PrologueRight now, Frances Caridi is walking on water.
“Brava!” Natas calls out after her with a single clap of the hands. Sitting on the grassy bank beside him, Wilma bares her fang-like teeth in an approving smile.
Walking on water. How it bothers Silvenus, this silly sort of spectacle in which Natas loves to indulge himself. Naturally, Frances loves it, too. What fourteen-year-old wouldn’t? She’s proud of herself, so proud that it makes the old satyr feel small for being such a grouch.
He should just enjoy this splendid June day, watching the late afternoon sun sparkle off the surface of the lake. Oh, how he loved to come here once upon a time. What glorious Saturday picnics they would have on the grand old dock. And the Boathouse! It’s hard to believe that the godforsaken pile of stones and rubble on the far shore was formerly the site of such joy and camaraderie. Why doesn’t Natas have it rebuilt?
Meanwhile, Frances, walking on water. Or rather, standing.
“What’s wrong?” Natas hollers.
“Why don’t I fall in when I stop?” Frances calls back, hands on hips. “Are you giving me some kind of boost?”
“Being assisted is not cheating,” Natas shouts. “The power of the Oblivion is itself a ‘boost.’ I am merely adding to it.”
“It’s a little bit cheating,” Wilma says.
Frances insists on Natas removing his telekinetic support. With a shrug, he does.
She plunges in.
Silvenus laughs—he can’t help it. But something is wrong. The girl is flailing about in panic.
“She doesn’t know how to swim!” Wilma says.
Natas lifts the girl back out by way of his mental powers, apologizing profusely, while Wilma rushes into the lake, so panicked herself one might think it was she to almost drown.
“I’m okay, Wilma,” Frances tells her.
“Take her back to your room,” Natas says, putting a hand on Wilma’s shoulder. “You should be getting ready for your flight, anyway.”
As he and the old satyr watch the girls follow the path back to Croton, Natas says, “She always knows how to swim.” He shakes his head. “It is one of the first things the girl should remember.”
“She has hardly progressed since the fall,” Silvenus says. “If anything, Frances seems to be regressing.”
“When they arrive for the summer retreat, the Listeners expect to welcome back Mother,” Natas says.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have promised them that.”
Natas shrugs. He doesn’t actually care about disappointing the Listeners.
“They have been waiting sixteen years, what does one more matter?” Natas says. “Besides, they will still believe they are witnessing a miracle.”
A miracle, or a typical example of the American teen on the precipice of high school? Because, outside of her ability to channel the Oblivion, this is precisely what young Frances is. Of course, even without her memories, she is very much herself. More so than in past lives.
“And who knows?” Natas continues. “Perhaps being in the company of so many old friends will jolt her memory.”
A nice thought. In truth, the old satyr is more disappointed than Natas at Frances’s failure to recall who she is. And yet, a part of him hopes that she never does, for her sake.
For his own sake, well, it will be most lonely if she doesn’t.
1Big News
Brand New SignSame Loving God“Hey, look at that sign! It’s clever.”
“Yeah, Ron,” Frankie says, “we know about the signs.”
Ron—that’s Mom’s boyfriend.
How much does Mom like Ron? Enough to make Lucie sit in the back seat of the Prius with Frankie. That’s a first.
“I thought Lucie needed the extra hornroom,” Frankie says, smirking at her little brother. He’s not amused.
“But Ron is so tall!” Mom says.
Ron is so not. Still, Frankie is happy that her mother is happy, especially since it makes Mom nice to her. Also a first.
At the Wagon Wheel, Ron attempts to take charge, saying in his man voice, “Four for lunch,” having no idea who the girl working the register is.
Sylvie shoots a who-is-this-guy? look to Frankie as she gets up from behind the counter to hug Mom. She’s one of those good parent friends who looks an adult in the eye and asks how they’re doing and stuff.
“I love your new hair,” Mom says.
Such a lie, because there’s no way Mom likes her buzz cut. Sylvie runs her hand over her stubbly head and thanks her. “How’d graduation go?”
“Ek was amazing!” Lucie says.
“His speech was wonderful,” Mom says. “You should’ve seen how proud his parents were.”
At the booth, Ron uses his iPhone to magnify the menu and makes a dad joke about the funny-sounding platter names that’s too lame to put in print.
“Who’s the freak?”
Dink comes over to their table in his Land of the Free, Home of the Awesome T-shirt.
“The 1990s called,” Lucie says. “They want their mullet back.”
Ron looks alarmed, wondering if he’s going to need to defend Lucie’s honor. Even after they fist-bump each other, Ron’s still confused.
“They’re cool,” Frankie says. “I mean, they’re so not cool, but they’re friends.”
Ron fake laughs and Mom gives him a kiss. It still weirds out Frankie to see her mother all affectionate with some guy. Or to have a friend. The only person she ever talked to before was Uncle Sal.
“A number three, a number eight, and two number elevens,” Mistral says, serving the dishes. He almost bashes Frankie in the head with one of his long pointy horns as he puts her plate down.
“I can’t believe you’re working here,” she says.
“And I can’t believe I’m staying in Dink’s dead grandmother’s room,” Mistral says. “When do you guys start your jobs at the Institute?”
“Orientation’s tomorrow,” Lucie says, smothering his veggie scramble in hot sauce.
Giving up meat hasn’t been easy for Lucie. His eyes follow every movement of Ron’s sausage links from plate to mouth. Just as longingly, Frankie watches Mistral and Sylvie laugh as they clear off the counter. Working at the Wheel seems way more fun than being a counselor at a summer retreat for old people.
“We have big news,” Mom suddenly announces. She grabs Ron’s hand.
Frankie freezes, fork suspended in front of her open mouth. Mom and Ron are having a baby—and they’re turning my room into the nursery.
“Ron’s moving in with me. We’re going to live together!”
Relieved, Frankie exhales and takes her bite of food. “Don’t you guys, like, already live together?” she says, chewing.
“We’re ready to fully ‘blend,’ ” Ron says, like they’re a smoothie. “Besides, with both of my kiddos off to college, the old house is too darn big. I put it on the market last week.”
“He’s already got two offers,” Mom says.
“Hey—Big Bow Hunter!” Ron says, pointing to the corner by the bathrooms. He wipes his mouth and gets up from the booth. “I used to love that game. Come on, Rose, let’s play.”
Frankie laughs at the thought of Mom playing a video game. But there she is, picking up the plastic crossbow.
“They grow up so fast, don’t they?”
Ignoring Frankie’s comment, Lucie gets all serious. “Isn’t this a little quick? Ron’s great, but they only met six months ago. Online.”
“How else do old people meet?” Frankie says, drinking some water. “Time’s running out for those two.”
Copyright © 2025 by Johnny Marciano; Illustrated by Ashley Mackenzie. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
