“Oh, here we go,” I said, preparing myself for their playful banter, most of which was lost on me.
Liam drew me in for a kiss on the cheek and lowered his voice, practically whispering into my ear. “I saw ye first.”
I smiled at the harmless peck. They were always teasing, although I couldn’t help but think sometimes Liam took it too far, especially for a priest. He let go and looked back at Cullen, who finished hugging his aunt on the other side of the table and strutted toward us.
“Hold tight. I’m on my way to rescue ye.”
“No rescue necessary,” Liam said, grinning. “I’m a man of the cloth.”
Ewan, the youngest of the three, jumped to his feet and pretended to step between them. Both Cullen and Liam gave their cousin a friendly shove, and then gave each other a loving pat on the back as they hugged.
Cullen, obviously sensing I was lost in thought once again, turned to me. “Ye sure ye’re all right, love?”
“I’m perfect. It’s only that I’ll miss you,” I said, finally beginning to relax. He would only be gone four days but he was never home long before he had to jet off again on business.
“And I, you.” He kissed my forehead, his lips soft and warm on my skin. “How ye plannin’ to keep busy?” He fiddled nervously with his jacket pocket. It wasn’t like Cullen to fiddle, and I gave his hand a squeeze. Maybe that was why he was so jittery. He mentioned once or twice the guilt he felt leaving me all the time
“I thought maybe I’d go to that fundraiser tomorrow night—see if Leslie or one of your cousins wanted to tag along.”
Someone clinked their fork off a glass and the musical tinkling made me look up.
“O’Kelley Clan, can I get your attention up here for a moment?” Da called. “If you haven’t noticed already, champagne is being passed about so set your whiskey aside and grab one. Just remember to behave. Father John will not be happy to see the likes of yous pickled at tonight’s vigil.”
We sat as the table quieted down, and Cullen switched out my glass as the tray went by.
“Now ye know that beautiful lass sitting over there at Cullen’s side,” Da continued, and all eyes turned to me.
“What’s going on?” I whispered, nudging Cullen.
He gave me his best I-have-no-idea look, and extended an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in tight.
“T’was not that long ago, she fell into our lives from Sainte Marguerite Island—or perhaps it was the sky, ‘cause surely that one there is an angel.”
“Quit stealin’ his lines, John,” Lucille chided.
“I did, didn’t I? Sorry, son. Well then here's another stolen line while I’m at it: to women's kisses, and to whiskey, amber clear. Not as sweet as a woman's kiss, but a darn sight more sincere! Anyway, Cullen, time to be a man.” The laughter faded as Cullen pushed his chair back and stood, pulling me gently to stand with him.
“Thanks, Da! Not sure how I’ll follow that up, but how about: to passionate people, beautiful futures, and lovely lasses who fall from the heavens,” he said, knocking glasses with me. Clinks echoed all around, and I smiled as he set his flute down.
Then he lowered to one knee.
FIVE
May, 1920
A s Zafira passed the three-story mid-eighteenth-century brick house on the corner of Roxborough and Chestnut Park, a middle-aged brunette bent forward, struggling with a bag full of groceries that had spilled on to the sidewalk.
“Miss Alice, do you need help?” Zafira asked, remembering her manners.
“Oh, dear. I’m so clumsy.” She was.
Zafira picked up the heavy bag and tucked a few items back in. She climbed the stoop, stopping to stare for a moment at the unique raven-shaped bronze door knocker.
“Come in, come in, dear,” Miss Alice said. “So nice to have a visitor. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Oh, please don’t go to any trouble,” Zafira said, but the woman was already in the kitchen. She hadn’t meant to get trapped in a conversation. That was the trouble with offering help to spinsters.
“What a charming home you have,” Zafira managed to say, hoping that her grimace passed for a smile. Indeed, at first glance house was beautiful. There were gilded egg-and-dart moldings on the door, an elegant parquet floor, and tall ceilings. But the place was like nothing she’d seen before, books stacked all about, an ornate clock set to the wrong time, brass candelabras with black candles burned down to nubs, a framed painting of a dark old castle and, most troubling, a black raven that sat calmly in a cage.
“Here’s your tea, dear. Do have a seat,” Miss Alice said.
“Thank you,” Zafira responded, fiddling with the tight band around her finger. It was her mother’s present and she’d mistakenly gotten it stuck after polishing it.
From the windows she could see a view of a charming garden with decorative gargoyle statues.
“My, my, you are getting so tall. Do you know I have lived in this neighborhood since you were born? What are you now, fifteen?” She frowned. “Or sixteen?”
“Sixteen,” Zafira replied.
“I see you going out sometimes with that Collin boy from next door. Are the two of you betrothed?”
Zafira had to bite back her giggles. This lady sure was out of touch. “No. Not yet.” Zafira looked down and noticed a pair of men’s shoes at the door. What an odd thing for a spinster to own. “Miss Alice, have you seen a strange man hanging around the neighborhood lately?”
Miss Alice pursed her lips, as if taken with thought. “I can’t say that I have. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. I just thought I saw someone following me the other day. It looked like he disappeared into your house.”
“Oh, how strange! I think I would have noticed a man hanging around. Not that I’d complain …” she said with a laugh. “It’s been a while since there’s been any testosterone in here.” She seemed to follow Zafira’s gaze. “I keep my father’s shoes out just to pretend at times.” Her bird rattled its cage and Alice hushed it. “Do you remember what he looked like, or anything about him? Maybe I should keep watch.”
Zafira sipped her tea. It had an odd taste. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t really see him. It was more of a dark shadow.”
Miss Alice opened the wire bird cage and lifted the raven from its perch. “Oh, so you mean you saw him at night after a few drinks,” she said, stroking the bird’s feathers.
Zafira nodded.
“Don’t worry, I’m not judging you. I was young once, too,” Miss Alice said, smiling. “Drink your tea, dear,” she said and wandered over to the sink.
Zafira swallowed down the rest, spitting out small ends of leaves, and noticing a lovely art deco ring on the table. Zafira loved jewelry—she couldn’t wait until she was old enough to own something like the set she had for her mother in her pocket. She picked up the art deco ring and slipped it on. “What a lovely ring. Where did you get this?”
Zafira felt her cheeks blush realizing it was now stuck. “Oh no.”
“Dear girl,” Miss Alice said as she put the bird away, walked to the counter and returned with a knife. “Don’t you know enough by now not to play with other people’s jewels Hold still and let me help you.”
Zafira jumped up from her seat. “I’m sorry!”
Alice frowned as she cut into the slab of butter on the table and dropped a small piece onto Zafira’s finger. She set the knife down and rolled the butter around Zafira’s finger, successfully pulling the ring off.
“Thanks.” Do you want me to take it and polish for you at the store?
“No, I can do it. But whatever you do, no touching gemstones, okay? We wouldn’t want you getting in any more trouble now, would we?”
Zafira took the last sip of her tea, noticing a pattern of leaves in the bottom of the cup. “What are these?”
“Tea leaves.” Miss Alice took her cup and peered into it, frowning. “Before I moved here, I was a spiritual medium with a travelling fair. I read t
ea leaves.” She stood rather hastily. “I’m afraid I must bid you good day, Miss Breathour. Thank you for visiting and be careful.”
The light flickered as she stepped out into the hall—sending a chill up Zafira’s spine.
***
Z afira’s dream began as it often did, with sunshine and an overwhelming feeling of freedom. She was reading by the window when the haunting silence came, like the world holding its breath. A violent force flew from the closet and knocked her to the ground. His dark hair and familiar face were like an invisible punch to the stomach.
Zafira screamed and scrambled to get away but she was now in a forest. The beautiful trees were a blur. Here and there, she caught glimpses of a swamp—she was peering through a hole in a sack.
Zafira woke, biting off the start of a scream. The little fan beside her bed whirred, but she was drenched with sweat. With trembling fingers, she felt for the lamp switch, then blinked against the sudden light. The familiarity of her room calmed her. She climbed to her feet, and treaded into the hall where it was cooler and more open.
Her little sister, Veronika peeked her head out into the hall and studied her.
“What are you doing out of bed, Vee? It’s after midnight.”
“I heard you crying.”
Zafira pulled her robe the rest of the way over her shoulders. “I’m going to get a glass of water. I had a bad dream.”
Vee followed her to the stairs.
“What are your dreams about? You always cry for daddy,” Vee said.
“Let’s talk about it later. I had a real lulu of a weekend, little sis. Come on. I’ll walk you back to bed.”
“Do you think they’re really gonna send you to live with Aunt Maggie?”
“I don’t know, Vee. Probably not, but you never know.”
“Do you think they’d let me go with you? I love Aunt Maggie.”
Zafira laughed. “I know you do, but it’s time to go back to bed. I’ll come up and sleep with you once I get a drink.”
Vee’s eyes widened. “You will?”
Zafira nodded. “Just like when we were little.” Zafira figured it might just be enough to drown out the nightmares.
Vee jumped back in bed. “I wish we could go back in time and you could still sleep with me every night. Will you tickle me to sleep like you used to?”
“Sure.” Zafira kissed Vee’s cheek. “You are an absolute doll, Vee, my girl.”
Vee crawled back into bed and Zafira ran her finger in trails over her shoulder. She watched the light make patterns on the ceiling in the dark as she did it.
“Have you ever known something that you were afraid to tell?” Zafira asked. She was growing tired just watching Vee doze off.
“Whaddaya mean?” Vee slurred.
“I’m not sure,” Zafira murmured. She wanted to say more, but wasn’t sure how to begin, and Veronika was already fast asleep anyway, so with one last kiss she left the room and padded down the stairs to her father’s office. She knew he had a book on deciphering dreams.
The steady click of the clock kept her company as she took a look around. His desktop was awash in newspaper clippings and books. Curious, Zafira leafed through the newspaper clippings. They were old reports from port towns across the country of runaway sightings. She turned to the shelves, looking for the book on dreams she’d seen while hiding the jewels in here yesterday. She moved the H.G Wells novel to the side. The shelf was empty behind it.
The book teetered on the edge of the shelf but remained until she was distracted by a strange buzzing that emanated from the other room. She started to move toward the sound when something thudded to the ground. A piece of paper fluttered out from it. She picked up the note and straightened the crease where it had been folded. It was some sort of short poem but it didn’t make any sense. Some foreign poem—must have belonged to the shop keeper who sold her the book. She put the book away and carried the paper with her into the parlor where the sound was practically rhythmic.
The jewelry case sat open on the coffee table between the couch and the fireplace, surrounded by bits of tissue paper, snippets of lace, and two empty champagne flutes. Papa had obviously given her mother her anniversary gift in here after their dinner.
Setting the paper on the table, Zafira touched the case. The jewels were almost vibrating. She picked up the ring and squeezed it in the palm of her hand knowing better than to try this one on. It felt warm. She was glad Miss Alice had pulled the art deco ring from her finger yesterday. Her father would have been furious to[RS2] know she’d gotten someone else’s ring stuck. She was about to put the ring away when she noticed the paper shimmering on the table. There was a golden iridescent hue to it and she picked it up once again and re-read the words. The buzzing grew unbearable and she instantly felt ill. She dropped the ring back into the box and headed upstairs. The hallway was now spinning. She hurried for the bathroom not wanting to get sick on the rug.
SIX
C ullen grinned up at me—so charming and gorgeous. His green eyes, as always, were mesmerizing. They had flecks of gold in them that clung to the edges and danced in the center, like they were on fire. My heart beat so loudly in my ears that it almost drowned out the ‘awws’ and ‘oohs’.
“Ye’re already mine, lass, in every way possible and I am yours, but I want the world to know,” he said, taking my free hand. Someone took the glass of champagne from the other one, as I was shaking so badly. The black velvet box squeaked open, and his aunts gasped in unison, as if on cue.
“Will ye make me the happiest man in Ireland, Aeval, and join our O’Kelley Clan?” He kissed my fingers as I stared down at him.
The marble-sized rock in the box swirled, and doubled in front of my eyes. An enormous blue sapphire with a thin frame of diamonds set in pink gold and accentuated with a slender shank and crescent details.
I looked past the ring, into his eyes, and found him still staring directly at me. He’d removed the ring from the box and was holding it out, ready to place it on my finger.
He cleared his throat. “It was my great-great-great-grandmother's and I thought ye might appreciate it.”
I nodded, trying to smile through the confusion, but my head swam with random bursts of chatter, the fiddle, and all the thoughts flooding me at once, mostly that Cullen had just proposed to me with the missing Delhi Sapphire ring I had lost in the nineteenth century.
A bead of sweat ran down the side of my cheek as the ring touched the tip of my finger. Cullen’s face began to distort. A shimmery haze had fallen over the room as if the desert were closing in. The vibration from the ring traveled up my arm, and the room began to shift and blur at the edges. Another room, a darker room, was coming into focus. I could still hear Cullen’s aunt ordering someone to get me a glass of water.
There was something I should remember. Water. Rochus said water was necessary to ease the pain of time travel. Maybe this was what it felt like without. I tried to blink away the heat, tried to stop myself from going, but I couldn’t. The edges of the room were burning away fast now, like a Polaroid scorched by flames. I could hear the trickling of the fountain in the corner. I ran for it, or at least I intended to, but it was too late.
SEVEN
Blood Moon, May 2nd, 1920
T he house was eerily quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock. I came out of the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe. The upstairs corridor creaked with my every step. This made sneaking around something of a conundrum, especially considering I was not used to this body. It felt all wrong, disproportionate and slightly shorter than my usual 5’5.
“I can’t believe this,” I whispered, holding my hands in front of my face. Squinting hard to focus, I examined the backs as they drifted in front of me.
I’d just been in my own body, in a restaurant being proposed to by the man of my dreams. Why had this happened? I knew the answer. The Delhi Sapphire—that beautiful, sinister stone I’d inherited had once again transported me to another time and p
lace. What I couldn’t fathom was how Cullen had gotten the ring.
I owned the Delhi Sapphire in its entirety in 1857—but it had been cut into a set in 1920 and passed down through my great-grandmother, Gigi. I’d lost the ring on that first trip through time one year ago. I’d just assumed the portal had burned up its energy and it had disintegrated, but something must have happened to the ring on that first trip. Either that or it had something to do with the ‘butterfly effect’—the theory that a single occurrence, no matter how small, could change the course of the universe. But I hadn’t seen any evidence of it since I’d returned. And now here I was once again in the past. What to do?
The rational part of my brain told me to stay put and do no harm, but an air of mystery pervaded the dark corridor ahead with its darkly patterned runner, and the deep-seated need to explore took over. I followed the brown border, watching as it melded into the tone of the floor and blended with the woodwork. White doors lined the length of the hall, all closed except for one.
I walked to the recessed window near the stairway. It was curtained with blue-violet silk fringed with orange and the seat was upholstered in the same violet color. The streetlamp outside cast light down the sweep of stairs that descended into the gloom of a foyer. The hall spun as I lifted my hands to touch my face. They felt so heavy and there was a faint buzzing in my ears, like a hangover without the fun of the hours preceding it.
Finally the vertigo eased, and willing myself to inch forward one silent step at a time, I crept down the stairs.
Half-open open pocket doors flanked either side of the foyer. I went to the right first. The floor of the dining room was black oak, polished to the highest degree with wax and partially covered with a deep green and crimson Turkish rug. A wrought-iron chandelier hung from the center. There was nothing here I could use to my advantage so I moved on, exploring the kitchen and parlor next.
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 27
