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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

Jack’s scent grows stronger as I near the park. I slide off the footpath, checking to make sure no one’s looking before scaling the trunk of an oak tree and climbing to a high branch. I’m struck by a stab of déjà vu as I hide in the leaves, waiting for him. It could be two years ago. Or ten years, or even twenty. Suddenly, it feels as if I’m hunting Jack all over again, the discomfiting familiarity giving way to a nagging guilt as Jack rounds the bend in the path.

His legs and arms pump hard, the front of his shirt darkened with a deep V of sweat. I lose sight of him as he veers into the grass, his bright white sneakers leaping a fence of stacked stones.

Where the hell is he going?

Summoning an adjacent branch, I leap cautiously from tree to tree, chasing his scent until I’m near enough to catch sight of him. He’s not running anymore.

Sunlight skips off the blade of a knife. Panic flares inside me as a man presses it to Jack’s throat.

I reach out with my mind into the soft ground, searching for a root. Grabbing hold of the nearest one, I stretch it toward Jack and the men as they argue. Jack jerks his arm away from them, their voices rising. His elbow snaps back, and one of the men goes down with a grunt. My view is obscured by leaves and flowers. They’re all moving, hard to see. Jack throws a punch, then whirls, kicking the one behind him to the ground. The knife’s blade glimmers as it flashes through the branches, and the air suddenly grows redolent of blood. Blood that smells faintly of Winter.

Jack!

My root lashes toward them. A strand of ivy uncoils from a branch, snatching the blade from the man’s hands and tossing it away from him. Jack clutches his neck. Red trickles from under his fingers. My feet itch to run to him, but I stay hidden, using the root to jerk Jack’s attackers off their feet. The first man squeals as I drag him backward into the brush. Jack turns and throws a swing, but I’ve already got the second man by the ankles. With a sharp pull of my thoughts, he hits the ground, a shocked breath rushing out of him.

The men cry out, scrambling to their feet as if the ground’s on fire, all but forgetting whatever it was they wanted from Jack as they sprint away through the trees. Jack touches his neck as he watches them go. I release my hold on the roots and they retreat under the ground before anyone else sees.