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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

Dust and loose papers drift to the floor. When the last of the tremors has stilled, the four remaining members of the old Guard—my Guard—rise slowly to their feet. With wide eyes, they stare at the blackened hollow in my face. I avoid their gazes, afraid of what I might see inside them. Arms braced on Gaia’s desk, I hang my head over the orb, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do next.

9

Promises to Keep

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JACK

I’m light-headed and drenched to the bone when I finally lumber off the treadmill and head to my office for my meeting with Lyon. I ease into my rolling chair and slide to my keyboard, checking messages as I await his call. An email arrives from Poppy, complete with a selfie of Chill wearing a snow-crusted parka beside an elevation sign at the foot of an Alaskan mountain pass. My throat tightens and I close the attachment, switching to check the weather feeds instead.

Nothing but blue skies and perfect spring weather for a hundred miles in every direction, with the exception of the same small cluster of persistent heavy clouds that have hovered over our villa all week.

The front door shuts. I turn on the security feeds in time to see Fleur reach the end of the cobblestone driveway. Her GPS light flashes red on another screen as she rounds the bend, heading to her school. She wore her transmitter this morning without a reminder or an argument. And when I went to the kitchen for coffee, all the tourism clippings she’d stuck to the fridge had been quietly taken down. Our new visas and passports came by courier a few days ago, along with the travel vouchers from Lyon. I tucked them in a drawer as soon as the delivery driver was gone.

I check the network connection as I wipe sweat from my brow. Already three songs into my playlist, I’m more than ready for a cold shower. Where the hell is Lyon? It’s not like him to be late. I try the number for his office and listen through fifteen rings before finally giving up. Slouching back in my chair, I stare at the ceiling, thinking about all the things I yearn to talk to him about and don’t know how. About the travel vouchers in the drawer. About all the reasons Fleur doesn’t want us to go back, and all the reasons I feel like I need to.

A video call notification pops up on my screen. Something inside me unwinds as I sit up and click the mouse to connect.

“Hey, Professor.” I pause my music, waiting for the camera to catch up and his face to appear.

“Not last time I checked.” I glance up, not entirely disappointed to see Amber on the screen.

“Hey. I can’t talk long. Waiting on a call from Lyon. What’s up?”