As her sixteenth birthday approaches, Baxter inherits a pendant that will change her life. Connected to the pendant is a dark and mysterious young man named Declan Ashdown. Trapped in a Time loop for the past 122 years, Declan needs Baxter’s help to escape. The only problem is, she has no idea how to do it.
To acquire the power she needs to free him, she’ll become one of the Interred, those whose Magical abilities emerge as they come of age. When she does, she’ll discover that Declan isn’t the only one interested in the fact that she’s a Time Bender.
As the Interment arrives, Baxter knows this will be no Sweet Sixteen. A vengeful relative and ruthless Council are determined to control her. Declan’s powerful and charming descendant, Jack Ashdown, claims he can save her. She’ll soon have to decide who she can trust, and how to master her new abilities before Time runs out.
I sigh, looking at the house. “She’s listening to the radio. I know she gets nervous because of what happened to her dad, but it’s sort of weird to see her this scared.”
Dickie knocks his shoulder with mine. “Once spring rolls in, she’ll be fine.” He tilts his head
toward me and offers a conspiratorial smile. “It’s the hormones.”
I nod, but I don’t say what’s really on my mind. Mom’s been acting strange ever since the
house fire. She’s been especially overprotective of me over the last six months, something I don’t know how to handle since she’s never been like this before. It got particularly bad after she received a phone call from England. I can only assume she received unwelcome news from her English relatives since she didn’t tell me what the caller conveyed, though I can’t imagine why the call would affect her behavior toward me.
Part of me wonders whether she’s acting like this because of my upcoming birthday. Maybe knowing her firstborn child is about to celebrate her Sweet Sixteen is contributing to her behavior. She’s been extra sensitive about the subject over the past few weeks, refusing to discuss plans for a party. And here it is, just a few weeks until Christmas Day—my birthday— and no party invitations have been sent, no plans made.
As I walk beside Dickie, I indulge in a sulk. Mom’s hormones aren’t the cause of her odd behavior. She’s only six weeks pregnant and this has been going on for months. Something else is at the root, but she’s not discussing it with anyone.
“Look,” Dickie says, drawing my attention. “Someone’s driving in the middle of the storm.”
He points to the lonely road that connects us with another farm about four miles away.
“Crazy people,” I say, my breath whitening the air around my head.
When we reach the front porch, I turn around and try to spot the car while Dickie continues around to the back of the house to check the fuse box. Through the heavy snow, the black sedan continues down the road at a snail’s pace. Something about the slow-moving vehicle inching through the storm strikes me as ominous. I shrug the feeling away, figuring the driver is just lost.
“It’ll be okay,” Dickie assures me as he returns to the front porch. “This is normal for Vermont this time of year.” I swallow my response. Sure it’ll be okay…easy to say for people who grew up in the North.The only blizzards I’ve witnessed have been through the magic of television. This amount of snow should be illegal.
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