With his free hand, Ernie Atwood pulled his fraying brown book bag farther up onto his shoulder. He heard the spare pieces of change clang around in the side pocket. Checking to make sure that all of the money was still present and accounted for, Ernie sighed with relief. He would never admit it to the kids at his school, but that money was earmarked for a Lone Ranger Luminous Blackout Kit. At sixteen years old, Ernie’s mother thought that he would have grown out of his collectibles, but she was wrong. There was just something about hearing the adventures of the Lone Ranger and Tonto that made Ernie want to put on a mask and apprehend his own bandits.

“Hiya! Wait up!”

Ernie looked behind him to see his best friend Billy running; his thick-rimmed black glasses sliding precariously down his nose and his orange-blonde curls bouncing free of the rough hairbrush strokes that his mother had no doubt forced him to sit through. Ernie could smell the extra pomade that Mrs. Chase applied to Billy’s hair in an attempt to tame the wild locks. It never worked. Billy’s wild look contrasted with Ernie’s seemingly perfect composure. From the tips of his toes to the top of his head, Ernie looked like absolute perfection personified. His long legs ensured that he stood at least a head taller than everyone else in his class, his green eyes were unobstructed by panes of glass, and his chocolatey-brown hair swept elegantly off to one side in the perfect imitation of Cary Grant.

“Where are you going?” Billy asked, out of breath.

Ernie stopped walking, setting his bag down on the dusty alley tarmac. He held out his hand, and Billy grasped it quickly, pumping it up and down to complete the pair’s secret handshake.

“I’m on my way to the Post Office. Want to come with?” Ernie looked down the alley lined with closed garage doors and leafy trees peeking out between each structure. A couple of buildings down, a man wearing dark denim pants and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves had his head buried in the open hood of a 1938 Chevy Coupe. A tuft of smoke erupted from where the engine was and the man swore loudly.

“Sure, I’ll walk with you!”

Billy and Ernie had been friends since they were toddlers and they had been through a lot together. One time, Ernie had carried Billy all the way back to his house from Lake Michigan when he stepped on some glass and sliced his foot open from heel to big toe. Billy paid Ernie back not too long after that when Ernie was caught sneaking in late after finally taking Susan Mercer down to Navy Pier for a date. Susan’s parents allowed her to wear bright red lipstick, and every boy in Ernie and Billy’s class wanted kiss her because of it. Ernie had taken Susan on the Ferris wheel and they had split a Coke, and by the end of the night, Ernie realized that kissing Susan Mercer wasn’t as exciting as it was supposed to be. Her vapid conversation topics were a bore, and Ernie didn’t have enough money to keep her entertained. It had taken him longer than he anticipated to work up the courage to pucker up, eyes closed, and lean in for a kiss. So once he had dropped Susan off at home and made his way to his own front door, it was already two hours after curfew. Billy promised Ernie’s parents that it had been his fault that Ernie came home late. Mr. and Mrs. Atwood could never say “no” once Billy flashed them the signature crooked smile that made it look like his freckles were dancing across his cheeks, and Ernie was let off the hook.

“What are you going to the Post Office for?” Billy asked as he and Ernie turned the corner at the end of the alley. Billy looked both ways cautiously. Ernie knew that Billy’s parents didn’t like him taking shortcuts through alleys, and it always made the smaller boy nervous.

Ernie patted the side pocket of his bag proudly.

“I saved up enough to mail in for the Blackout Kit!”

Billy’s forehead creased slightly as he raised his eyebrow at his best friend.

“You mean you’re actually going to waste your money on a toy? I’ll never understand you, Ernest Atwood!”

Ernie’s feet skidded beneath him as he came to a sudden halt; Billy continued walking, talking to nobody in particular until he noticed his friend’s absence and doubled back. Ernie was staring at the newspaper stand, his mouth moving minutely as he read the headlines on the Chicago Tribune.

“Hey kid!” the man inside of the portable newspaper cart slammed his hand on the front of the paper that Ernie was reading. “If you want to read that, you’re going to have to buy it first!”

“But mister, I’m only reading the headlines!” Ernie protested.

The salesman jutted out his hand, palm up, toward the center of Ernie’s chest.

“Two cents, or move along,” he coughed out in a rough voice as a cigarette hung limply from his bottom lip.

“C’mon Ern, just pay him or leave.” Billy hated any sort of confrontation.

Ernie looked up at the sallow face of the salesman. If he paid him, he wouldn’t have enough to send out for his Lone Ranger Luminous Blackout Kit. However, maybe his friends and his parents were right. There was a war going on, and it was time for him to grow up.

Ernie slid his book bag off of his shoulder and rested it on his foot. He fished his hand into the side

pocket and pulled out two worn copper pennies and put them in the newspaper seller’s outstretched hand. The man moved his other hand away from the top copy of the Chicago Tribune reluctantly and Ernie picked it up, shaking it out the way he had seen his father shake newspaper before he sipped his morning coffee.

SOLOMONS HIT BY JAP FLEET the Tribune proclaimed in big, bold letters across the top of the paper. Right underneath that in slightly smaller letters, RUSH 18-19 YEAR DRAFT TO MEET 7,500,000 GOAL. Ernie looked over his shoulder. Billy was reading the headlines, his eyes growing wider.

“Seven and a half million! Do you think they really mean seven and a half million?”

Ernie nodded his head. His father had been grumbling about the war for years, and now that it had been ten months since the attack on Pearl Harbor and America’s involvement in the war, it made sense that they would need to amplify their forces for a final push. At least Ernie hoped that it would be a final push. It seemed that it had been Ernie’s whole life that he had heard snide remarks about Nazis and now the Japanese. He was ready for it all to end.

Ernie sat roughly on the nearest stoop and waited for Billy to join him. He placed the paper on his knees with the call for young men to fight for the safety of their country staring him in the face.

“I want to enlist,” Ernie finally spoke. He sat up straighter when he said it and tilted his head back, imagining the form of Uncle Sam cheering him on in the distance.

“You can’t!” Billy cried. “You’re only sixteen. They won’t let you! It says eighteen year olds.”

Ernie pursed his lips.

“I’m gonna do this, Bill. Anyway, I look older than I am. I’m the tallest in our class! They’ll never even know.”

Billy spluttered. “Yeah well, I…I’m gonna…I’ll…I’ll tell your mom!”

Ernie stood up, his extra height made Billy recede further into the stoop.

“You would never, Wilbur Chase!” Ernie spat out his best friend’s given name angrily. He knew how much he hated the name “Wilbur”. He had insisted that his friends and family call him “Billy” even before his fifth birthday. Ernie never used Billy’s real name unless he was seriously angry.

Billy stood up to his full height and puffed out his chest in an attempt to look intimidating.

“Don’t do this, Ernest Atwood.”

Ernie ran his tongue along his front teeth the way he always did when he was thinking.

“Come with me, then.”

“What?” Billy exclaimed. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

“If you want to do the right thing, come with me,” Ernie said calmly. “Think about it. I’ll go to the recruitment office tomorrow, right after school lets out.”

Before Billy could reply, Ernie walked quickly away.

***

The next afternoon was raining and cold. Ernie stood under the meager awning that jutted out over the sidewalk in front of the recruitment office. He watched as a steady stream of men and boys walked past him, pulling on the heavy door, and walking resolutely inside to take up their place in the ranks of brave American men. Ernie felt like a ridiculous child perched on the steps leading to the doors of his future. Shaking, Ernie looked down at his watch. It was nearly four o’clock. Okay, he thought to himself, I will wait until exactly four, then I will go in. Ernie watched as the longer, slimmer hand on his watch wound around the face, pulling the heavier hand resolutely behind it. It clicked into position. He took a deep breath, steadying his racing heart, and set his foot down closer to the doorway. He reached out a shaking hand and grasped the handle; it was still warm from the dozen or so other hands that had pulled it open in the past five minutes. Ernie tugged at the door, closed his eyes, and stepped through.

When he opened his eyes, his jaw dropped but his scream was trapped, dying in his chest.

Glory winked. “I guess a little magic can’t hurt, right?”

Janey smiled wide as Glory closed her hand over the padlock, completely shielding it from view. The older witch’s eyes closed tightly and her lips moved silently, muttering a spell that afterwards she wouldn’t remember the words to. Glory realized that she was able to do the spell because she needed to. Her powers were getting stronger every day.

Suddenly, the lock grew red hot in Glory’s hands, and she dropped it. Instead of remaining attached to the gate, it fell to the ground, free of its purpose. Glory and Janey whooped and yelled excitedly.

Janey pulled the two sides of the gate open carefully, and they creaked with age and lack of use. “Come on!” She yelled as she slid through the opening. Glory followed after her sister and pulled lightly at the back of her dress to stop her before she ran quickly up the steps leading to the house’s double doors.

“Wait,” Glory breathed. “We should make sure it’s safe first. The fire might have damaged the foundation!” Glory peered upward and saw pillars that met at a pointed arch above the doorway. To either side of the house’s façade were smaller, though otherwise identical, false entrances. The three archways connected into one large pointed arch that housed a rose window at its top. Glory felt a drop of rain hit her upturned face and decided that the Gothic architecture looked sturdy enough to allow the entrance of two slight witches. She pulled her sister behind her and approached the wooden door.

Glory placed her hand on the burned and blackened wood and pushed with all of her might. The door swung open dramatically and slammed against the inside wall of the house.

The girls were greeted by an eerie sight. Wallpaper bearing faded evidence of once-deep reds and bright golds hung limply, torn away from the wall and covered in soot. Furniture lay abandoned and tipped precariously on its sides. Janey walked toward a leaning ottoman. One of its four legs had been ripped off and sat forgotten near the ornate fireplace. A winding staircase lay in front of the two girls, the upper floors haphazardly barricaded by support beams that had crashed down from the ceiling.

Above the center of the room hung a delicate glass chandelier that was miraculously unharmed. Motes of dust moved in and out of the faint light streaming in through an upper window, dancing over the chandelier’s bits of carved glass and weaving their way through falling spider webs.

Janey walked across the room, stepping over bricks and bits of wood, toward an open door at the far side of the entrance hall. She beckoned for Glory to follow her, and the two girls made their way carefully into the dark room. Janey waved her hand in front of her, and the lights that still hung from the walls burst into life.

“Have you noticed,” Janey whispered reverently, “our powers are getting even stronger?”

Glory nodded. The girls had found themselves in the old butler’s pantry. Cabinet doors were flung open, hanging on single hinges, while plates and tea cups littered the floor in swirls of broken china. At the end of the narrow room was an open door. Glory walked toward it and beckoned behind her for Janey to follow.

On the other side of the door was a staircase. Glory assumed it was the old servant’s stairway because it was far plainer than the rest of the house. It seemed completely untouched by the fire that had destroyed the rest of the house.

“Up or down?” Janey asked, her voice echoing through the stairway. The stairs seemed to creek in answer. Down, they whispered. So the girls made their way carefully down the ancient wooden steps.

In old manor houses, it would have been common to find an elaborate, labyrinthine basement at the bottom of the stairs with dripping stone walls and jars of old food that had been stored by the cook for winter and forgotten in spring. Instead, the girls saw something that shocked them.

“Is that…?” Janey’s question dropped off.

Glory stepped forward and pressed her hand against the marble bust of a woman with long hair and wise eyes sculpted in gentle and ancient strokes. “It’s a crypt,” Glory whispered.

Along the walls were hundreds of stone cutouts stood next to busts of women or shields bearing long-forgotten names. The corridor was brightly lit, but the light had no visible source. Glory imagined that she could hear the dead women whispering to her, telling her to keep going forward. Then she wondered if she was really imagining it. Her feet seemed to move of their own volition as she made her way toward the end of the corridor. The light kept getting brighter and brighter.

Glory looked behind her and saw Janey still standing by the first bust.

“Hurry up!” Glory yelled to her sister.

Janey’s face contorted into a grimace. “I can’t,” she yelled back as she tried to move her feet. It was as if an invisible barrier was keeping Janey from joining her sister.

Glory continued on alone as the whispers grew louder. She couldn’t understand what they were saying; they all were muttering at once.

At the end of the corridor, Glory saw a large book set on an ornate marble pedestal. She felt herself drawn to it – golden rays emanating from between its pages. Glory didn’t know why, but she felt that this book was the source of her powers.

Carefully, Glory stepped onto the base of the pedestal to get a better look at its pages. The dark ink moved in scrawls written in a language she had never seen before. Gently, Glory placed her hand on the edge of the page. As she flipped it over, her stomach lurched as the room flipped upside down along with the page, returning to normal when the page rested back against the book. The light spilled out brighter and Glory fell violently onto the floor, her back suffering the most. As the light streamed out, it seemed to gather into a cohesive shape. Glory watched as an angelic form grew from the book. Wind whooshed throughout the room and blew its pages back and forth. Then, suddenly, the room became still and silent.

The light-thing towered over Glory. It reached a hand down and Glory took it cautiously. It was made of something more than light – she could actually touch it. It was surprisingly cool. Glory pulled herself up and brushed her dress off.

Glory, the form whispered. She – whatever it was, the form definitely seemed to be female – was using the same channel Glory and Janey used to talk within each other’s heads. Glory nodded. The light-woman was becoming more visible to her, and Glory stood in awe of her beauty.

The woman was wearing a long, flowing white dress, and just where her heart would be if she were human, a yellow light glowed. Her hair, bright and as blinding as the rays of the sun, billowed around her delicate porcelain face although there was no longer any wind.

I’ve been calling you since you were born. I am pleased to finally see you here.

Glory didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry that it took me so long,” she said, unsure.

You don’t have a lot of time now, The angel’s voice reverberated through Glory’s head painfully. Glory could feel her urgency.

You need to know who you are and where you come from.

“Who are you?” Glory asked without meaning to. She felt childish.

My name is Ihlyrah, the woman pronounced it IL-lie-Rah. It means “Free”. In this case, free of the First. It is important, but you are more important than I, now.

Glory shook her head and tried to back away. She found her feet were unable to move from their spot on the floor. Glory began to tremble as Ihlyrah held out her hand.

Take it, Ihlyrah said harshly. Glory took hold of her hand again, this time nervously. She looked over her shoulder to check that Janey was okay, but Glory couldn’t see her sister anywhere. Before she could look back to Ihlyrah, Glory felt a whoosh of air go past her ears making her feel dizzy.

Suddenly, Glory was no longer standing in the middle of the crypt. Instead she found herself on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Ihlyrah was still next to her, but was composed of muted colors instead of brightly glowing light.

“Where are we?” Glory asked, fear creeping into her voice. She knew that she was in a vision, but it felt different than the ones she had had before. This one felt more real. “Where is Janey?” Ihlyrah ignored Glory stoically.

This is where it happened, Ihlyrah said. Right here, the First took their first victim – the first part of the Trifecta – and threw her off of this cliff. It was the first of many untimely and horrible deaths.

Glory saw men in bland colored tunics carrying a screaming woman between them. Her deep red hair had been sheared off unevenly, and Glory could see spots where the cutting instrument had met flesh and blood had dried to her scalp. Glory winced. She looked up to Ihlyrah.

“I don’t want to watch her die,” Glory cried. Tears streamed down her face that she couldn’t control.

You must. You have to understand. Ihlyrah’s hand covered Glory’s shoulder and held her steady. Glory turned her gaze back toward the screaming girl. She was a prisoner.

Glory shuddered as the men roughly tied the woman’s hands and feet with rope. The bindings chafed at her skin, and blood welled at the surface. Then the men picked her up as if she weighed nothing and tossed her over the edge of the cliff. Glory screamed along with the falling woman and kept screaming, even after she heard the body splash against the angry sea below.

Glory bent over, placing her hands on her knees to steady herself as rolling sensations of sickness washed over her. She wanted to close her eyes and go back to Janey in the old mansion.

Glory felt a pull at her navel and suddenly found herself in a small hut. In the center a blackened cauldron was simmering over a crackling fire. Glory peeked inside and saw a stew with floating bits of vegetables and barley. It didn’t smell appetizing, but Glory’s stomach growled instinctually. From the corner of the hut, Glory heard soft crying. She walked over to the bed made of loose hay and saw straw-blonde hair mixing with the bedding. A young girl was hidden under a rough woolen blanket, and Glory could see her shoulders heaving up and down with her shuddering breaths.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Glory asked Ihlyrah who was still beside her.

She will die as well. It has already happened and cannot be changed. Be angry and feel the vengeance well up inside of you, but do not be sad. They would have died long before you were born even if they had not been stripped of their rightful time on Earth.

There was a loud banging on the door and Glory jumped. The girl hiding under the blanket jumped as well but didn’t get up to answer the knocking. The group outside the door yelled in a language that had died out and been replaced twice over, but their tone was terrifying. She wanted to tell them to go away and leave the girl alone, but she couldn’t. There was the sound of a scuffle as one of the men drew a piece of flint and threw a spark at the outer wall of the hut.

Then the flames began licking the walls. The dry hay picked up the fire quickly and burned strong and hot. Soon the ceiling was aflame as well and the girl was trapped in an inferno. She rushed to the door to try to escape, but the group outside had barred her exit. She pounded her small fists on the rough wood and blisters began to cover her burning flesh.

Then she was gone. Glory looked around again and saw that she had traveled away from the hut. Instead, she was now standing in front of an ancient looking inn. She saw Ihlyrah standing in front of her.

“Why are you showing me this?” Glory yelled. Ihlyrah didn’t answer. It was as if she couldn’t even hear her. Glory looked at the woman; she looked different from her Ihlyrah, and Glory realized that it wasn’t – this Ihlyrah was in the past and Glory was seeing what happened to her. She was covered in a thick brown traveling cloak and carried a small pack. She walked up to a thin horse and stroked its neck. The horse whinnied and she shushed it lovingly.

Cautiously, the past-Ihlyrah climbed up onto the horse’s back. Her belly was slightly rounded; she was pregnant. The dark night seemed to swallow her whole as she sped away, kicking the over worked horse into action. Glory stood resolutely as she watched her disappear into the trees and the shadows.

I escaped that night, Ihlyrah’s voice brought Glory back to the bright marble crypt. But my sisters were not so lucky. If you are not careful, you may soon suffer the same fate.

“How can I protect them?” Glory pleaded with the light-based form.

You can learn and understand. You have passed the first test already by thinking of your sisters before yourself. Now you have to prepare for what is coming.

The Trifecta have been present from the dawn of time. Three sisters, born of the Earth, living within its bounds, and protecting its delicate balance. But the peace they brought could not last for long. When men began to walk the soil, in the place that you now call Bymoor, they saw themselves as beyond the need of such mystical help. They declared themselves the First and set about to rid the Earth of any forces that were other than human.

The Trifecta escaped the human war for centuries. Then my own sister, Vanyta, fell in love with a man.

A witch within the Trifecta has no need of men to reproduce. We are born of the Earth, and to the Earth we give our lives. One sister bears the next generation, but all three will raise the children together. When the power of the new Trifecta grows, that of the one before it fades away. I was the Mother out of my trio of sisters, just as you are the Mother of your own Trifecta. The balance was tipped when Vanyta fell in love and wanted to run away. Vanyta was meant to control life, but her departure upset the delicate equilibrium and twisted her powers. Crops wilted in her wake, the milk of the cattle ran dry, children died of disease and malnutrition, and the leaves blew prematurely from the trees. Soon, she was found out by the man’s family and accused of witchcraft. Of course, she was guilty, though only of the humans’ artificial laws. So she was the first of us to die.

Then my youngest sister, Hettya, the bringer of peaceful and painless death, began to suffer greatly. She became very sick without Vanyta, and she herself grew weak. I didn’t know what to do to save her, so I decided to leave her and forge a path for the next Trifecta. Without me, Hettya was found and killed as well. Her painful death created the terror and ruin that surround mortal death to this day.

However, I was able to escape. I gave birth to a daughter, my precious Renesta, before I was found as well. I left my daughter with a family that vowed to take care of her as their own, and I ran. I tried to go where the First could not find me, but they were persistent. There was nowhere I could hide. Renesta was the only child that I was able to bring forth to a new generation. Her stone lays beside mine in our eternal crypt. Renesta birthed two of the next generation, but they joined us in our mausoleum as well.

Eventually I was found and burned at the stake. But before I was caught, I preserved a memory of my living self to warn the next Mother. I have been waiting since then for the next full Trifecta to be born.

Now that you are together, they will be able to sense your powers as I could. They will stop at nothing to destroy you, and they have only grown more powerful over the centuries while the Trifecta has been in perpetual darkness and cold. You are the sisters of winter, but you will take our first steps into the warmth of spring.

You will not be able to defeat them alone. You need each other and you need to become one again. Find your sisters. Practice and learn.

Then the ghostly form of Ihlyrah faded until she disappeared completely and Glory was alone at the end of the corridor. She looked around and saw it had never been a crypt. It was just a long, dark, and moist hallway that led to the boiler room. But one part of the illusion had been absolutely real. In front of Glory’s feet, the book lay, huge and ancient. Glory picked it up reverently and tucked it under her arm. At the mouth of the hall stood Janey. She was looking expectantly at her sister.

“What got into you?” Janey asked.

“I have so much to tell you,” Glory breathed as she ran back to her sister. “And I don’t think we have much time.”

It matters not who threw the first stone

Only that the stone was thrown,

And that the bruises stand ripe

Upon the skin of those whose fathers

Held the rake while those whose fathers

Held the whip are clean.

It matters not when one proclaims

That all lives matter, are sacred, have equal claim,

When those vocal few move to shut

The voices down of those who cannot move

Above their station and live in fear

Of having sons when those who swear

To protect the innocent kill those who

Raise their hands in peace.

It matters not when children grow

And dress in clothes that do not show

What the doctor promised years ago.

When children hold the razor on skin

And cut their flesh to feel whole and pure,

To hide the agony that rages within

While their family hides behind closed doors.

It matters not what language is heard

When those who to a country come

Escaping war, famine, disease, guns.

With open arms they should be greeted

Instead of leered at, jeered at, hated.

Those who have should give, not hoard

While behind their computer screens

They cry of invasion by threats unseen.

“Our jobs!” “Our land!” “Our Church!”

Are not true threats upon a person

But upon the comfort they feel they deserve.

It matters not that one feels safe

When those who ask for help do not.

It matters not.

This young adult, coming of age film features two teenagers who couldn’t be more different: a quirky fifteen year old girl from 2016, and a straight laced sixteen year old boy from 1942. When Ernie Atwood finds himself propelled forward through time and into the unusual life of Libby (Liberty America Fletcher, born September 12, 2001), he must convince her and her friends that he really is from the past. Libby and her trusting friends and family work to send Ernie back home. Will they make it in time? Is it the right choice? What will Ernie and Libby do with their new-found friendship and how does it affect their own futures?

The part of blue-haired, Frappuccino loving Libby is portrayed by the incomparable Amandla Stenberg, and the tall, buttoned and pressed Ernie is played by Evan Peters. The pair show the intricacies of friendship and growing up and how it has changed from the Second World War to the present day. Ernie, who was prepared to lie about his age in order to enlist in the army, learns from Libby that it is ok to be young and not to let go of your innocence too soon. Libby, however, learns from Ernie the benefit of responsibility and thinking about the future. While they are so different from the other, both Ernie and Libby are able to put aside all of their differences and just live in the moment for their one-day, out of time, whirlwind romance; a love that spans decades and creates bonds that last forever.