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Back Seasons of Chaos
Chapters (70)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. Epilogue
  66. Acknowledgments
  67. About the Author
  68. Books by Elle Cosimano
  69. Back Ad
  70. About the Publisher

The magic inside me stirs as I follow the Prime Meridian north, responding to the low thrum of the massive ley line’s power under my feet. Through it, I feel connected to the entire universe. If I close my eyes, I can almost see the mesh of the world—a map of time and space—every electromagnetically charged line glowing under the surface of the earth.

The Trinity Hospital bell tolls from the chapel ahead, the low bong muted by the gusting wind. Somewhere close, a lock snaps open and the smell of trash blows from the next street. I cut east, following the scent into a parking lot near Highbridge Wharf. A teenage boy exits an apartment, hunched into his coat, sleet pelting his shaggy hair. A trash bag swings from his hand as he crosses the parking lot to a waste receptacle.

Fleur bristles beside me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m doing all of us a favor.” Fleur grabs my sleeve as I break stride with her to follow him, her grasp slipping as I lunge for the boy’s collar.

The boy drops his bag, tin and glass clattering inside it as I take him around the neck and hold a knife to his side.

“Relax,” I tell him, “this will all be over soon.”

“Doug! No! What are you doing!”

The boy arcs forward as I plunge the blade in. He clutches his coat, the thick wool concealing the blood. Fleur’s panic sets the magic inside me buzzing. Her wide eyes leap from the windows of the boy’s apartment to the empty street behind us. The last toll of the church bell rings and dies.

“The world needs Seasons, Fleur. He’s dying. Show me how to save him.”

“I don’t know how! I can’t!”

“I’ve seen you do it.”

I search her eyes. See her mind search and grasp the same memory. She’s sitting in a glade of wildflowers. A butterfly’s perched on her face. Sommers freezes it, killing the thing in some stupid display of his magic, or maybe just to piss her off, payback after she’d hurt him. Fleur cups the butterfly in her hand. Blows into her fingers. The butterfly flies away.

“You know how to do this,” I say, holding the kid up by his coat. “You can bring him back. It’s the same damn thing.”

“That was an insect! That was small magic! It took me years to figure out how!” she cries, clutching her head. “He’s a human. A person. I’m not strong enough for that!”

“Then he dies.”

“You’re a monster!”