When I’m ready, I join Elodie and Jago on the platform that I’ve come to think of as the launchpad.
“You have three hours,” Roxane says. “That’s how long the portal remains open. If you need to leave sooner, Elodie has the clicker.”
I look at Elodie, who points to her left earring. Since the device needs to blend into the time period and match the look of whoever’s in charge, it’s made to look different each time. Still, my stomach sinks at the thought of Elodie being given ultimate control of whether I make it back safely.
“That’s three hours,” Roxane repeats, as though I could possibly forget. “If you’re late…” She pauses. “Well, let’s put it this way—don’t be.” The look that follows is grim. And while it accurately conveys the seriousness of the threat behind her words, I’m annoyed by her refusal to speak the more alarming truth:if I’m late, I’ll be stuck in 1745 forever.
“Any questions?” she asks.
I shake my head, swallow past a dry lump in my throat.
“Good. And don’t worry, you’re going to be fine!” Roxane leaves me with an enthusiastic thumbs-up, then she and Keane head for the control room as a thick glass shield rises around Elodie, Jago, and me.
“Ready?” Elodie grasps hold of my hand, as Jago takes the other.
I’ve spent the last four weeks fully immersed in my studies.
I’ve forgone weekends at the Gray Wolf spa—haven’t so much as peeked at the indoor pool, never mind Halcyon, the onsite nightclub everyone raves about—all in an effort to propel myself up the color wheel.
And now I’m here. Facing the final exam that will ultimately determine whether or not I make Blue.
Of course, I’m not ready.
Not even close.
I can’t possibly master a new language and seamlessly blend into a culture totally foreign to my own in just the course of one month.
My stomach plunges to my knees. My heart makes the leap to my throat. Frantically, I look around, searching for Braxton, needing to see his face one last time before I go.
I find him still settled behind the glass in the control room. And though I can’t easily determine his expression, I watch as his finger taps at his chest, reminding me of his gift. Reminding me of who I am, when I am, and the celebration that awaits my return.
I gaze down, set my focus on the blue moon, the glittering star.
“First thing that’ll happen,” Elodie says. “The lights will begin to flicker and the ground will shake. Once the wind starts, whatever you do, donotlet go of our hands.”
I’m reminded of the tremor I experienced during my lunch with Arthur, when I was sure another Unraveling was underway, but all it really meant was that someone at Gray Wolf was heading out on a Trip. And yet, it still strikes me as strange that Tripping and the Unraveling share the same effects.
Elodie’s fingers squeeze mine. I squeeze back. And the next thing I know, my head fills with the scent of sulphur as a huge cloud of vapor billows and expands all around us and a thunderous buzz explodes throughout the room.
With Jago’s hand clasped in mine, and Elodie’s fingernails digging into my palm, I watch with wide, frightened eyes as a flash of dazzling white light zooms toward the gaseous cloud, freezes on contact, and instantly morphs into a glimmering doorway.
Before I can even make sense of the miracle unfolding before me, the wall drops, gravity fails, we lift high off our heels, and a huge rush of wind propels us through the portal and rockets us right out of this time and back into another.