BooksBarbecue
Back Seasons of Chaos Save as PDF
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

Jack plants a kiss on the tip of my nose. With a sigh, he sits up and reaches for the staff in the umbrella stand.

61

All the Difference

image

One Month Later

JACK

Glass clinks, a pile of glittering shards collecting in the dustpan as I sweep them from the rug. Some are thick and curved, remnants of the orb Lyon smashed when he freed my smaze. Others are thin and flat, pieces of the framed poster I shattered to find Lyon’s last letter.

Amber offered to send a custodial crew to handle it for me. But the thought of sending a cleaning crew, or even using a vacuum in this room, seemed wrong—the noise, the speed, the distant efficiency of it—like something Lyon wouldn’t do. Lyon believed in doing the work. He believed in quietly and thoughtfully sweeping your problems toward you. That the simple act of kneeling to scoop up your own mess and discarding the broken pieces could be a lesson in itself. Everything was a lesson to Lyon. And even after a month as Chronos, I still have so much to learn.

It was hard to unlock his office door and step into this space a month ago. Seeing it this way, remembering Lyon was gone for good, had cracked something inside me all over again. But as I turn over a chair and set it on its feet, sliding the drawers back inside his desk and straightening his blotter, I’m not surprised to realize he’s right. The simple act of picking up his office sweeps the dust and sharp edges from my memories of him, making the space he takes up inside me feel less broken and easier to spend time in.

I drop slowly into his office chair, taking in the view from this side of the desk and wishing I didn’t have to. I would give anything to sit opposite him one more time, to tell him what all his lessons—even the painful ones—meant to me. If my new role has taught me anything, it’s that there is no going back. All we can do is remember our lessons, try to learn from them, and move forward.

I check my watch. The broad platinum band and face match the color and finish of the Staff of Time from which it was made. Not long after I’d inherited it, I hired a retired Summer to melt it down. A watchmaker’s apprentice in his former human life, he molded the ore and built the wristwatch precisely to my specifications. The image of a lion is etched on the back. A small diamond rests on the tip of the hour hand, another on the minute hand, and icons representing each of the four Seasons are embedded at the four cardinal points of the dial.