“You’re not curious as to why you keep rubbing your wrist like that.”
I looked down and realized she was right. I’d made my skin red from rubbing it. If felt like there was a rope tied around it.
She reached out for my hand but I pulled it away. “May I see your palm?” she asked, reaching for it again.
I lifted it to her and she stared deeply into my palm, as if her eyes were x-rays and she could see through the layers of skin, past the veins, the blood, and the muscles, to the truth within. Her eyelids shuddered as she went into a trance. Her head bobbed in a rocking motion, and she breathed loudly, exhaling from her mouth and wheezing in through her nose.
“Are you still reading palms?” I asked.
“Not normally, but sometimes I can’t help but see things,” Madam said, her voice a whisper. “And there are some things about the future you need to know.” She was silent again, as if awaiting the invitation to come in.
“Fine. I’ll be right back and we can chat, but I’m not going to lunch and I’m not being regressed.”
I returned five minutes later. I’d put on a grey knit poncho sweater, jeans and tied my hair loosely into a topknot. This was as good as it was getting today. Remus was sitting in the living room holding a mug of coffee.
Sandra, on the other hand, was running her hand along the bookcase, inspecting the books one at a time. It was obvious she was looking for something. I smiled when she reached the secret cubby where Alanna had hidden my old costume jewelry. By the sound of Sandra’s gleeful squeal when the lever, cleverly disguised as a book, popped open, she clearly thought she’d stumbled upon something.
“Can I help you find something?” I asked.
She responded with a sheepish shrug, “Just checking out your books and this cubby popped open.”
She straightened her clothing and brushed her hair back.
“It’s a toy cubby Cullen built for Alana when she was a child.”
“How clever. What a lucky little girl. Oh, we helped ourselves to the coffee. Hope you don’t mind.”
I turned to the chair and sat down. Behind me the phone in the kitchen began to ring. I looked at Remus, who was dangling a necklace in a circular motion.
“Don’t worry about the phone,” Sandra called out to me as I drifted off to sleep.
***
Sofia came to consciousness in the castle’s torture chambers; she was curled on hundreds of sharp rocks in a tiny cramped crevice, unable to relieve the ache in her back. The pain reminded her of her situation. A chair with spikes sat in the corner; it was empty enough for now, but she pitied the person who would occupy it next, and prayed that it wouldn’t be her. Across from it stood a metal cage and iron pokers. One could imagine just what happened there. She looked up and noticed something hanging from the roof at an impossible angle. She sucked in her breath then clamped a hand over her mouth. It was an older, gaunt-looking man. His hands were tied behind his back, his torn clothing revealing burns and cuts. He was either dead or unconscious—for his sake she hoped dead.
The cold stone crept into her bones and she began to cry.
“Sofia, my brave girl,” Elena whispered. “You must calm yourself.”
Sofia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying louder. She couldn’t see her but assumed she was in a similar cell.
“We mustn’t bring the guards.”
Her mother’s gentle voice began chanting softly to the elements. Within minutes a warm breeze replaced the bitter cold, and Sofia’s shivering eased.
“What’s going to happen to us?”
“Whatever happens, remember that I love you. Somewhere and sometime we’ll be together again.”
Sofia cried in silence and when dawn came, it brought with it György Stolcz, the short stocky magistrate, the illicit Priest, clad in his dark robes; and Vilhem, Sofia’s father and Elena’s lover, looking distraught with red-rimmed eyes. Behind him walked Alexandra with a black bird upon her shoulder.
“Elena Maria Catargiu-Obrenović,” the Priest said. “You and your daughter are charged with the crime of witchcraft. Will you confess to your crimes?”
Her mother’s voice was weaker now, and Sofia could hear the pain in it. “I will confess only if you release my daughter. She is guilty of nothing.”
“I’m afraid we cannot do that.”
“No,” Vilhem said in a broken whisper. “Please, stop this madness. Alexandra, beg of your father! Damn it, you started this and that is my daughter! Send them away but please don’t—”
“Stop sniveling, Vilhem. It really isn’t like you,” Alexandra responded coldly.
At her words Sofia’s heart fell. That bitter woman blamed her mother for her sad pathetic life and she was out for vengeance. No one could save them now.
Sofia heard urgent footsteps then, and sensed goodness and light. Pressing herself against the bars she recognized the face of the boy she loved.
The guard stepped forward to block his way but stopped when he realized it was Alexandra’s son.
“Costin? What are you doing?” Alexandra snapped.
“How can you let them harm Sofia and Elena!” he demanded. “I’ll never forgive you unless you release them.”
“You are but a young man, Costin,” György Stolcz said. “And this no doubt seems harsh to you.”
“What it seems like is revenge.”
“‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,’” György Stolcz quoted.
“They aren’t witches,” Costin replied, his gaze roaming the group, though he spoke to the old man. And then he looked at Alexandra. In his eyes there was no love, no joy—only horror, pure and undisguised. Sofia had never seen him look so dark and brooding. “My mother is jealous and she has accused them wrongly. Please free them.”
“Take him into the other room, Alexandra, and hear the boy out,” György Stolcz said firmly.
Costin walked forward and squeezed Sofia’s hand. “I shall see to this.” Then he followed his mother back through the arched doorway.
TWENTYEIGHT
C ullen burst into the room catching sight of Sophia passed out in the chair.
“Sophia!”
Remus Ceaușescu stood up, taking his glasses off in agitation. “You can't come in here.” He stepped toward Cullen.
Cullen was looking at Sophia. “This is my home and Sophia is my wife,” he said. He glanced at Remus. “Is there a reason ye want to send me away?”
“No! Of course not. You startled me is all.” Remus stood, looking up at Cullen, both of their face’s stern.
“Good then,” Cullen replied. “I’ll see that ye wake her up now.”
“Not yet.”
“Sophia! Wake up, lass.” Cullen demanded.
“Please, Cullen, sit over there and be quiet. Sophia does not know you're here.” Anxiously, Remus Ceaușescu put his hand on Cullen's shoulder. “She is in a deep trance. Now, please, sit down. It would be dangerous for you to interfere at this stage.”
“Dangerous?” Cullen was staring at Sophia’s face. Her eyes were looking at him quite normally, but she did not see him. The scene she was watching was in another time, another place. “She swore to me this…this brainwashing wasn't dangerous,” Cullen went on, controlling his temper with an effort.
Sophia’s eyes had changed focus now. They no longer looked at him. They seemed to stray through him, the pupils dilating rapidly as though she were staring directly at the window. Slowly he backed away a few paces and sat down on the edge of a chair. “Fine, but she won’t be doin’ this again!”
Sophia suddenly threw herself back against the sofa with a moan of agony. Her fingers convulsed and she clawed at the collar of her blouse.
“Mother!” she screamed. “Why doesn't he come?”
There was a moment's total silence in the room as the three looked at her, electrified. Cullen had gone white. “Her mother’s dead. What’s she remembering?”
“I can’t breathe,” Sophia moaned. “Get this
off me.” She arched her back again, catching the collar of her blouse and tearing it open so hard that two buttons popped off, exposing the black lace of her bra.
“For God's sake, Remus, what's happened?” Sandra was rooted to the spot. “Bring her out of it. Wake her, quickly!”
Remus sat down beside her. “Sofia, can you hear me? I want you to listen to me-” He broke off with a cry of pain as Sophia grabbed his hand and clung to it. Her face was wet with perspiration and tears.
“For pity's sake, wake her,” Cullen cried. “What's wrong with her?”
“She's about to be hanged,” Sandra’s voice cut in as Sophia let out another scream.
“Costin!”
“Wake her up, man, quickly,” Cullen snapped. His skin was crawling[RS8]. “Ye’re goin’ to kill her.” He clenched his fists as Sophia screamed again.
“Sophia? Sophia? Can you hear me?” Remus battled to catch her hands and hold them still. “The past is done, Sophia. There is no rope. You are going to sleep, Sophia. Sleep and rest. And when you are rested, you will wake and remember nothing.”
“Wait a damn minute. Ye promised she would remember everythin’,” Cullen said tersely.
“Yes, yes.” The Doctor agreed. “Sophia. When you are rested, you will wake gently and you will remember slowly, not all at once, but very slowly. Can you hear me, Sophia? Now, close your eyes and rest…”
***
Sophia did her best to emulate her mother’s courage as they stood beneath the dangling noose. The executioner approached the platform, old and stern-faced, his eyes all but gleaming. She bit the inside of her lip and breathed deeply. At sixteen, her life was over and she wouldn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to her love.
When the executioner pulled the rope tight, Sophia could no longer stop the tears.
Her eyes rolled over the crowd; she was praying to see his face just one last time.
She heard his voice, “Stop. Wait,” before she saw him.
Costin. He’d made it. He would rescue them.
He was rushing and thrashing his way through the crowd. There was a fire in those perfect green eyes of his, and they met Sofia’s and held them. Sofia stared back at him, and he didn’t look away, but held her gaze, searching her own. She felt a feeling of warmth and love pass between them.
Then his gaze broke away as he turned to his grandfather, György Stolcz and said, “Bunic, surely you can’t let this charade go on.”
“I can and I will.”
“I will vouch for her. I have grown up with Sofia. A truer and lovelier person I do not know.” And he shook his head sadly. “I mean to marry her.”
“She is your blood,” The Priest declared.
“She is not my blood, and you know it.”
“Costin! Enough!” Alexandra exclaimed.
“Oh, Mother. Everyone knows that Vilhem is my father in name only.”
Alexandra went red with anger. She thrust out a gnarled finger, pointing behind her. “Leave now, Costin, before you see us all punished!”
Sofia’s lip trembled. “I love you, Costin, but you mustn’t surrender your life in vain.”
He looked at Sophia so intently it was as if he searched her very soul.
“I love you, too,” he whispered.
“Do you wish to confess your sins and beg the Lord’s forgiveness?” the Priest asked Elena.
Sophia saw her mother lift her chin. “You’re the one who ought to beg your God’s forgiveness, sir.”
The Priest glared at her, and then turned to Sophia. “And you?”
“I have done nothing wrong,” Sophia said loudly. “My soul is pure especially when compared to the blackness of yours.” Then Sophia looked down at the crowd below. The raven that had been perched on Alexandra’s shoulder in the dungeon looked back at her from the crowd. Round, beady dark eyes. “And far less stained than the souls of those who would watch a man murder!”
The crowd of spectators roared with outrage, and Sophia saw Costin lunge toward the steps. But the guard at the bottom caught him in his burly arms and flung him to the ground. A crowd closed around him as he tried to get up, and he was blocked from Sophia’s view.
“Costin, you fool, must you damn yourself too?” Alexandra said, and turned away.
The hangman came to place a hood over Elena’s head, but she flinched away from it. “Look upon me while you commit your sin.”
Sneering, the man chucked the hood to the floor and never offered one to Sophia. He took his spot behind them. And Sophia looked below again to see Costin there, struggling while three large men held him fast. Sophia had no idea what he thought he could do to prevent their deaths, but it was obvious he would go down trying.
“This is wrong! Please stop this, Mother!” he shouted over and over.
Sophia turned to meet her mother’s teary gaze and then she turned to Costin and mouthed. “I love you.”
The bucket was kicked from beneath her feet. She heard Costin’s anguished cry and then came the pain.
***
Faces swam before my gaze. Absently I tried to focus on them, my mind groping with shapeless images as first one pair of eyes and then the other floated toward me, merged, then drifted apart once more. The mouths beneath the eyes were moving. They were speaking, but I couldn't hear them; I couldn't think. All I could feel was the pain in my neck, throat and chest. I breathed in slowly and recognized my husband’s face near mine.
“Sophia, love, ye all right?” Cullen begged.
I half rose, grasping at my neck. Frantically I tried to catch my breath, but it was no use. My arms were so heavy.
“I’m dead. Someone killed me,” I choked out in gasping breaths then I clapped my hand over my mouth, wondering where that had come from.
“No, Sophia. They hanged Elena Maria Catargiu-Obrenovic and her daughter, not you,” Sandra said and handed me a glass of water.
Remus Ceaușescu stared intently and I was reminded of the raven who had stared at me. Round, beady brown eyes.
TWENTYNINE
M ysterious Adventures in Ink opens at nine on Tuesdays, but the first hour is typically quiet. It was Leslie’s day off so Alana worked with me. She had been something of a fixture in the summertime. I would miss her when she went back to school. We drank our coffee and ate our bagels in companionable silence.
I had taken to reading one of the new occult books while Alana was in the back room, reducing the prices on books that weren’t moving well. I looked up to find the last bite of my bagel and noticed Móraí stood outside the shop, watching me. Practically hypnotized, she seemed oblivious to being caught staring. Finally, she snapped out of it, and sauntered inside.
“Good mornin’ Sophia.”
“Morning, Móraí. What are you doing here?”
“I’m a lonely auld woman,” she said smarmily. “Am I no longer welcome to visit the last of my family?”
“Of course, you’re welcome.” I replied, mentally preparing myself for the guilt trip I was about to go on. “I’m just not used to seeing you here at the store. You surprised me.”
“I was out doin’ the messages. John usually has lunch with me after, but he’s too busy with his new wan. Everyone’s always busy.” She turned the knife a little more. “Why, if it wasn’t for Alana, seems I’d spend all my time alone these days.”
“Móraí,” I started.
“No, no, dear. Never ye fret. I haven’t come to guilt ye. I understand ye’ve a business to run and all that and, well, Cullen’s never home. I just wanted to check out this new section.”
“It’s over here,” I said, leading the way.
“Alana says it’s quite a big section. I was told I should get a copy of A Witch's Book of Shadows.”
“I don’t mean to sound rude, but when did you become so interested in…” I hesitated, looking for the right word.
“Magic?” she interjected.
“I was going to say Wicca.”
Móraí pressed her lips in a tight
line. “Well, I’ve been interested for a long time, but it wasn’t exactly popular enough to mention in polite society, especially since Liam was a priest, ye know. But what with Liam gone...I’d been so lonely…it’s not like I run in the same circles anymore and…then I met this woman…” She allowed her words to just hang in the air for a moment before blurting the rest out, “We became friends and I’ve joined her coven!”
I was pretty sure my eyebrows flew up in wonder. It’d never occurred to me that Móraí actually belonged to a coven.
“A coven?” I questioned. “Where did you meet this woman?”
“Shona’s.”
“Where is that?”
“Shona Walsh, dear…The Cupcake Shoppe...ye know John’s new girlfriend. I stopped by one Saturday morning when I thought Alana was working. The place was packed, and I got to gabbin’ with the woman next to me in line.”
I nodded and picked up a couple misplaced books, shelving them in their correct locations.
“She lives across the road from the shop and invited me for tea after, and eventually to one of the coven meetings.”
“How lovely. Well, I’m glad you made a new friend.”
Ye know, Alana has expressed an interest in joinin’ me.”
“Has she, now? You told her no, I hope.”
“I did no such thing. Clever girl—I thought it was a brilliant idea.”
“She’s a little young to be dabbling in the occult.” My gaze remained fixed on the floor. “I’d prefer you didn’t teach her anything either.”
Móraí’s head came slowly up and she glared. “She is my great- granddaughter. Ye would deny an auld lady passin’ along her wisdom?”
I stood rigid and immovable. “Of course not, you can teach her anything that doesn’t involve witchcraft. Teach her how to bake a cake. Teach her to garden. Take her to a knitting class.”
Móraí’s voice flared. “Ye know, ye’re bein’ very prejudice. Wicca is a religion. Witches are very highly respected these days.” She shook her head in disbelief.
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 80
