"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING, RACHEL?"

Rachel tilted her phone away, but Chloe's tirade still came shrilling at her like angry wasps. She was glad to have picked the wings of the Blackwell Auditorium's stage to have this conversation.

"You went to face Sean Prescott by yourself without telling us, without backup, without a plan, then afterward, you couldn't even bring yourself to send that human turd straight to hell? Mother-of-fucking-god!"

"It's a lot more complicated than that, Chloe—and last I checked, you were the one who said it was my choice!"

"Well, your choices suck ass! Don't forget you choose for the rest of us and we have to live with the consequences!"

"Oh, you want to do this by committee? What, so we can wait three years before anything gets done?"

"If we had a committee, maybe it would keep you from changing your fucking mind so much!"

Before Rachel could retort, Max said in the background, "Let me talk to her." Rachel released the pent-up air in her lungs as a soft voice came on the phone.

"Hi, Rachel."

"Hey Max," she huffed. "Gonna play the good cop now?"

"Please don't bite my head off. I just wanna know if you're okay."

"I'm—" Rachel swallowed, then gave a little laugh. "I can't remember the last time I was okay. What about you?"

"Same." Max's sigh was dredged from the bottom of her lungs. "I wish this were over. I can't stand this—this waiting for the next horrible thing that's going to happen. I can't sleep when I think about it."

The tremble in her voice gave Rachel pause. "I won't let anything happen to you," she said. "To any of you."

"I know you won't," Max replied. "But right now, I'm more worried about what'll happen to you."

"Max..." Rachel shut her eyes and imagined her sitting within reach, brown hair all tousled and bright blue eyes watching her, close enough to give and receive comfort. "I wish I could tell you everything I'm going to do ahead of time, but—I can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to put you in danger. I didn't want to bring you or Chloe with me without knowing who'd be waiting for us at Prescott's home. If those Twins had been there to protect him, there would've been a fight—and being honest, Max, even when I caught him alone, I didn't want you to see what I'd end up doing."

"But you didn't go through with it," Max said. "You didn't kill him."

"Yeah." Rachel looked up to the high ceiling where the floodlights hung. "He—he started talking about Nathan. And when he did, I couldn't get past the idea that, despicable as Prescott is, he's a father too. I didn't want someone else in this town to lose their dad." She paused, swallowing the bitter taste on her tongue. "Guess you could call me sentimental."

"I call it showing mercy."

"I might've made a mistake."

"Even if that's true, it proves I was right about you all along, Rachel. Deep down, you're a good person."

Despite herself, Rachel shut her eyes and smiled. Was it such a crime to feel this good whenever Max praised her? "And what if we don't need a good person to win? What if it's better to kill without remorse?"

"Chloe and I won't give up on you. We'll make sure you'll follow the Pirate Code."

"The Pirate Code?"

"We make our own rules, but we stick by them. And one of those rules is we don't go places the others won't. Okay, Rachel?"

"...Okay, Max." She took a breath to clear her head. It was time to talk about the information she had learned.

"Max, I need you to listen to me. Prescott told me all about Dionysus and what they want. These Volden Twins—they work for Dionysus and they're bad news, like actual fucking supervillains. They've got powers. I need all of you to be careful and stay the hell away from them."

Rachel took a few minutes to describe Dionysus, the Twins, their powers, and their vehicle. "Max, this is very important—if you see them, you run and hide, then call me. And whatever happens, never, never look that woman in the eye."

"Okay," Max confirmed. "What's the deal with the Theater? You didn't get that info from Prescott."

"It's fine. Once Brooke breaks the encryption on those files, we'll have the answers we need. But for now, promise me—stay away from the Twins. And I need you and Chloe to be safe."

"We will be." Max paused for a moment, then said. "I want to see you, Rachel. I think it would be better if you were here with us."

"Max," Rachel shut her eyes again. The temptation to go was nearly overwhelming. "I want to see you too. But I can't, not yet. They know who I am now and might be watching. I won't endanger any of you, so I'm gonna find them before they find you."

"Are you really going to do everything on your own?"

"Like I said, I won't risk you."

Max was quiet for a moment. "Maybe you don't need to," she said slowly.

Chloe kicked an empty paint can out of her way, sending it spinning toward the railroad tracks. Rather than listen to Max and Rachel talk, she wandered to the back of their hideout to smoke and cool off.

She whipped around the corner of the shack and nearly tripped over Lulu. The girl was crouched before a pile of sticks and leaves, sifting through the herbs they'd brought her and placing them in a ceramic bowl. She looked up at Chloe's approach. If Lulu had heard all the shouting earlier, she didn't seem bothered by it.

"Are all Incarnates this bullheaded?" Chloe blurted out.

Lulu shrugged and went back to mixing the herbs in her bowl. "Maybe. My Gramma once told me I could've been one, and she sometimes said I was a little shit. So yeah, that's probably fair."

The deadpan answer came as such a surprise that Chloe nearly burst out laughing. Only the thought of Tuhudda and Ada dead kept the humor at bay. I wonder if she'd rather be alone right now. But then, I remember wishing I could talk to someone after my dad died, even if it was specifically Max.

Then again, Chloe had a tough time knowing exactly what to say to the Native girl. Having a glass shard held to your neck wasn't the best conversation starter.

"Need help with that?" Chloe said.

Without looking up, Lulu replied, "I've got this part, but you could start a fire for me."

"Setting stuff on fire. Yeah, that's right up my alley." Chloe crouched down by the pile of leaves and branches and took out her lighter. A moment later, a fire was burning hungrily through the pile. Lulu gave a single approving nod.

Chloe sat with her back to the hideout. As the silence settled around them, she wondered what they could talk about that wouldn't end up as awkward as every other conversation she'd had with perfect strangers.

Lulu said, "So is Rachel your girlfriend or something?"

Chloe blinked. "…wuh?"

"It's the way you two fight, the way you protect her. Seems you got history."

"Not that it's your business, but she's not! Anymore. I mean—y-you know what, it's not your business, so forget it!"

"I mean I'd like to. But given she's the whole reason why I'm here, her state of mind is kind of my priority."

"Well, she wasn't angry enough about one of our friends getting killed to waste Prescott. D'you think that's a red flag?"

Lulu gave another shrug. "The week's still young," she replied. "My tribe has a saying—'Good and evil cannot live in the same home.' Now that they see each other clearly, they have no choice—one has to destroy the other. And in the end, Prescott is just a man."

"Seems like he's got friends in high places, though."

That gave Lulu pause. "She'll beat them," she concluded. "I know she will."

"Because...?"

"Because she must." Lulu gave a grim smile, then her expression grew pensive. "Actually, I'm more concerned about you."

"Wha—me?"

The other girl nodded. "I came here to guide the Incarnate but see she already has all the help she needs. Your friend is trying to steal Dionysus's secrets, Max is trying to regain her powers—but what about you, Chloe? What will you do?"

"I—" Chloe rummaged through her brain for a witty reply and came up with nothing. "Why even ask me?" she grumbled, rubbing her nape. "I'm not the one with superpowers. All I have is a smart mouth and a halfway decent left hook. What have I got to contribute?"

Lulu regarded her for a moment. "More than you think. But you don't have to figure it out."

"What does that even mean?"

"Sometimes, the will to do whatever it takes is enough. Or at least that's what my Gramma liked to say."

"Yeah?" Chloe kicked a twig into the fire. "You know, your Gramma was a badass."

"She was."

"I just wish the girl I'm doing shit for wasn't such a pain in the butt."

"Says a lot about your taste in girls."

That got a laugh out of Chloe. "You know what, your Gramma was right. You can be a little shit."

When Max finished her call with Rachel, she found Chloe and Lulu at the back of the hideout, smoking cigarettes as they crouched before a small fire. She stood at the corner, staring bemusedly at them. It was admittedly weird to see Chloe bonding with someone outside their circle. Then again, Chloe knew what it was like to lose a loved one. Scratch that—they all knew by now.

"Hey," Max said.

"Hay is for horses," Chloe replied, looking up from her place. "So. Did you get something useful out of the Arcadia Bay Goddess?"

"Yeah, I did—no thanks to you. Did you have to rile her up like that? We're all on edge as it is."

Chloe waved her cigarette. "She acts on her own and then doesn't finish the job. She broke a basic DnD rule, for fuck's sakes!"

"Never split the party?"

"Never leave enemies behind you!"

Max sighed. "I think we've broken every rule by now. Look, just ease off a bit, please? We're on the same side here."

"Tch. Fine." Chloe tapped the ash from her cigarette. It was odd for her to be this agreeable; maybe hanging with Lulu calmed her down. "So did you learn anything important or what?"

"I did." Max quickly relayed all she learned about Dionysus and the Twins.

"Okay, so," Chloe said, frowning in thought. "Dionysus is basically SPECTRE for supernatural beings and the Twins are their Oddjob."

"You're mixing movies but yeah, that's about right. And if they're as strong as Rachel says, it's absolutely important I get my powers back."

She turned to Lulu, who was watching her thoughtfully. "I'm going to have to ask you again," Lulu said. "Do you really want to go through with this?"

"What's the matter?" Chloe butted in. "You don't think it's going to work?"

"Frankly, no." Lulu flicked her cigarette into the fire and stared into the flames. "Spirits and other beings of power have rules that we don't know about."

"Thought they made their own rules."

"The more powerful you are, the more rules you have to follow. Our tribes have had our shamans and wise women, but the spirit only ever gave powers to the Incarnate. No one else."

"But it gave me time powers," Max argued. "It made me an exception. That's how I got back to the past. If I can reason with it—"

"You being in the past poses another problem, Max. The spirit may not recognize you. There's no telling how it may react."

"...I still want to try. Even if there's a small chance this could work, I'll take it."

Lulu inhaled deeply, then picked up her bowl. "Alright. Sit by the fire and get comfortable."

When Max did so, Lulu raised her head, drew in a breath, and said a few words in her native tongue. Meanwhile, Chloe sat down next to Max and took her hand. Max gave her a reassuring smile, hoping she wouldn't notice the rush of her pulse. It wasn't just because of the danger either.

Lulu turned in all four directions, breathing out at each one. When she faced Max again, she knelt and held out the bowl filled with the herbs they'd bought for her—pine, cedar, mugwort, white sage, and others Max couldn't identify.

"I'm going to bring you into a trance now, Max," Lulu explained. "It will let you slip into the spirit's realm."

"Is that like another dimension?" asked Chloe.

"More like a dreamworld, a state where you perceive things outside of your normal senses." Lulu picked up a burning twig, dropped it into the bowl, and held it under Max's nose. Smoky tendrils wafted up, giving a sweet, earthy scent. A single whiff made her thoughts fuzzy.

"These herbs are quite strong," Lulu said. "Once the ritual is done, you're going to be out of it for a while."

Max nodded to show she understood; her tongue felt too thick to talk. She breathed it in.

"And one more thing, Max. You might see visions that are not meant for you. They may frighten or confuse you, but ignore them. Focus on what you came for. Okay?"

Her voice seemed soft and dull, like Max was hearing her underwater. She tried to grip Chloe's hand harder but it was no use. Her eyelids drifted shut as all feeling left her skin.

The last thing she heard before slipping away was Chloe saying, "I'm right here for you, Max."

Max jolted awake and was confronted by darkness. The surrounding night was black but not silent; the forest was alive with the noise of cicadas and the wind in the leaves above. She nearly shrieked when a pine cone fell next to her foot. The leaves crunched beneath her legs as she looked wildly about. She was alone in the woods, just like when she was a little girl.

The night air bit into her skin and left her shivering. Part of her wanted to shrink against the forest floor and hide, but she pushed her back against the tree behind her and forced herself to sit up. If she had made it here, she was meant to be here.

Then she wasn't alone. Up ahead, a slow-moving orange light wove between the trees. She shook her head and focused, straining in the darkness. She hadn't imagined it—she heard voices. "Hello?" she called out. "Is someone there?"

The voices drifted closer, the light brighter. Did she get their attention? Putting a hand against the tree, she hauled herself to her feet. "Hello?" she called. "I need help, please!"

Soon the light was close enough for Max to see who was coming, and her eyes widened.

The two approaching men, both middle-aged, wore clothes seemingly from a hundred years ago. The taller one sported a wide-brimmed felt hat with a chinstrap, a long and heavy wool coat, and thick deerskin boots. Long mutton chops framed his wide, scowling face, and as he held his lantern high, his eyes searched the shadows behind every tree.

The shorter man also wore a wide hat, stained and weathered from use. He looked thin and haggard, his gray beard unkempt and his bifocals slightly askew. Instead of a coat, he sported a heavy dark cloak that bulged in the middle. He kept his shoulders low and his back hunched, his wide, staring eyes straight ahead as he trudged onward.

Both men seemed oddly familiar.

"You should have let me bring my gun, Jeremiah," the taller man said.

"I have no wish to upset the Natives," his companion replied. "This is their land, Martin."

"All the more reason we need protection! God knows what those savages will do if they find us here."

The two men kept pace with each other, seemingly unaware of Max. "Um, excuse me?" she called again, stepping into their path. "I need help. I'm not from here and—"

As she got closer, Max realized why Jeremiah was hunched over. He was carrying someone. The small, delicate face of a pre-teen girl peeked out from the folds of his cloak—eyes closed, cheeks pale, and lips dark in the lamplight.

To Max's surprise, the two men moved past her without even a glance. "Sirs? Can't you hear me?" She made a grab for Martin's arm—her hand passed through him as if he were a mirage.

This is crazy! Max snatched back her hand and watched as the strangers marched on. Was she dreaming, or had she really fallen a hundred years back through time?

With nothing else to do, Max hurried after the two men. The good news was that she couldn't affect history—but then, why was she even here? Maybe their conversation would give her a clue.

"We may yet turn back," Martin said.

"I have come this far," Jeremiah replied. "I will see this through."

"Think about your actions, man! We could be halfway to Portland if we took my fastest horses! Mary will have the best physicians, I shall see to it!"

Jeremiah shook his head. "Not a single medicine I have administered could cure her. She is dying, Martin. I must try something else."

"Certainly these are dire straits, but Indian medicine? Native superstition? You're a scholar, Jeremiah! Surely you realize the insanity!"

"No." This time, Jeremiah actually paused to look his friend in the eye. "I have seen it, my friend. That hunter, Tau-Gu. A month ago, he had all the signs of second-stage syphilis—rashes and sores on every patch of his flesh. But when I saw him a week later, it was all gone! Without so much as a scab!"

"Stuff and nonsense. One barbarian is a fast healer—what of it?"

"The pox has spared the Storm Raven tribe. Not a single one of their children bears scars. No one there has fevers, no one falls ill. Can you not see? They have something we do not. And if it can save my daughter, then I must find it." He turned and started walking again. Martin huffed but soon caught up with his friend.

Max kept pace, thinking about what she'd heard. Storm Raven. That's Lulu's tribe. I must be on the right track. If I follow them long enough—

A whistling noise grabbed her attention. The two men immediately halted and gazed about. The bushes rustled and the shadows shifted behind the trees. In an instant, torches flared to life and Max found herself encircled by a group of long-haired, copper-skinned men in deerskin trousers and moccasins. They raised their rifles and spears as their eyes converged on the two intruders.

A bayou knife flashed in Martin's hand, but Jeremiah shouted, "No! Wait!"

He strode toward one of the Indians, jabbering in broken Native speech. Max flinched when one brave raised his tomahawk, but another—this one wearing a feathered headband—stopped him.

Jeremiah came close enough to show them the girl in his arms. Again he spoke a string of words to the headband-wearer, who was clearly the leader. The brave with the tomahawk kept his stony expression as he glared at Martin, who hadn't put his knife away. Their leader stared down at the girl's pale face and listened.

When Jeremiah finished, the two Indians rapidly spoke among themselves. The brave said a few harsh guttural words, pointing his tomahawk first at Martin then back the way the two men came. The leader answered back, motioning toward the girl. Finally, Jeremiah fell to his knees before them.

"Please," he muttered, holding his daughter close. "Please."

At last, the leader motioned to the other braves. They came forward and assembled a makeshift pallet from branches and strips of leather. The men helped Jeremiah load Mary onto the pallet, then their leader motioned for all to follow.

Invisible to everyone, Max did so, falling in step beside Jeremiah, who stayed close to the pallet. Martin sheathed his knife and caught up with him.

"Where are they taking us?" he whispered.

"I do not know," Jeremiah replied. "Not far, I think. They seem to be guarding this place. Perhaps it is sacred ground."

"Or it is a trap. They mean to catch us off-guard and—"

"For God's sake, Martin, they have already agreed to help! Only our good behavior ensures my daughter's survival, so I beg you—hold your tongue!"

Mercifully, the trek didn't take long. They soon arrived at a clearing carpeted by blue wildflowers. In the center stood a tall hut made of branches and straw. The braves stopped a few feet away from the entrance and set the pallet on the ground. Jeremiah and Martin stood close by, looking around uncertainly.

Movement from the hut caught Max's eye. A woman had appeared at the entrance, dressed in furs, barefoot, and torch in hand. The firelight reflected in her fox eyes and her hair flowed long and free down her shoulders. Max guessed she was close to her own age. But the way she held herself—tall, effortless with each movement—reminded Max of the first time she met Rachel.

At the sight of her, the braves did the exact gesture Lulu did: they lowered their heads and hid their gazes behind their forearms. Seeing this, Jeremiah removed his hat. One soft word from her and they all raised their eyes again.

Their leader approached her and spoke, gesturing to the two men and the wooden pallet. Max realized he brought them here so the girl could decide what to do.

To let her choose.

Her brows furrowing, the Incarnate gave her torch to the brave and came closer, kneeling to put a gentle hand on Mary's forehead. The little girl was barely breathing; sweat dripped from her hairline and pasted her hair to her thin flesh. Jeremiah fell to his knees, fumbling for words in their language, then gave up and simply said. "Mary, my poor daughter, she'll die if—" He swallowed. "If there is anything you can do to save her..."

And the Incarnate smiled serenely at him. She put her hand over his heart and spoke a soothing word. Then she pried Mary's mouth open with her fingers and bent down till their noses nearly touched. The Incarnate released a long, slow breath into the girl's open mouth. After several seconds, she straightened up again. Curious, Martin approached and held his lantern over Mary, peering into her face.

And to Max's amazement, the color began to return to the girl's cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered and the dark circle faded from her lips. Jeremiah grabbed her hand. "Mary?"

The girl opened her eyes. "Papa?" she gasped.

"Merciful Father!" A sob escaped from deep within Jeremiah's chest. He pulled Mary up and held her close. "T-thank you," he whispered brokenly to the Incarnate, who merely smiled back and smoothed the girl's hair.

Meanwhile, Martin stood there with the lantern in his hand, at a loss for words. His gaze switched from his sobbing friend to the girl in his arms, before finally settling on the woman across from them. Something gleamed in his gray eyes, and a chill rippled through Max's flesh—

She blinked, and she was no longer standing in the forest at night. She was in a large room filled with afternoon light from the tall windows. Bookshelves lined every wall, and everything smelled of paper and ink and age.

An enormous oaken desk dominated the room. Sitting on a high-backed cushioned chair behind it was Jeremiah, looking far more distinguished with his gray beard trimmed and his hair combed back. Opposite him sat Martin, clean-shaven, his legs crossed and ivory-headed cane in hand. Both men wore white high-collared shirts beneath their dark coats. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away as they watched each other in silence.

Again, Max was struck by how familiar they seemed.

Jeremiah said, "When I agreed to teach you the Native language, this was not what I expected you would do."

"It is the RIGHT thing to do, old fellow," Martin exclaimed. He planted his hands on the armrests and leaned forward, a feverish light in his eyes. "Do I need to explain how much good we could accomplish with her at our side?"

"This from the man who dismissed the matter as Native superstition."

Martin shook his head. "I am not one to deny a miracle when I see it. Jeremiah, think! This is the discovery of the century! A girl who can cure any disease, any injury, no matter how severe! Imagine how many people we can help with her power! Imagine if we could harness it, research it, bottle it, bring it to every corner of the globe! We would make history!"

"We have no right to take her from her home."

"We would not be taking her if you helped me convince her. It would help her too, Jeremiah. She belongs with the world!"

"She belongs where she wills. And if she wanted to leave, she would have done so on her own." The man steepled his fingers over his desk. "You are my dear friend, Martin. I owe you a great deal for helping me save Mary's life and for funding our school. But I cannot be a party to removing the girl from her tribe. She has set her roots here—"

"She healed Mary when you asked her. Surely she would be open to helping others. Imagine how many more children we can save! You are a man of letters, Jeremiah. You know better than to hide a candle beneath a bushel. If you would but ask her—"

"She is not a thing you can possess, Martin. Frankly, I find your attempts at 'convincing' her disturbing."

"You take offense at my gifts?"

"The mirrors, the perfumes, the dress? Martin, please. You would not dare tell your wife."

Martin sprang to his feet. "Is that what you think of me, sir?"

"I know you, old friend. You believe in control. And it was you who objected to my letting the tribe send their children to this school. You think them beneath us. You would not change your mind for this girl, even with her abilities."

This school. Max's eyes opened wide as she stared at the two men. Her mind reached back, first to the statue in front of the Academy, then to the letter she found in the barn above the Dark Room.

Jeremiah Blackwell. Martin Lewis Prescott.

The two men shared a strained silence before Martin picked up his cane from the floor. "I'm sorry we cannot come to an accord, old friend. If that is how you feel, I will leave you to your studies. Good day to you." He turned on his heel and made for the door.

"This will end in grief, Martin," the headmaster called after him. "Please—for all our sakes—leave her be."

Martin did not reply as he left the office. Jeremiah's eyes lingered on the door after it shut, then he pulled off his bifocals to massage his temples. Seeing she would learn nothing further, Max turned for the exit and—

—the world shifted again. She was standing beneath an overcast sky, the flush of the maple trees telling her that it was autumn.

Judging from the nearby church steeple and the town hall, she was probably in Arcadia Bay's square. The sparrows sang from the eaves of the white-painted single-story homes that faced the street. The people in the area wore mostly work clothes: flannel shirts and suspenders for the men, aprons and floor-length skirts for the women. Not an inch of ground was paved and there wasn't even a single car—just a postman trundling along on his rust-covered bicycle.

"How much more do I have to see?" Max asked aloud. But like before, no one heard or even noticed the short-haired girl in the shirt and jeans standing in their midst. She glanced at the town hall. Maybe if I poked around in there, I might find out what—

A woman's scream pierced the air. Max whirled about, caught the townsfolk looking east to where the forest lay.

A man in a long coat had shambled out of the trees and onto the road. He was hunched over, arms dragging close to the dirt, legs nearly snapping beneath his weight. He moaned in pain as he stumped closer, and when he reached out his arms, people recoiled. Max's hands flew to her mouth to catch her own gasp.

Every inch of the stranger's hands was covered in angry red sores. They climbed up the bare flesh of his swollen neck, clustering around his mouth and ears. He breathed through his open mouth, which showed rows of yellow teeth and a tongue carpeted with lesions. Pus leaked out of his nose, and his entire right eye was nothing more than a bleeding tumor. The other eye stared around wildly, half-sane, as he rasped the same word over and over: "Jrrmayh."

It only took Max a second to recognize the long wool coat and the deerskin boots. "Jrrmayh," the thing that had been Martin groaned as he trudged on. Though he was no more than an illusion, Max still gave him a wide berth as he passed. Every inch of her skin crawled at the sight of him but she couldn't look away.

"He's got the pox!" a woman shrieked, grabbing her child and running off.

"Get him out of here!" another man roared.

Martin stumbled onward, heading up the road toward Blackwell. He only made it a few more stumbling steps before collapsing. As the men gathered around, one of them took a pitchfork and lifted his body face up. Martin's rheumy gray eyes stared into the sky. He gave one last hacking cough, then his chest stilled forever.

Max backed away as the men crowded around. Lulu's warning came to her: you may see things not meant for you. Was this what she meant?

As she took another step backward, something odd happened. The voices began to fade and the scene before her froze like a snapshot. No, not a snapshot. She'd witnessed this before, in the otherworld as the storm hit Arcadia Bay. Martin's death had become a life-sized diorama, preserved like an insect in amber.

Max turned her head and spotted a similar diorama nearby. A bit further lay another one, then another. Like before, they formed a winding path that led into darkness.

Hello, yellow brick road.

Steeling herself for what other horrors she might find, Max started edging along the makeshift path. She kept her distance from each frozen scene to keep herself from being pulled in, but she couldn't help but glance at each one. Each told a different story, but the theme remained depressingly the same.

A young brown-haired man in an expensive blue suit and dark tie stood before a warehouse at the docks. He puffed out his chest and grinned as he addressed the crowd of gaunt, stone-faced fishermen before him. "This is a new dawn for the Arcadia Bay harbor," his voice echoed. "As the new owner, I, Gerald Prescott, guarantee that you and your families will profit with me as we partake of the sea's bounty."

The same young man was in the next diorama, clinging onto the wheel of his yacht as it was tossed into the air by a massive rolling wave. Nearby, standing on the restless waters, a middle-aged Indian woman raised a hand to the sky.

Another man, resembling the one before, swept his cowboy hat proudly to the enormous wooden building behind him as reporters crowded forward. A ribbon above the entrance proclaimed the 'Michael Prescott Sawmill' was open. "Years ago," he cried, "my late brother and I promised our father that we would make this town great. That is why this mill exists—to honor their legacy and put Arcadia Bay on the map as the timber giant of the American Northwest!"

The next diorama showed him in a fit of terror, impaled through the chest by the antlers of an enormous stag, his bloodied body pinned against the outer wall of his burning mill. Riding the beast was another Indian girl, her painted face without expression, her wine-dark hair flying wild and free around her shoulders.

The final Prescott sat behind a large oaken desk in his study, not a crease in his business suit or nor a hair out of place. He stared hard at the Native chieftain sitting across from him. Before them on the desk lay a single piece of paper bearing two signatures and names: Chief Atohii and Harry Aaron Prescott. "One hundred ninety days overdue," intoned Prescott. "The contract is clear. You have wealth yet, Chief. Land is wealth—the only true wealth there is."

He met his end under an overcast sky, lightning arcing down to strike him where he stood on a tiny pier by the pond. The woman floating above him was pale and dark-haired, her arms outstretched in triumph.

Max gasped as the world changed again. She thought she might have entered a diorama by accident, but this was different. She was standing at the edge of the forest, having just stepped beyond the treeline. Before her were the foothills of a great mountain range, draped in darkness and stretching as far as she could see. The sky above was a purple cloth that lightened as it fell toward the mountains.

It seemed she reached the end of the road—but there was nothing here. No wind in the trees, no sounds of animal life. The place, if it was a place, was as silent as death.

"Hello?" she called out. Nothing replied, not even an echo. Strange considering how close she was to the face of the mountain.

Then the mountain moved.

A low rumble shook the trees, forcing Max to shield her head from a shower of leaves. The mass before her shifted as if waking from a deep slumber. One of the peaks reached higher, unfurling into the head of a gargantuan deer, its eyes glowing like twin gibbous moons. Another peak revealed itself as a raven head. From another part of the mountain range erupted a wolf head, followed by a bat, an owl, a serpent. Then more. More. There seemed no end to its mass; every shake, every snort of one of its enormous heads caused a gust to billow across the cloudless sky.

All sensation had fled from Max's legs. She spilled backward onto the forest floor, clamping both hands on her mouth in an effort not to make a sound, anything that would catch the great beast's attention. But it was no use. The deer head—a doe—was bending down, staring at her with its moonstone eyes.

This is the spirit of Arcadia Bay? Despite the terror gripping her, a memory rekindled in her mind. Abruptly, she said, "I-I know you. Do you know me?"

Its ears swiveled forward as it tilted its head to the side, studying her. We're ants to it, Lulu had said. And Max felt exactly like that—an ant under a magnifying glass. But she spoke on, buoyed by a growing certainty.

"You helped me many years ago," she said, standing up to make sure it could see her. "When I was just a little girl, I got hurt and lost in the woods, but you came and stayed with me until I was rescued. You even healed my ankle."

More heads clustered around the first. Now a hundred pale glowing eyes were boring into her soul, but not a flicker of recognition in any. Max swallowed the block in her throat and spoke again.

"I came because I need your help again. You probably don't know, but you gave me the power to control time. I only recently understood why. I used my power to travel six months into the past, only to lose it when I arrived."

Something moved in the shadows of the beast's chimeric body—a furry arm the size of an oak tree stretched out from the darkness, vines and flowers covering its entire length. Her heart stopped as it halted before her—the gigantic claw reached out like a scimitar, its tip closing in on her forehead. It began to glow.

And Max felt it: the world around her grinding to a halt, the ringing of a thousand tiny bells in her ears, the familiar tug on her body as it was about to be pulled through time.

"No!" she shrieked. There was nothing to grab onto, so she hung on to her own shoulders. "Don't send me back! I don't want to go back to my time! I need to be here—now!"

To her relief, the arm pulled back into the shapeless mass. Max forced herself to stop shaking. That was too close. The spirit still couldn't understand her perfectly, but at least it knew enough to stop.

"I'm here to help Rachel—your Incarnate," she pressed on. "I'm here because I made mistakes in my timeline, choices that led to disaster. I'm told that if I help her, I can stop the worst from happening. But I can't help her if I don't have my time powers."

She got down on her knees before the spirit, praying that it would understand. "Please...give me my rewind powers back. We're up against enemies who have abilities too, and I can't stand by while Rachel fights them on her own. So please—lend me your power again. Help me help her."

Silence reigned among the heads before her. Then, one by one, the gathering began to make noise. Caws, howls, growls, and hisses filled the forest, a din so loud that Max shrank back and plugged her fingers into her ears.

The doe raised its head and all fell silent. It looked up and bleated once, twice. When Max turned her gaze skywards, to her surprise, stars had winked into view. Constellations scattered across the velvet expanse, and as she watched, they began to move, wheeling through the sky.

She glanced back at the doe. It was staring down at her with its terrible blank eyes.

"What are you trying to say?" Max asked. The only response she got was the stars spinning faster above her.

All except one—Polaris, the North Star. It grew brighter in its place in the sky, its blinding radiance driving Max to shield her eyes.

"What does it mean? I don't understand!"

The stars wheeled on, every star moving but one, placed in the center while all the others paid homage to it. The only one in power.

The beast heads cried out once more, and the gale force of their collective breaths hurled Max back the way she came. She tried to grab onto something but it was no use—she was pushed effortlessly into the void, a bubble rising from deep water, out of the dream world and into the waking one.

Chloe, too skittish to sit still, had started pacing around their campfire. She'd never even seen Max high or drunk before, but now she was in some kind of trance, sitting cross-legged with her eyes closed. Lulu was no help, doing nothing but watching, then glaring at Chloe when she tried asking how long they were supposed to wait.

Ten minutes had passed, and Chloe growled low in her throat. If they hit the half-hour mark, she's going to pull the plug and get Max—

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Max went rigid; her head shot up as she gasped, her mouth and eyes agape like she had been electrocuted. Lulu was on her feet as Max started to fall.

"MAX!" Chloe barely had enough time to grab Max's shoulders before she could hit the ground. "Max, hey! Can you hear me? Wake up!"

Pulling her into her arms, she watched Max's eyes flutter open. "Chloe..." she gasped, barely aware of where she was. "Sorry...I'm so sorry. I-I failed. The spirit—it wouldn't let—it wants only one..."

"Shh," Chloe whispered back. "It's fine. As long as you're okay, we'll—we'll figure it out somehow. Just take it easy."

"Let's get her to the couch," said Lulu. "She'll be out for maybe half an hour." Between them, they brought Max's limp body to lie down on the cushions. Chloe hovered over her a moment, checking her pulse. Max's eyes had closed and her breathing had evened. Apart from being unconscious, she seemed okay.

As Chloe calmed down, the reality of what Max said washed over her. No time powers. It had all been for nothing. They had no way to undo any disasters—in case Rachel lost—in case she was captured or killed—

"I need a gun."

Chloe didn't realize she had said that out loud until she caught Lulu staring at her. But speaking it made her sure. "Could you watch Max for me for an hour or so? I'll be right back." She got up and made for the door without waiting for an answer.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

At the door, Chloe paused. "Hey, can I ask you something?" she said, turning to Lulu. "You said you had a vision of Arcadia Bay going up in flames. Rachel saw that too. So, is that it then? Is the future set, or can it still be changed?"

"You don't even have to ask," Lulu replied, pointing to Max. "She's living proof of what's possible. She came back six months into the past to change everything. And I helped her do it. We change our destiny every day, Chloe Price."

"Good." Chloe was out the door, heading for her truck. "That's all I needed."

If nothing was certain, if the future was something they got to decide, then she was going to make the best of their chances. She would go any length to keep Max and Rachel safe.

Even if it meant filling a bitch or two with lead.