Page 2 of Chasing Eternity

I grip the edge of the mattress, push away from the bed, and restlessly set about pacing my room.

According to Elodie, Arthur is away, but he’ll be back in two days.

As for Killian… All I know for sure is he won’t remain stuck in Renaissance Florence for long. Sooner or later he’ll find his way back, and then what?

Will he rush to tell Arthur how we purposely left him behind?

Or, like Tasha believes, will he make up some kind of excuse so as not to look weak?

With Killian, it’s anyone’s guess.

I collapse onto my worn leather couch, grab the old boot I unearthed from my closet last night, and retrieve the small silver ball Tasha left for me to find.

The Moon.

The storm outside continues to rage, a tempest echoing the chaos inside me as I roll the ball between my forefinger and thumb. This moon, so cold and unyielding in my hand, is a stark reminder of the choices I’ve made, the paths I’ve yet to tread.

To the untrained eye, it doesn’t appear to be anything special. In fact, it’s exactly the sort of thing you’d expect to find at the bottom of a junk drawer.

But for Arthur, this tiny treasure represents yet another triumph in his biggest quest yet—to restore the Antikythera Mechanism, take command over time, and ultimately achieve his one true dream of remaking the world.

I huff a frustrated sigh and return the Moon to the boot. What I need is an ally. Someone I can count on.

As an opponent, Arthur is a formidable force. Not only has he created a culture where we’re made to compete for his favor, but he’s fostered an environment of such deep paranoia it’s impossible to know whom to trust.

And while I won’t claim to know the full extent of it—I’m not sure anyone does—I do know that between the slabs Arthur insists we carry around, and the surveillance equipment he’s rigged everywhere, there’s not much that gets past him.

Not much…and yet, some things still do.

Like the Gray Wolf witches who use the book of magick to travel back and forth between timelines.

Not to mention how, according to rumor, both Song and Anjou used the book, too.

But did they really fly under Arthur’s radar?

Or did he simply not care enough to stop them?

I rake a restless hand through my hair, rise from the couch, and take another lap around my luxurious room. When I arrive at Caravaggio’s portrait of Narcissus, my mind reels in reverse, remembering the day I chose it from Arthur’s Vault, hoping it would serve as a reminder to stay awake, to not allow myself to be hypnotized by Arthur’s world.

For a while it worked. On the outside, I appeared to play by his rules. But inside, I stayed diligent, on high alert. And yet, somewhere along the way, I let my guard down and lost sight of myself. It was only when I met Tasha that I realized I’d let the pursuit of trophies like this take precedence over everything I once cared about.

Turns out Fade doesn’t just happen while Tripping. It happens here too.

Still the question remains: Where and how to begin?

I turn my focus to the items Tasha left alongside her note—a red chalk portrait sketched by the great Leonardo da Vinci himself, and the small gold pocket watch that once belonged to my father.

The same pocket watch I’d spent countless hours playing with as a kid.

I trace a finger over the crystal, then gently flip it over to study the engraving on the back. The Flower of Life—an ancient symbol that’s said to contain the secrets of the universe, the workings of time and space—and a record of all living things.

The same symbol I have inked on the crook of my arm. Though much like my training, the tattoo is unfinished.

I close my fingers over the circles and bury the watch in my fist. The fact that I’m even holding this, after it’s been lost for two centuries, feels like a miracle of sorts.

The watch begins to vibrate, but I’m quick to dismiss it as my mind playing tricks. The pain pills I took before bed have worn off, leaving me lightheaded and woozy.

I make for the sink, thinking I could do with a glass of water and something to eat, when the timepiece begins to shake with such force, it threatens to rocket right off my palm.