Temple of Indra's Curse (Time-Traveling Bibliophile Book 2)

by Rachael Stapleton

Cullen hadn’t even been gone ten minutes when the doorbell rang. I closed the book and tucked it back under the magazine on the kitchen table. I wonder what he forgot. I turned and saw my soon-to-be brother-in-law at the door.

  “Liam, what a surprise.”

  He took a fleeting look down at my bare legs and then shot his glance back up. My hand instantly went to my unruly hair, which I hadn’t yet brushed. I’d only had four hours sleep.

  “Just waking?”

  “No, I was up early with Cullen. Uh—did I get the time wrong? I have lunch plans with your mom, and I haven’t packed a bag yet.”

  “No worries, luv. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop in to say bye to my eejet brother.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Is he off again already, then?”

  I smiled, cluing in.

  “Awe, how cute. Cullen told you to check up on me, didn’t he?”

  “No. I just stopped by to say goodbye to him.” His voice had a strange pitch to it and it suddenly occurred to me that he must be uncomfortable seeing me in my nightie.

  “Ah, yes, you just missed him. His flight leaves at seven a.m. Would you like some breakfast?” I mumbled, pulling some eggs from the fridge.

  He glanced back down at my legs. “Maybe I’ll just go throw my robe on first.”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it. I already had a bagel and I have a couple of things I need to do before we leave. I’ll just be on my way and I’ll pick ye up at three p.m.”

  After he left, I finished wiping the counter down and took a fresh cup of coffee back into the living room, noticing for the first time the box that Rissa had dropped off. I’d been so preoccupied with the accident that I hadn’t opened it. I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found her number.

  Rissa answered on the third ring. “Sophia, darling. How are you?”

  “I’m good. I’m sorry I missed you.”

  “That’s all right. I was a little earlier than I’d thought. Did you get the box okay?”

  “Yep. Where did I leave it?”

  “It was in the front closet on the shelf. The new tenant was gonna throw it away. Can you believe it? What a jerk. You were the best tenant I ever had. That couple I have in there now … Always fighting—drives me crazy.”

  “You were hardly ever there,” I said.

  “Well, now I’m there even less.” I could practically see her grin through the phone.

  “I still can’t believe I left something behind. I wonder what’s in here,” I said, lifting one of the corners.

  “Oh, I took the liberty of opening it just to make sure it was yours. It looks like some of your university papers and Ann’s book. Gosh—it’s been a while since I thought of that poor girl.”

  “What girl?” I questioned.

  “Your cousin. Ann Switzer. It was really so tragic what happened to her. She was such a nice girl.”

  “You knew her?” I asked quietly.

  “Of course I knew her. I was your great-grandmother’s best friend. We grew up together. I met all of your family at one time or another.”

  “Yeah, but Ann was murdered, wasn’t she? Or am I mixing her up with someone else?”

  “No, you’re thinking of the correct person. She was murdered in ‘99. You were a teenager. That was a sad day. Of course, I only met Ann the once when she came to stay with your Gigi; it was about a month before. I don’t think you were living with her yet. Your mother, God rest her soul, was still alive then. Anyway, Ann was onto some big story. That’s most likely what got her killed,” Rissa added.

  “Did she say what the story was about?” I asked, clutching the phone a little tighter.

  A phone rang in the background. “Just a second, darling.”

  She broke away and I could hear her talking in the background. “I’m sorry Sophia, can I call you back?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks, love. Talk soon.”

  I hung up the phone and stared at Ann’s picture on the back of her book. I wonder what big story you were onto, Ms. Switzer? I set the book back in the box and was about to leave the room when the hanging portrait of Cullen’s great-great-great-grandparents caught my eye. There was a strong resemblance between Cullen and his ancestor, and I remembered the first time he’d showed me the portrait. He’d been telling me the story of how his Da had fashioned him a dagger from scraps just like the one in the portrait so he could pretend to be his great-great-great-grandfather, Tandy O’Kelley. That had given me an idea for a wedding present, and I’d made a mental note to speak to Lucille about a good jeweler.

  My eyes moved to his great-great-great-grandmother’s wrist, where a huge purple scarab gem sat. It was the original Purple Delhi Sapphire in its first setting of silver marked with symbols. Before it had been passed to my family and severed into a matching jewelery set. His great-great-great-grandfather had been the curator at the National Gallery of Ireland. The reason I’d come to Dublin, aside from Cullen, was to visit the Gallery and look for information on my family heirloom.

  Cullen and I had so many things in common. I was reminded of the other thing that connected us—our dreams. I’d once overheard him telling Liam how I was the girl from his dreams. When I’d asked him about it, he’d seemed embarrassed and told me only that there was one in a castle, and another where he pulled me from the sea. As if I would judge him for having psychic dreams. If only he knew. If only I had the guts to tell him all of my secrets.

  I looked back at the stone around his grandmother’s neck. It had always been obvious to me that he dreamed of Sapphira, and I’d wondered more than once if we were connected because of the Purple Delhi Sapphire. But how had his family now come to own the ring? I looked down at my hand—my engagement ring. Obviously, Tandy had kept a piece and given it to his wife but that seemed odd, knowing what a superstitious man he’d been. I couldn’t help but wonder what I had done in the past to cause this ripple, or had it been me?

  I continued down the hall, heading for the stairs, and stopped to admire one of Cullen’s family photos along the wall. Cullen looked every bit the adorable, sunny, toddler, Lucille had boasted of him. I wondered if when we had children, they would look like him or me.

  His parents had the look of love still written all over them. Liam stood with his body facing forward to meet the camera, but his chin was slightly angled and his dark, whiskey colored eyes seemed to shift in a devilish sort of way toward his brother, who sat on Lucille’s lap. How could two brothers look so different? One light and one dark. I laughed a little, thinking of my own moody adolescent years. My eyes drifted back to Lucille; she barely looked old enough to have kids. I’d never realized there was such an age difference between Cullen and Liam. I suddenly wondered why they’d waited so long to have Cullen. Had he been an accident?

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Running into the Family Plot

  Liam led the way up the narrow staircase to the room at the far end of the hallway. This room probably afforded the most privacy.

  “Here we are, my dear,” Liam said, opening the door with a flourish.

  It was a charming room. The bed was covered with a quilt—green clovers on white—and the drapes were a filmy white with a crimson underlay.

  “Those doors are for yer outdoor balcony. It overlooks the cemetery, same as the kitchen,” he said. “And the bathroom is through there.”

  “Your family owns a lot of properties.”

  “It’s Móraí, actually. Her family was quite wealthy and managed to pass everything down through the years. The castle's been around since the fourteenth century but this place and the church came later. This was, of course, just the caretakers cottage, so it can get a little drafty and noise travels, but the bathroom was updated about ten years ago.”

  “I love the dressing table and armoire. How old are they?”

  “I haven’t a baldy. I think they belonged to my Great-Great-Great-Grandmother Gabrielle—Móraí doesn’t come here much, but she ne
ver lets anything go. Hey!” Liam said, turning toward me. “Did ye want the complete guided tour of the Colley Estate?”

  “I meant to ask about the name Colley.”

  “That’s Móraí’s family name.”

  “Is it English?” I questioned, following him back downstairs.

  “Aye. I forget sometimes that ye were a librarian. Ye probably helped people with their genealogies.”

  “A few times, yes.”

  “I’ve been working on ours for a while now. The Colleys were granted this estate because of a connection to Thomas Cromwell. My Great-Great-Grandfather Nioclas Colley was responsible for many of the additions to the property. They say he was always doing them to appease his mother who lived here up until her death.”

  My gaze traveled around the room for at least the hundredth time. It was a nice room, with a stone fireplace. A large oil painting of a castle graced the space above—no doubt an artist’s interpretation of the one on this estate. The original floors looked to have been recently refinished, while an oriental carpet in rich hues blanketed the sitting area. My gaze drifted to a photo album; a photo of two young men standing in front of an institution stuck out.

  “Is this a cousin?” I asked, picking it up. “I don’t recognize him.”

  “Who? Oh no, that’s just an old friend, Stuart. Come on, we’ll start off outside,” Liam said, pulling on his coat and boots. “I’ll gab while we walk.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said.

  “The castle ruins are over that hill to the north, but we’ll start here with the cemetery. It was the first graveyard for the local parish so there are many buried here, including our ancestors. I’ll show ye Gabrielle’s stone. Nioclas had it made for her. She truly was the matriarch of the family. Gabrielle’s husband died only a year after Nioclas was born, so his mother was everythin’ to him, although I’m not sure they always got along.”

  Liam walked us down the path and through the lynch gate until we reached the arched entry, surmounted by what I could only assume was the Colley family coat of arms.

  “Here it is.” He read aloud, “Gabrielle Fitzpatrick Colley.... 1835–1915.”

  “Where’s her husband’s grave?”

  “It’s over there somewhere,” he said, pointing to the left.

  “They weren’t buried together?”

  “No, I don’t think young Gabrielle was very fond of her lecherous older husband, or at least that’s what she claims.”

  “You speak to her?”

  Liam laughed. “No. I’m a priest, not a psychic. She wrote letters and kept a journal. I have all of her things. My family has held onto everythin’ through the years. Móraí comes by it honestly. Gabrielle was only twenty-two when she married Thomas Colley which, come to think of it, by the standards of the day was quite old. But she ran away initially at seventeen when she found out she was betrothed to him.”

  “I wonder why she came back.”

  “That is the question, isn’t it? She was twenty-two,” Liam continued. “Her journal claims she was married in secret to a man in France. It does make me wonder. After all, Nioclas was born only six months after her wedding to Thomas.”

  “Maybe the Frenchman tricked her into a fake wedding and then tossed her aside when he found out she was pregnant. I think they used to do that sometimes.”

  Liam smiled. “I’m surprised Cullen’s never told ye any of this. He used to love goin’ through all the old trunks in the attic.”

  “He’s been away on business so much since I moved here. We never really have long to chat… Hey! Is that her son’s stone right there?” I asked.

  “I think it is. Now come on, let’s head into Gabrielle’s church and I can show you why I think they call that ‘Fairy Hill’.”

  We walked back through the gate and Liam set a hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the door and into the main area of the church. The glass windows were filled with biblical scenes and ran down both sides of the church, blanketing the pews and altar in rich blue and crimson light. Above the altar, Christ looked down at the archangel Gabriel.

  “This way,” he said, leading me up on the dais.

  I trailed after him, wondering if he was taking me into the basement where Leslie and I had ventured once before.

  He bent down and lifted the hatch to reveal the familiar stone steps.

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want him to know that we’d invaded his privacy.

  “Wow, it’s dark down here,” I whispered, following him down the first few steps.

  “Yeah, but it soon won’t be,” he said, pulling a lighter from his pocket and lighting a torch on the wall. We continued until we reached the small, cave-like room I’d once seen.

  ”What’s down here?”

  “Ye’ll see,” he said, turning on a flashlight that I didn’t even realize he had. He walked us over to the tapestry on the wall and pulled it back to reveal a tunnel.

  “Come on.”

  “If you had a flashlight, why did you bother lighting the torch?”

  “Ambiance, my dear! I thought you wanted the full effect of the Colley family tour.”

  It was dank and musty, and I hesitated a moment before following.

  “When I first started explorin’ down here, I was shocked,” he said. “I didn’t know there was a tunnel until I leaned against the wall and almost went through it. Watch yer step. It gets a little steep here.”

  Liam pointed the beam at the ground, keeping it just in front of us, and I noticed strange marks in the dirt leading down a different corridor.

  A strange keening sounded off in the distance.

  “Are these tunnels used for something?” I said, trying to hide my discomfort. I had always been slightly claustrophobic and being deep underground surrounded by stone walls was not helping.

  “They say the fairies use them.”

  Liam turned and chuckled. “Ye alright lass? We’re almost there, but we can go back if ye need.”

  I peered over my shoulder into the dark. “I probably should have mentioned I don’t like small spaces, but I’m fine. What do you think that sound was?”

  “What sound, luv?”

  “That whining sound,” I retorted, surprised he hadn’t heard it. Maybe Liam had sensory issues, a bad sense of smell and sound.

  “Probably a critter. They get down here sometimes. Ye needn’t worry, lass, they’ve more to fear from us.” Casting the beam of his flashlight around, Liam said, “And so ye been in Ireland long enough, surely ye’ve heard the tales of the fairy hills and the disappearin’ folk?”

  I chewed my upper lip for a moment and nodded, waiting for him to finish his story. We’d stopped in front of a ladder.

  “Go on,” he said and motioned for me to climb.

  I could see the sky even from the bottom. The air was glorious.

  “What is that smell?”

  “Isn’t that grand? That’s the honeysuckle mixin’ with the thyme.”

  Taking a deep breath, I climbed the rest of the way up. Very little of the castle remained—a few crumbling walls overtaken by ash and sycamore trying to jut skyward.

  I stood staring around, scanning the perimeter where everything was covered in wild green vines. Shallow steps had been cut in the side of the hill. Liam was watching me carefully. I’d never felt so happy to be standing in the fresh open air. “This is the castle you mentioned.”

  “Yes, and ‘Fairy Hill.’”

  The top of the hill was a broad flat area that held a cluster of ancient yews.

  Liam grinned. “Fairy hills are common in Ireland, but I suspect this one gained its name ‘cause folks could disappear usin’ the tunnels that ran underneath.”

  “There’s more than one?”

  “To be sure. They run all over the estate.”

  I shivered. “I wonder what purpose they served.”

  Liam paused as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue, but then he looked away.

  Chapter Fort
y-Four

  Matchbook Made in Hell

  I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t seem to shut down. I wanted to sleep so badly. I tossed, turned onto my side, and closed my eyes.

  Closing my eyes wasn’t such a great idea. I saw with my mind's eye instead. Saw Betty Rockcliff the way I’d seen her three years ago at a party in Vegas. Saw her bleached-blonde hair as she turned, and her pouty red lips purse as she blew a kiss at Nick who’d been at my side, heard her low throaty laugh. Then I saw her as the newspaper had described her…

  Stabbed.

  And dropped over the upstairs railing.

  I turned again, laying on my back. So tired. Don’t think about Betty. Liam was here, sweet, protective and safe Liam. Think about the Colley family history. The house was quiet, so quiet. Then it creaked and groaned. It was a very old house, most likely settling all the time. I must have dozed at last, because my sleep turned to a nightmare, skulking through me like a slow-acting poison, paralyzing as it insinuated itself in the darkest alcoves of my memory. I saw Betty again…still fighting for her life as she was thrown over the railing. She landed half on a glass coffee table, shattering it, and rolled off onto the shiny marble floor. There was no dodging the dreadful climax, no looking away from the repulsive sight before me. Her beautiful naked body covered in glass and caked in blood from the stab wounds.

  Then the nightmare changed and I was suddenly in a dark room. I could sense blood—a pungent, sweet smell that left a tinny taste in my mouth. I swayed in the dark, straining my eyes, searching for the cause. Fear kept me from calling out. When my eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, I struggled to see the silhouette ahead of me. I heard a groan and my palms started sweating. It’s not! I told myself fiercely. It isn’t, it can’t be! The sound came from the darkness across the room. I was filled with fear and yet I kept walking toward the sound. I could suddenly hear the beating of my own heart pounding in my ears. I leaned forward to touch the shadow lying on the bed, a body. A woman’s body, I thought before realizing that I was now kneeling in the source of that tangy, metallic odor. I couldn't bear to see Ann Switzer’s broken body and vacant stare. The pool of crimson spread beneath her as her life drained away.