The journey home lasted four days and three nights on a train that coiled through the highlands. We clung to the sides of mountains, took dizzying sidewinder turns, and crossed bridges that soared above crystalline water. We went through tunnels, six of them—pitch-black shoots of space that stole time. I spent those days on the train half remembering, half dreaming. Expecting, at the train’s every jostle and heave, a spectacular crash.
When we at last pulled into the station in my hometown, my father was waiting for me on the platform. He was alone.
“Where’s Miles?” I asked as we performed a stiff hug.
“At Julia’s. He wants you to meet him there.” My father swung my suitcase into the car. “Come on home and get settled first. I’ll make you lunch.”
At home, our front lawn was transformed into a vegetable garden. Kale and lettuce, plus a jumble of what I’d later learn were onions, garlic, beans, and squash, grew in raised beds. Tomato cages filled the northwest corner. I clutched my backpack to my chest and studied the garden in silence.
“You did all this?” I asked.
“Who else?” he said, and heaved my suitcase out of the car. “Not your brother. He’s barely home, and when he is, he doesn’t eat. I don’t know what he lives on.”
My father headed inside, and I followed. During the drive home, I’d been uneasy over how we’d spend our time together. I imagined him pouring a beer and sitting silently in the living room. Instead, he headed straight to the kitchen, where he sliced an acorn squash down the middle and rubbed a baking sheet with oil. I went upstairs to my old room to unpack, but within moments I lay down and closed my eyes. It should have been a comfort, to return to my childhood bed, but all I could think of was my dormitory back at the school.
After a while, I gave up trying to nap and went downstairs. The kitchen smelled like garlic and butter. The table was set for two. I eased into a chair and let my father serve me: salad, acorn squash, garlic bread, plus sparkling water poured into a wineglass.
“This is delicious.” I took another bite of squash, which was stuffed with wild rice, mushrooms, and spices. “I remember when you used to say you were fated to be a bad cook. Guess you were wrong.”
He laughed a little. “I suppose so.”
Our conversation drifted into silence. I observed my father as he ate. He looked thinner, and younger, somehow, even though nearly two years had passed since I’d seen him. We couldn’t afford train tickets for visits after my tuition.
After a few moments, he cleared his throat. “Your letters made it sound like you loved school.”
“I did.”
“An early graduation is unusual,” he said. “I thought maybe something happened.”
I avoided his gaze. “Professor Reed thought I was ready.”
My father put down his fork and stared down at the table, as if steeling himself. Then he pushed back his chair and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with the phone in hand, the cord uncoiling behind him.
“Here,” he said. “It’s your mother.”
I was holding my fork so tightly it hurt. “Please, Dad.”
He thrust the phone in front of me. “Talk.”
I took the phone and pressed it to my ear. The cord had to stretch so far from the kitchen that it pulled taut; I could feel the tension in it.
“Celeste.” My mother’s voice sounded far away. “I’m so glad you’re home safely. But your father is worried about you.”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
The connection sizzled like a firework. “I couldn’t be prouder of you for graduating so quickly. You always were a star student.” A sound like rustling papers drifting through the line. “I miss you terribly, but they need me here. If it’s all the same, I think I’ll carry out this assignment before coming home.”
“How long will that take?”
“No more than a month or two.”
Professor Reed had been right that time was too short. The tarot could reach either my mother or my father in mere weeks. And Miles—my parents deserved to have time with Miles before it was too late.
I took a breath. “I’m sorry to do this, but I need you to come home. Right away.”
My mother paused. “Something’s wrong,” she said finally. “I knew it.”
“I’ll explain when I see you. Just come home.” I was about to cry, and it came through in my voice. My father sat across from me, watching without a word.
“I’ll have to request emergency leave to exit this assignment.”
“Then do it.” I blinked to hold in tears.
“All right, Celeste.” Her voice was resolved. “I’ll file my request today.”
If my mother was grieving the loss of her career, she hadn’t let her voice betray it. Maybe she believed she’d be able to return to her post. Surely no part of her saw it coming, how the time we had left with Miles was diminishing day by day. In a few months he’d turn twenty, and sometime within that coming year, he would be gone. To not know any more than that was agony. It was unfair. It was the way of fate.
Later, I wedged the tarot deck the best I could into the back pocket of my pants and headed for Julia’s. Everything along the way looked the same and yet smaller, less significant. Living at the Mountain School had skewed my perception.
Once in the interpretation district, I drew to a stop near Julia’s townhouse. Chloe’s storefront across the street was boarded up, the sign ripped clean off. I stared at it until a familiar voice called out behind me. I turned and there she was: Julia with her flyaway hair, her uniform of jeans and a fitted dress shirt. The sight of her made me long for my mother. I was so surprised by this desire that I started to cry, right there in the street.
“Oh, Celeste.” Julia hurried down her front steps and embraced me.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. I wasn’t even sure what I was apologizing for—for keeping secrets, for leaving, for not coming back sooner.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She smoothed my hair. “You’re home now. Come inside.”
She guided me toward her townhouse. Inside, everything looked the same as I remembered, save for the cluster of girls and a few of their mothers waiting in the parlor. I turned my face from them. I could feel the tarot deck crammed too tightly in my back pocket.
“Our client list is growing. Girls from farther away are hearing what your brother can do, and they find their way here, whether on their own or with the support of a parent,” Julia said. “But as long as the prediction isn’t in Mapping the Future, it’s unofficial, underground. I think for some of them, coming here for a reading is like a game. That’s one of our challenges—convincing them it’s real.”
I understood, without Julia saying so, that my presence could help. I was living proof that juvenile markings had predicted my abduction.
“The three of us have a lot of work to do,” I said.
“Four.” Julia gave me a tense smile. “We have help from someone else, too.”
She pressed the intercom button near the entryway and spoke into it. A moment later, a girl of about fifteen entered the room from the back hallway. At first, I could only register that she was a changeling. I hadn’t seen a changeling girl in a long time, not since before leaving for the mountain, and her presence was like a cold splash of water in my face. But she was not just any girl.
She was Angel, Chloe’s niece.
My mouth felt dry. I couldn’t speak.
“You remember Angel,” Julia said. “Chloe’s in the hospital, so Angel has been staying with me.”
Angel approached, her eyes cutting straight to me. She held out her hand, but I didn’t move. After a long moment, she dropped it.
“Chloe has cirrhosis of the liver,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “She won’t get better, but Julia says I can stay here.”
I could feel Julia watching me.
“That’s terrible. I’m sorry, Angel.” My concern felt performative, and I could only think of how Chloe had helped trap girls like me. I had to remind myself that Angel was no longer Chloe’s helper but a changeling—a young woman living through perhaps the most dangerous time of her life.
“Life’s not fair, is it,” Angel said. Her tone was flat. “You should know that more than anyone.”
“Angel’s been enormously helpful,” Julia put in. “She takes reservations and joins Miles during exams to put the clients at ease. She’s become vital to our process.”
I felt an envious twinge, a fleeting belief that it should have been me working with my brother, not Angel. But I’d left without looking back.
“Where’s Miles?” I asked. “I’d expected him to meet me at the train station.”
“He’s had clients all day, but he’ll be done before long. He’s excited to see you.”
“It’s true,” Angel said, a touch of sourness in her voice. “He’s been talking about it for days.”
I looked at Angel, really taking her in this time. As a changeling, she was beautiful, but she was also more than this radiant transformation. She was a teenage girl, clear-eyed and certain. She was not that different from my friends on the mountain. She was not so different from me.
“I have to ask,” I began. “Did Miles check you before you changed?”
“Yes, of course, and I don’t have the abduction marking.” She seemed a bit exasperated. “Most girls don’t, you know. We’re not all as unlucky as you.”
I fell silent. Angel didn’t believe in luck, and neither did I. We believed in fate.
“If you wait here, Miles will be out soon,” Angel added. She moved to the appointment book in the corner and began jotting notes in the margin. I hovered for a moment, then took a seat in the parlor with girls still waiting for a reading. They peered my way curiously, but did not engage.
Time passed. Behind me, I thought I felt the air change in the room. A minor disturbance, a new energy entering.
“Celeste.”
I hadn’t heard him speak in so long. The sound of his voice was the same, almost as familiar as my own. I rose from my seat and slowly turned around. Miles stood in the doorway wearing a white lab coat. He was noticeably thin—so much thinner than when I had last seen him. His skin seemed pale, his eyes red-rimmed, damp. I barely recognized him.
He took a step toward me but stopped short. I did the same. We had let too much time pass and didn’t know how to be around each other. Our time apart, how we’d aged, the guilt and secrets and regrets—I could see it all on his face, just as surely as he could find it in mine. We were twins and strangers at once, still trapped on opposite sides of a coin.
And the coin was in the air, turning over itself, dropping fast.
We were both waiting for it to land.