” The look the Power shot Neven went from dirty to murderous. “It’s quite drastic.”
“The equivalent of encasing a house in seven tons of concrete to fix a drafty window,” Neven agreed. “Doesn’t mean it’s not effective.”
“Does mean it’s not an option.”
“Do it,” I pleaded. “Bring the others home, and do it. I’m the one who failed. Don’t punish them for that. Or an entire world.”
“You must earn your happy endings,” the Power said. “Rewarding you with a happy ending despite your disastrous failure would be unfair to heroes who worked for it. Besides, your failure is bad enough—if I shut off access to an entire dimension, I’d lose my job. Don’t worry: The rift will sort itself out in a few decades. The fabric of nature is fairly resilient.”
Chills ran down my spine. I stared at my mirror image, cold and bright and entirely inhuman.
It smiled a thin, fake smile.
Decades?
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Now.” The Power’s smile faded. “Though I appreciate your feedback, I’ll stick with my original plan—”
“Wait!” I said.
It stepped back. “—and simply cut my losses.”
“What if we didn’t fail?” I hated how desperate I sounded. “If it’s about us beating the trolls properly, we could still win, right? There’s some trolls left. If we strengthen them—maybe by waking up Alpha—we could have a do-over. If the coma worked, there could be other options we overlooked. We could find the solution ourselves this time. I could do all the work. Please!”
Irritably, the Power crossed its arms. “Reviving a subdued threat is hardly heroic.”
A car went past the clinic, its engine a sharp hum in the silence of the night. It felt as though the world had shrunk to a bubble: Four identical girls, a confused local, a dragon, and a near-omnipotent extradimensional entity, deciding the fate of the world.
A world that, for now, still existed around us.
That didn’t know how badly I’d failed it.
“Excuse me.” So far, Neven had eyed the Power as a guard dog might: tense, her eyes never leaving her target. Now she stretched her legs, letting that tension seep away, and sat down with her wings folded behind her. “You’re upset over your hero’s failure.”
“Perceptive.”
“I have a suggestion: Allow Hazel to try again. The trolls were a means to an end, after all. It wasn’t about them. It was about saving the world. She still could.”
“You want me to introduce a simpler threat? One even she could handle?”
“Oh, I think the past thirty or so hours have been very educational for her. Right, Hazel?” Neven obliquely thumped her tail against my uninjured shin. I nodded fervently. The other Hazels followed, our heads bobbing as one.
“So educational!” I said.
“See?” Neven went on. “You don’t need to introduce an easier threat, or any new threat at all. A threat already exists. One that’s become very personal. I know how much you all love personal stakes. Certainly, if Hazel succeeds, she’d prove her heroism?”
The Power pursed its lips. “You believe Hazel can close the rift. Seems unlikely.”
My head snapped to face Neven. Even the Powers That Be couldn’t close the rift, and Neven thought I could? Using what, duct tape? I bit my tongue. After centuries
