“They’re coming.”
Jacqueline turned toward the speaker, a boy—no, a young man—who looked so painfully like Thom my throat tightened. The ground shuddered beneath their feet and she struggled to catch her balance, her eyes meeting his.
“Who, Lin?”
“The ones Mom wrote about. The ones her journal said would come.” He glanced down. “The ones that Tory and I have been waiting for.”
The ground heaved again. Earthquakes? I wondered. Jacqueline shook her head hard.
“Lin—”
He just stared at her. “We have to. You know we have to. Uncle Matt knows it. Phelan knows it. You can’t stop us, Aunt Jac. We have to go.”
“Just because your mother’s journal—”
“Dad’s said it, too.”
She went silent, staring at him, his gaze steady. She was the one to look away first. “Am I the first person you’ve told?”
“No,” he said. “Uncle Matt already knows. I think Tory was going to tell Phelan and Uncle Jay. I said I’d tell you.”
Jacqueline snorted and shook her head. “Well, you’ve made it abundantly clear that I can’t stop you. But will you at least wait until these damned earthquakes settle down?”
“If we can,” he said, glancing away. “Are you sure they’re earthquakes?”
“What else could they be?”
He stared at her for a long moment. She shivered and turned away.
I shivered, too.
“Marin? Marin?”
I startled, wavering on my feet and blinking blearily at Neve. “What?”
“You—were you seeing something?”
My lips thinned and I looked toward the walls, nodding slightly. “Did you—did you and Cameron talk about what you were naming your twins?”
She stared at me for a long moment before she swallowed hard. “Why?”
“Because I saw my son talking to Jacqueline,” I whispered. “And he was talking about him and someone named Tory waiting for someone that I’d written about.”
She went white as a sheet. “Tory,” she whispered. “Short for Artorius. Déithe agus arrachtaigh, Marin. What could it mean?”
“I don’t know,” I said grimly, “but someday, we’re going to find out.”
