That evening Mara sat on her bed, staring at the Chronicle of Cosms, rolling it between her fingers. Occasionally the light caught one of the crystals and flashed a smear of blue light across her body. It was kind of hypnotic.
This was the third device, or talisman, she had encountered in the past few months called a Chronicle. The first being the medallion that now lay on the bedspread before her crossed legs. She’d gotten it from her counterpart—Sam’s version of Mara—who had crossed over on Flight 559. The second Chronicle, a book of cryptic hints handwritten in haiku form, was called the Chronicle of Continuity. It had been sent by her future self, carried into the past by her five-year-old niece and destroyed when the dragon burned down her home. Only a single page remained. It was in
