Read Online Timepiece: An Hourglass Novel by Myra McEntire - Free Book Online

supposed to be. Em.
    The three of us stood in the middle of a field, empty, except for a dead man hanging from a tree.
    Em watched the man swing from side to side, not looking at his face. Her voice remained calm, but she kept swallowing as if she was trying not to throw up. “Lily?”
    Lily pushed her way out of my arms before I could stop her. Her focus shifted from Em to the man hanging to the tree and back again. “What the hell …”
    “You can see him?” Em whispered.
    “Where are we?” Lily asked, spinning around in a complete circle. “What happened to the house?”
    Em and I exchanged a look that asked a singular question. If Lily could see the full-blown rip, did that mean the rips were changing? Or did it mean Lily had the time gene?
    Em turned toward the hanging man and walked the twenty feet to the trunk of the walnut tree. She tried touching it first, but nothing happened. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gingerly reached out in the direction of the man’s foot.
    When she made contact, the scene in front of us melted from top to bottom.
    To reveal Thomas and Dru standing on the back porch, staring at us.
    Em gazed back in horror. “What are you doing?”
    “Checking to see what was keeping the three of you,” Thomas said. “What are you doing?”
    “Did you … did you just see that?” Em waved her hand in the direction of the place the rip had disappeared seconds before.
    Thomas and Dru replied in unison.
    “See what?”

Chapter 11
     
    I

was pretty sure I was awake, but if so, why was Lily Garcia sitting at my kitchen table on a Sunday morning? I rubbed my eyes with my fists.
    “Did you forget your shirt?” she asked.
    I blinked. Still there. I was glad I’d pulled on basketball shorts instead of coming downstairs in my boxer briefs. “No. I wasn’t expecting to see … anyone.”
    “Surprise.” She waggled her fingers. Jazz hands.
    I grabbed some pineapple-orange juice from the fridge. Screwing the plastic lid off, I started to drink out of the carton before I caught myself. I extended it to Lily. “Thirsty?”
    “No,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
    “Not to be rude, but why are you in my kitchen?”
    “I’m here to see your dad. He ran over to the college to get supplies from the science department. I guess he didn’t expect me to come for testing so soon.”
    Anxiety.
    “For the gene,” I said.
    “Yay you for keeping up. Are you going to tell me Ivy Springs isn’t a freak magnet now?”
    Avoiding the question, I chugged what was left of the juice and tossed the empty container in the trash. “Did you sleep?”
    “My grandmother said I called out a couple of times.” There was a hint of dark circles under her eyes.
    I hadn’t slept at all. In my mind, the man swung from the tree all night. “You live with your grandmother instead of your parents?”
    “We escaped from Cuba when I was little. My parents are still there.” Pain. It so often led to avoidance. “Have you always lived in Ivy Springs?”
    “No. We moved here when Dad took a job at Cameron College.” I shut the refrigerator door. “But this house has been in my dad’s family for generations.”
    “Nice.”
    There were a couple of awkward seconds of staring—neither one of us knew where to look—but I could sense Lily trying really hard not to look at my bare chest or tattoos.
    Instead of going upstairs for a shirt like a normal person, I reached for the hook magnet on the side of the fridge, grabbed my kiss the cook apron, and slid it over my head.
    “Are you kidding me?” Lily’s eyebrows almost met her hairline.
    “No. I’m … hungry.” Suddenly desperate to make the apron look somewhat normal, I took a coated cast-iron pan down from the rack over the kitchen island. “As for the apron, I like cooking. I like kissing. I like giving orders. About both.”
    I stared at her until she blushed.
    “You okay with garlic?” I snagged a bulb from the counter and held it up. A piece of papery-thin