Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four

by RAE STAPLETON

  He pulled her into his arms.

  “Calm down, lass, before ye yack on this lovely hotel’s carpet. If Mum’s alive somewhere in the past, Leslie will find her and I’ll bring her home.”

  She stilled in his arms.

  “I don’t get it. How is it possible to be in the past?” She questioned.

  Da rubbed a hand over his face, and then pulled a folder from his briefcase, the one containing all the research they’d done since Sophia first disappeared.

  “We’re no experts.” He explained.

  “Where is she then? Why hasn’t she come home?”

  He opened the folder and thumbed slowly through the letters. “It’s not that simple, a mhuirnín.”

  “But she said in the letter than she can time travel. She went into the past before and returned.”

  “To be sure, darlin’, but we don’t know how this all works. It seems this time is different. The other times, she travelled into a past life—into the body of Princess Sapphira, her aunt Zafira and the bride of Dunlace Castle. She used the book and was helped by an alchemist named Rochus, but he’s dead and anyway yer mum hasn’t had contact with him since before ye were born.” His voice trailed off; he looked out toward the wall, his gaze far away.

  “So what makes ye think she is in the past and not simply dead or missin’ like ye told me?”

  “It’s a lot of things…where to begin is the question.” Cullen looked to Leslie.

  Leslie took a deep breath and let it out in a slow, thoughtful sigh. “Why don’t you tell her what Móraí told us?”

  He nodded. “Aye. Sandra was trying to open the time portal to go back to 1494. Both Leslie and I already suspected Sandra and that husband of hers were up to no good with all of their regressions, but they disappeared that night. They surfaced a month ago, which is why I left suddenly on business. We were sure that they’d kidnapped Mum and took her on the run.” He thought back to the six different people he’d interviewed who’d claimed to have seen Sandra and Remus. The excitement and then the disappointment when they’d stated that there was no Sophia with them. “Everyone said the same thing and one hotel even had video footage. It was just a man and a woman—the two of them, and sometimes just Sandra and a bird. We were back to square one and then in a moment of brilliance, Leslie found a notepad that yer mother had scribbled on after one of her past life regressions. She examined the things yer mum wrote.”

  “Like what?”

  “Dracula’s Castle, for one thing, and the name, Elena, the reddish wolf.”

  “Who is that?”

  He thrust a thin sheaf of papers at Alana, but Leslie intercepted. A slight frown formed between her dark brows.

  “Cullen, slow down.” She turned to Alana, who was now shaking. “Sit, you’re looking wobbly, this is a lot to take in. Why don’t you tell us what you remember about the night your mother disappeared? You were there. You probably know more than either of us.”

  Alana did as she was told, flopping onto the leather couch. She rubbed at the scar along her palm—a not so tender reminder of the worst night of her life—and envisioned the bird circling the room so fast that it blew out the candles and flipped the pages of the spell book. “We were in a basement. There were candles and skulls. Someone was chantin’.”

  “What were they chanting?” Leslie questioned.

  “I can’t remember. I don’t know the language; it was sort of Russian but not really.”

  “Romanian?”

  “Could have been. They cut my hand and told me to read from the book. A woman in a cape,” Alana hesitated as if recalling the memory, “she squeezed my hand and forced blood drippings into the skull.

  Cullen felt a crushing rage race through him at the sound of her words. “Sandra.” He practically spat at the name. “If I ever get my hands on that woman.”

  Leslie cocked one brow at him, as if to settle him and then turned back to Alana. “Go on.”

  “I screamed my bloody head off. Next thing I knew the room was a twirl and I could hear Mum’s voice. I thought I was in a dream but then I opened my eyes and saw her—she was calling for me to run and trying to get past the tornado to save me. Then she was gone. Sucked up into it.”

  Leslie moved to Alana’s side, squeezing the girl’s arm. “Do you recognize her?”

  Alana took the picture from Leslie’s hands. It was a photocopied painting of a woman in front of a Castle.

  “It looks like mum.”

  “Yes,” Leslie said. “We think so. There’s another painting by the same artist and we think it’s of Madam Brun, granted she looks much younger in it.”

  “I never met Madam Brun so I don’t know what she looks like. I only heard mum talk about her.”

  “Oh, you met her. Sandra Brun was the one who cut you.”

  Alana squinted, as if she were failing to place her. “She had a cloak on and everything was dark and fuzzy.” She started to cry once again.

  “It doesn’t matter. We can stop talking about it. Are you happy that we told you, Alana, or is this just opening an old wound?”

  “I don’t know how to feel. I’m happy that Mum’s alive—but I’m heartbroken that she’s trapped in the past and that it’s all my fault. I can’t believe she didn’t die—that tornado that erupted in the room, it swallowed her whole.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Leslie said doggedly. “Sandra is the villain here. And you’re right. We think that the tornado was a swirling time vortex like the one your mother had been through before.”

  “A door through time,” Cullen added. “It took her back to 15th-Century Bran Castle. We don’t understand why there—why at that time—we think it had something to do with Sandra and her man. We were hopin’ ye would know or remember somethin’ they said in that room.”

  “There was no man in that room. Oh wait, there was a man—he was a bird and then he turned into a man when Leslie showed up, but that makes no sense…I think they drugged me.”

  “Oh, they drugged ye, to be sure. We had yer stomach pumped, but anythin’ that comes to mind is useful, so be sure to share.”

  “We know Sandra wanted to go back to the past. Móraí said as much,” Leslie explained. “We just can’t figure out why they sent your mother instead or if it was your mother’s doing.”

  Cullen took Alana’s hand. “Yer grandmother was agitated in the end—she kept repeating herself in the hospital—sayin’ that Sophia was never supposed to go—never supposed to get hurt. She could have been after pullin’ the wool over my eyes once again. Jaysus knows she did that enough, but I don’t think so. I think Sandra’s plan was to go into the past but it blew up, quite literally, in her face and yer mother was sent instead, now whether yer mum did that on purpose or not for the greater good—I haven’t a baldy.”

  FORTY-SIX

  Hunedoara, Romania, 1494

  By the time I realized what was happening, the door had been kicked in and hands gripped Elena’s arms, even as she fought to escape.

  I stayed quiet and hidden just as she’d warned, but it took only minutes for them to yank open the door and find me as well.

  The people stood finger pointing as we were dragged through the woods. We passed a husband and wife in their horse-drawn cart, coffin-shaped with wooden wheels. Elena cried out to them by name and asked them to find Vilhem. Finally, we stood before Corvin Castle, trembling as the sun went down and the wind picked up.

  A man opened the great wooden door, looking irritated. “What’s going on?” he demanded, rubbing his eyes.

  One of the men shoved Elena forward. “Get Gyorgy! We’ve brought him a couple of witches.”

  “He’s just lost his wife. He’ll see no one.”

  “György Stolcz will want to see these two. This is his wife’s murderess and her daughter. They’ve cursed this village with illness. You could be next.”

  The old man’s eyes widened, and he turned. He left the door open as he disappeared inside the castle and returned after a
time with another man. We were pushed forward up the stairs. Beyond György, the fire glowed in the large hearth and I wished I could curl up next to it. My dress was still wet from earlier and the air was chill.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

  “We have proof that these two practiced their dark rites and murdered your wife on the the word of your own daughter, Sir,” said another one of the villagers.

  “This is a misunderstanding. Alexandra is upset,” Elena explained, her voice soothing, despite the less than ideal conditions. “She asked me to save her mother but I could not. I am no witch. I brought herbs to ease your wife’s discomfort, but she had already passed when I arrived.”

  “Alexandra!” the man shouted. “Come here, my girl. You bear witness?”

  “Do not listen to my wife’s nonsense! It is only her grief talking.” A man shouted from behind us.

  “Enough, Vilhem.” György Stolcz commanded. He stepped forward, glancing down at the woven sack one of the men clutched in his hands. “What is in there?”

  The man took the bag and opened it up pulling a plant from inside. “Dead flowers, Sir.”

  “Were these for a spell?”

  Elena lifted her chin, meeting György’s gaze. “Of course not. Bishop’s wort is harmless, in fact it’s for healing,” she said softly, “It can also be used as an ointment for cuts and sores.”

  “Careful of her witch’s tongue. She spins her truth,” Alexandra said. “I am ashamed to admit that I went to her for help. She told me she would indeed make an ointment to cure Mother if only I would agree to join her in her dark dealings with the devil, but I refused her and she deliberately waited until it was too late to help.”

  “That is most untrue,” Elena objected. “I promised to attempt an ointment but I have no dark dealings.”

  The sack was handed over and György Stolcz opened it. He pulled out a glittering sapphire and candles carved with magical symbols.

  “Those are not mine!” Elena exclaimed.

  When he looked up again, his eyes had gone cold. “Put them in the torture chamber.”

  “I beg you!” Elena cried. “Please, release us at once! We are innocent healers armed only with plants and good intentions. Please, don’t—”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Alana woke up the next morning in a tangle of sheets. The question running around in her head had kept her awake all night. Just how were they planning to get her mother back? During their long and very emotionally draining conversation last night, she’d somehow forgotten to ask.

  She swung her legs over the bed and looked out the window. Squinting, she brought her hand up to shade her eyes from the glare of the morning sun.

  Coffee … coffee would be good.

  Something creaked outside her room and she wondered if she was the last to get up. She stretched, and threw on a long grey cardigan over the black shirt and tights she’d worn to bed, then she swept her red locks up into a ponytail and headed for the main sitting room/kitchen area.

  The sound of the tub jets and the smell of the spicy-floral salts clued her in to Leslie’s location. She knocked on the bathroom door.

  “Leslie.”

  She thought she heard a muffled yes, but couldn’t be sure. Then she heard scattered movement in the water. “Good morning. I suppose you’d like in here.” Leslie cracked the door open and stood, dripping, with a towel pressed against her chest.

  Alana shrugged her shoulders. “I can wait, or maybe I’ll just head downstairs to breakfast. There’s got to be a bathroom in the lobby.”

  “Wait. I’ll come with you,” Leslie said.

  “No thanks.”

  She realized she sounded short but she couldn’t help it. She was still angry that they had kept so much from her.

  “Like that, is it?” Leslie asked. “All right, let me have it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Come on. I’m a big girl. I can handle your wrath,” Leslie prodded.

  Alana felt her face getting flushed.

  “Why didn’t either of ye tell me the truth? How could ye keep me in the dark for so long?”

  “I wanted to tell you. Your Da didn’t want to get your hopes up in case we were wrong.”

  Alana paused, mulling that over.

  “I thought ye were havin’ a blasted affair. Did neither of ye consider how it would look to me? Like the two of you tossed Mum’s memory aside not even a month after she died.”

  “We did. Or at least I did. I mentioned that repeatedly, but your father didn’t get it. He never looked at me that way. He loved—loves— your mother with all his heart and I guess he assumed you would see that, that you would simply believe I was there to look after you.”

  Alana’s stomach churned with guilt. That did make sense.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Pastry delivery,” Cullen called out.

  Alana opened the hotel room door for her father.

  “I come bearin’ gifts from the bakery down the street.” He set the tray of coffee and the box of sugary-smelling goodness down on the counter. “Watch Leslie scramble,” he laughed and whispered to Alana.

  Leslie closed the bathroom door and then opened it not five seconds later wrapped in a furry white robe with a yellow towel on her head and headed straight for the counter. “Those smell divine. What do we have?”

  He pointed to a chocolate sponge cake coated with crunchy caramel. “That one is the dobos torta, and then there are several krémes and rétes. This one’s especially for ye, a muirnhan—a peace offering,” Cullen said, handing her the only cherry strudel. “It was the last one and their best seller.”

  “Save me a bite,” Leslie said, her eyes widening.

  Alana gave a spiteful grin. “Yeah, I will.” Then she closed her eyes and bit into the decadent pastry, focusing every fiber of her being on the sweet, smooth taste of the cherries and cottage cheese. Leslie, who was now on her second caramel pastry stated, “They’re not cupcakes, but they’re not bad.”

  Tap Tap.

  Alana turned to see Cullen with his hand pressed against the window.

  “What are you doing?” Leslie said, or at least that’s what it sounded like she said. Her mouth was full.

  “There was a bird tappin’ at the glass. I guess I scared it off.”

  Alana moved back to the couch and cleared her throat. “So, can we talk now about how we’re to steal Mum back?”

  “We can if we make it quick. I’m to meet The Professor in forty minutes.”

  “Ye’re worried about gettin’ fluter'ed with an old pal right now?”

  “The cheek of ya—The Professor teaches history. He’s is an expert on Bran Castle especially during the 1400s.”

  “And why do we want to know about Bran Castle?”

  “Remember the picture we showed ye last night?”

  Alana nodded finally getting it. “That’s why we’re attending the costume ball.”

  “Yes. We’re going to use one of the spells from the Book of Rochus,” Leslie said, “Your father is going to show his friend at the University the picture so we can verify that it’s Bran Castle and also he’s going to try to get an idea of where they might be holding her.”

  “So we’re going to try to locate her in the castle and then pull her back to us with some sort of spell? Brilliant.”

  “Not exactly,” Leslie corrected. “Your father is going to travel into the past to find her.”

  “Da is going to time travel?” Alana would have laughed if they hadn’t both looked so serious. “Jayzuz, isn’t there a spell that just reverses time travel or can pull her back somehow?”

  “Unfortunately, there isn’t. I’ve read the book back to front and we’ve researched almost all we can. I’m going to perform the spell on the night of the blood moon in Bran Castle. If that is where Sophia is, we figured it would be best to attempt the time travel into 1494 right there in the Castle. If it fails then we’ll try
again on Samhain.”

  “How will you get home after you find her?” Alana watched Leslie look up at Da, her face was troubled.

  Da stepped forward, trading places with Leslie. He lowered his head.

  “We don’t know for sure yet how but I will. Your mum and I might have for Yule or perhaps another blood moon, but we will make it back.”

  Tears filled Alana’s eyes and Cullen pulled her close. “Ye understand why I must try, don’t ye Lana? I’ll never forgive myself if I do nothing.”

  “So ye’ll leave me, too, then. I’ll be a bloody orphan.”

  “Oh, Lana, I love ye, a muirnhan, and I can hardly bear the thought of leavin’ ye, but what life are we to lead knowin’ Mum’s there? Trapped in another time...”

  “What if ye’re trapped, too?”

  “Then at least yer mum won’t be alone and ye’ll have Leslie and yer Grand-da and the comfort in knowing yer auld wans are together.”

  “How am I to know that?”

  “I’ll find a way. Leslie’s a bloody genius and she’ll figure it out.”

  Alana looked up, tilting her head as if a lightbulb had exploded. She met Cullen’s fiery-green gaze straight on.

  “Where’s the spell? I want to see it.”

  “What? Why?” Cullen asked.

  Leslie stood up and disappeared for a moment, returning with the book. She flipped it open and held it out to Alana. The room was quiet while Alana looked it over.

  Finally she looked up at them. “I’ll perform the spell,” she said.

  “No bloody way!” Cullen said.

  “I practiced magic with Móraí for three months and I’m positive the only reason it didn’t work that night was because they drugged me and it made me dizzy. I couldn’t read the words properly. “

  “Go away outta that!”

  “I’m serious. Mum wrote in the letter that I was powerful—ye saw it—ye know ye did. That’s why that lady wanted me. I can send ye back safely. I know I can . . . I’ve been dreaming about it.” Her voice caught slightly at that; her mother and the book, all of her dreams suddenly made sense. Her mother had told her she was as powerful, if not more powerful than she. She waited, breathless, feeling confident and nerve-wracked at the same time. She didn’t want to lose Da too but she knew if he was brave enough to go then she would be brave enough to help.