That was it. I was going home.
THIRTY-NINE
Dublin, Ireland, October
I n Dublin’s creative quarter, we sat at a café-style table outside Le Petit Parisien, with its orange-and-black façade, sipping coffee and tea. The trip to India, which was supposed to be the ultimate stress reliever, had been a bust. The jewels were still my cross to bear and the elusive Temple of Indra was as much a mystery to me as ever.
After Saraswati’s death, two more bodies had been discovered, including the body of our tour guide, Mani. Clearly one of his robberies had gone wrong. We’d all agreed that leaving the jewel in India was a bad idea. The closest airport was less than two hours away and so once we were cleared to leave, we’d booked plane tickets and put as much distance between us and the Airavatesvara Temple as we could. I’d locked the jewels up in Cullen’s office the moment we’d returned. There was no way I wanted them anywhere near my body.
Sam had hitched a ride back with us and he and Leslie had become inseparable over the last week.
“Whatever ye do, lasses, don’t crack a grin,” Cullen said, as Leslie stopped eating and reluctantly smiled for the camera yet again. Leslie of course was eating. She’d been drooling over something called the Croque-Monsieur since the man next to us ordered it. It looked like a normal baked ham and cheese sandwich but Leslie moaned over the béchamel sauce. Since leaving India, her appetite had returned with a vengeance. She ordered a chocolate croissant for dessert and a dozen tarts to go. I had plans to steal one later if there were any left. No bets there.
My appetite had also improved in the last week. I’d dropped almost ten pounds while away, compliments of India’s sweltering heat, but that’s what happened when you had to change outfits three times a day. Leslie and I had visited the bridal boutique yesterday and I’d put on my wedding gown for the first time in months. The vintage mermaid that had been custom designed to fit me like a glove, now hung off me like a second skin. I was sure a few more months in Ireland would have me right but we were getting married next month and I needed that dress to fit perfectly. Luckily Dublin’s best seamstress had an opening in her schedule. I was due back on Monday for the final fitting—one less thing to worry about.
We were headed back to Dunlace Castle next week to begin work, and life was running surprisingly smoothly for a change. I couldn’t help but think of Saraswati at times like this. I felt extreme guilt over her death. Had she died because she’d advised me not to leave the jewels in that temple? Or was it a complete coincidence—just random violence in a poor country? It tainted my feelings toward a land I’d always imagined fondly. The India of my great-grandmother Gigi’s stories was magical.
I pushed the negative feelings aside and focused on the present. If I’d learned anything in all my travels, it was that I couldn’t change the past the way I wanted to. The changes were random like my Gigi’s upbringing. My home was with Cullen in Dublin now, and we were in the midst of trying to convince Leslie that it was her home, too.
Our realtor, Cullen’s cousin, had just left and we sat admiring the three-story brick edifice across the lane that housed an empty storefront. It was the fifth place for lease we’d checked out since returning from India two weeks ago. We liked the Creative Quarter best; it was a hub of design and ingenuity, stretching from South William Street to George’s Street, and from Lower Liam’s Street to Exchequer Street. There were exceptional artisan boutiques, studios, cafés and restaurants but it was severely lacking in bookstores and so Leslie and I were considering remedying that. Why couldn’t two librarians run a bookshop?
The camera clicked as Cullen took another shot of us and then turned his aim to the empty shop across the lane. It was nice, but our favorite location was on the corner of Wicklow and William Street South. The building’s owner was asking much more in rent than Leslie and I wanted to pay but, of course, Cullen was willing to step in and take over negotiations. He might have been an architect who specialized in the restoration and conservation of historic buildings and castles, but his family was the silent partner in many businesses around the world. He had been raised to negotiate. Quite the opposite could be said for Leslie and me, so we were grateful for the help.
Our second attempt at a wedding was going much more smoothly than the first, mostly because his psychotic brother was dead, but also because we had decided to keep it low key. Cullen had pulled some strings and we were getting married in the castle he’d restored a year ago. I’d never been there but Cullen had showed me pictures of the library and I’d swooned. It would just be us and his immediate family—that is, if his grandmother, who everyone referred to as Móraí, refrained from inviting strangers this time around.
“Let’s go back to the corner of Wicklow and William and take another picture of the storefront with the gas lamps—the one with the ink spot on the wooden floor and the brass knocker,” Cullen said, picking up the camera.
I nodded. “I can already picture that one at Christmas time: garland and lights in the windows, a large red bow on the door and the tangy scent of pine mixing with the smell of paperbacks.”
Leslie shifted in her seat. “You guys go without me. I’m meeting Sam for dinner and a movie.”
“I thought we were going dress shopping,” I chided.
My bachelorette party was tomorrow night and I needed something that fit.
Leslie smiled, but then her gaze shifted over my shoulder. “Speak of the devil, I think I see him,” she said and waved. “I don’t think he saw me. He’s going into that store.”
“Oh, come now, Les. You can’t ditch me already, we have an hour left,” I was no more a fan of Sam than I’d been in India, although he wasn’t turning out to be such a bad guy. I just didn’t like sharing my best friend, according to Cullen.
Leslie bit into her chocolate croissant, hurrying to finish it now that she had somewhere to go. Small flakes of pastry fell to her white and blue polka dot blouse. She took another bite and dusted the crumbs away. “We’ve been looking all day and we’ve already been over our business plans. There isn’t much else to do besides pull the trigger,” she asserted.
I nodded and looked at the time on my phone.
“I thought you weren’t meeting him until dinnertime.”
“I wasn’t. He had a meeting with his editor today but he must have finished up early.”
“Well, he can wait.”
Leslie ignored me and gazed up the street. So that’s where her priorities lay. Oh, listen to me; I was turning into some sort of bridezilla.
Cullen sipped the last of his tea and squeezed the empty paper cup. “If you ladies make a decision this week I can have the attorneys look over the lease. You could take possession after the wedding. Start decorating and stocking the shelves or whatever it is you shopkeepers do. That is, if you can agree on a location.”
I looked at Leslie. I knew she was picturing the place with the gas lamps just as I was. “The Ink Spot is our first choice,” I said. “We love the gas lamps but it’s kind of expensive. Let’s decide after this weekend. The only decision I want to make today is what to wear to my bachelorette party. “
Leslie grinned. “We are gonna have so much fun.” She turned to Cullen. “Do you know what you and the boys are doing?”
Cullen shook his head. “Not a clue. I’m meetin’ Sam at Kitty O’Shea’s and then Bert and the lads after that, but I’ve left the seedy details to them.”
Seedy details. I snorted. “Just come home in one piece.” I looked at Leslie. “Speaking of home, when are you heading back to Toronto to pack up your stuff? If I’m coming with you then I need to book a ticket.” I also wanted to remind her of her need to get an abortion, but at roughly 12 weeks she still had time. I didn’t want to push too hard, but I also didn’t want a piece of Liam in this world. Not when everything was finally good again.
Leslie shook her head. “Sam says I can stay with him at his apartment. We’ll worry about clearing my place out after the
wedding. I’m all paid up and I have a friend sub-letting until the end of the year, anyway. Perhaps we should start shopping for houses if I am staying here.”
“Really?” Cullen said. “I’m sure there are plenty of places around here or were ye wantin’ to be in the country near us.”
“I’m just kidding. I can’t afford to buy a house right now. I wish,” Leslie said wistfully.
“I think that bookshop had an apartment over top. Maybe it will become available,” I said, “You never know.”
“Or maybe Sam will propose and then I won’t have to worry at all.”
“Oh lord,” I said, and laughed. “You’ve known him for a little over a month. If you get married before me, I’ll disown you.”
“You can’t disown me. We’re not really related.”
Ouch. That hurt. I’d always considered Leslie family.
Leslie got to her feet just as Cullen’s phone rang.
“Business. I have to take this. I’ll just be a minute.”
Leslie waved goodbye to him and turned back to me.
“Well I’m off. Is Sam still in that shop with the balloons? I’m gonna go see if I can catch up to him.”
“Wait. I’ll walk with you. Cullen could be on the phone for hours, at this point.” Business calls were unpredictable. “I wonder why there are all the balloons.”
“Looks like a grand opening.”
“For what kind of store? Let’s hope it’s good—they could be our neighbors if we lease the shop across the road.”
“It’s too small. I think we should go for the Ink Spot. It has the gas lamps and those big old windows and its right across from the Storybook café. That place makes the best bagels.”
“You are the only person I know who rents a storefront based on the bagels across the lane.”
“What? It’s really quite practical. A girl has got to eat and this way I don’t have to venture far when I’m working. You should be happy that I’m thinking about our time management like that.”
I chuckled. “I like the old-world character—like it was painted from the mind of Sherlock Holmes, himself. Gigi’s antique clock and dark velvet drapes would fit right in. Come to think of it, it reminds me of a bookstore I visited once in London.”
“When were you in London and why wasn’t I invited?”
“You know when,” I said, giving her the look. “1920.”
I’d time traveled on the day of my engagement to Cullen—thanks to the ring with the Delhi Sapphire —back to a past life and into the body of an ancestor. As my Great Aunt Zafira, I’d gotten lost in the famous London fog and wound up in an old bookshop.
We continued down the street and I shifted my gaze to the woman dealing tarot cards at the purple table with the crystal ball. Her body jiggled almost as much as the elaborate coins that hung around her neck.
Leslie let out a squeak. “Hey, doesn’t that look like Madam Brun outside the store?”
“It is Madam Brun,” I said, picking up the pace. “Her name is right there on the grand-opening sign. I wonder what she’s doing in town.”
“Maybe she’s opened a shop here in Dublin.”
“That would be a huge coincidence. Perfect timing though, we can ask her what to do about your baby.”
Leslie paused and scowled. “I know what to do with my baby.”
FORTY
I studied Leslie’s resolute expression. Had she changed her mind and decided to keep it? What if she’d told Sam and he’d done something noble…and stupid—like offering to father it.
I gritted my teeth but finally asked, “And that would be?”
Leslie ignored me, much like she’d been ignoring her pregnancy. Instead she looked back at Madam Brun. “Didn’t you freak out last time we saw her because she asked you about your spell book?”
“Yes, but I saw her after that. She’s the one who warned me that someone was trying to kill me. Remember, that was the day Nick showed up on my doorstep and I decided to move to Ireland,” I said, thinking of Madam’s offer to help if I returned on the following Samhain.
“Well, she looks busy. We could always wander down Grafton Street on Saturday. They have all those buskers and I think there’s a festival this weekend. I bet they have a resident clairvoyant, or maybe a good-looking shaman.”
“You’re pregnant!”
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t have to know that, and if he did then we’d know he was legit.”
“Well, hallelujah that you still think of other men, I was beginning to think Sam had cast a love spell on you.”
I let out a laugh and Leslie cringed.
“You okay?” It wasn’t that bad a joke, was it?
“I must have eaten that croissant too fast. I have to use the little girl’s room,” she murmured.
“You just want to go inside and look for Sam!” I accused.
“I do not. I really do have a cramp,” she said, and straightened.
As we reached Madam’s table, the beautiful sunny sky seemed to have clouded over; it had become cooler as well. I recognized charms against the evil eye, along with bundles of rosemary. She spotted me, and widened her dramatically lined eyes, and then she motioned for me to wait. Her bracelets jingled and her head, almost completely covered by a bright scarf, bobbed and weaved as she carried on with the brunette in the chair across from her, pointing to the tarot cards she was laying out before her.
I waited patiently while Leslie went inside the store to use the washroom. Finally the brunette left with an armful of candles clutched to her chest.
“Sophia,” Madam Brun said.
“Madam Brun.”
She chuckled. “Call me Sandra. Madam Brun is for the general public only.” She winked. “Sometimes they need a little help believing in the powers that be.”
“Absolutely,” I said warmly, just as Leslie emerged. “Sandra, this is Leslie; you met her once, very briefly.”
Leslie held out a hand to her. “Nice to see you again.”
Sandra arched a brow slightly, studying Leslie. “You’re the one who blocked me from going after Sophia the first time she wandered into my store.”
Leslie’s eyes darted nervously. I shook my head at her and grinned. “That’s because she’s a loyal and protective friend.”
“Qualities to be cherished and admired,” Sandra agreed, grabbing and shaking Leslie’s outstretched hand.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Is this yours? Are you opening up a psychic cupcake shop in Dublin? Readings and Red Velvet.”
Madam laughed as if I’d just said the funniest thing in the world.
“No, but what a novel little idea, if only I could bake. I love to travel and I’m just helping out a friend. She’s the one opening the shop and she wanted something fun to bring in the crowds. I’m offering free tarot readings for all customers this weekend. This is just the warm-up. I’d introduce you but she just left with her man. Lunch break, if you know what I mean,” she said, with a wink.
I smiled knowingly.
“You’ve come to see me about the babe, then? I knew you would,” Sandra said, turning and walking inside the store. “Follow me.”
I offered a slight smile of encouragement to Leslie. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”
“What do you mean you’ll wait here?” Sandra blurted out.
“You don’t need me,” I said, looking quickly from Leslie to Sandra.
Sandra frowned, closed her eyes and tilted her head to the right as if listening intently to something. She opened her eyes. “All right, follow me, Leslie.”
“But I want Sophia to come, too,” Leslie said, turning back to me.
“Oh, you two! Make up your minds already. Just come along, Sophia. The shop is empty so if you just want to take a seat over there against that wall, that should be close enough to protect your friend from the likes of the big, bad psychic,” she said, drawing out the words big and bad in a mocking tone. “Can I have something of yours?”
Leslie gl
anced nervously at me but slipped the large mood ring from her finger and handed it over.
Sandra squeezed the ring in her hands and closed her eyes.
“The first thing I see around you is green—a muddy green. I don’t feel like you’re an insecure person but I do get a sense of mistrust, like you think of yourself as a victim or as being victimized.”
She stopped speaking and placed her hand over her abdomen. “And I’m drawn right here. Are you having any problems with your girl stuff?” Leslie didn’t respond and Sandra let out a sigh. “I only ask because I’m getting some cramping.” Sandra said as she opened her eyes. “All right. Let’s see what’s in the cards. Shuffle these.”
Leslie did as she was told.
“The Tower,” Sandra whispered.
“What does that mean?” Leslie asked, drawing my attention to the table, where a card lay with people plummeting from a burning tower. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
Sandra shook her head. “Not necessarily. Has anything happened recently that might have you questioning your beliefs or perceptions?”
“You could say that,” Leslie murmured. Though she spoke lightly, I picked up on her sarcasm.
“What are you doing?” Sandra asked, pulling my attention back to the table where Leslie had picked up and was now staring intently at one of the cards. I stood and walked over. The card displayed a woman in a blue robe with a white cross on her chest seated between two pillars holding a scroll.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“The High Priestess,” Leslie answered before Sandra Brun got the chance.
Sandra eyed Leslie. “You know it?”
“No. I don’t know why it looks so familiar, but it does.”
Sandra nodded. “The High Priestess represents wisdom, knowledge, intuition and education. She is the guardian of secrets so when she shows up in a reading, like now, it can mean a secret is to be revealed.”
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 58
