Timeless

by Amanda Paris

  I reached over to stroke his beautiful face. No matter what happened, nothing would ever part us again.

  Epilogue

  What we call the beginning is often the end

  And to make an end is to make a beginning.

  The end is where we start from.

  T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

  I stood looking into the water at my reflection. It was now or never.

  Lunging forward, I felt the cool water all around me, covering my head, and I started to panic. A hand reached over to help me if I needed it. Relief flooded me.

  I gasped for air as I broke the surface.

  “Great job,” Damien said, his hair glistening in the sunlight. I smiled at him, the intense fear subsiding.

  “You were down twenty seconds, I think,” he said, a large smile radiating from his handsome face.

  “Really?”

  “What does your watch say?” he asked Annie, who stood by the pool, a stopwatch in her hand.

  “Eighteen seconds,” she said proudly.

  Damien took me by the hand, and we went under again. He shoved at me playfully, and I shoved back, keeping my hands cupped as I treaded the water.

  I didn’t know how to swim yet, but I knew it was a beginning.

  We broke the surface again, and Annie yelled, “Thirty seconds!”

  The third time down, Damien caught me to him by the waist, kissing me. When we broke the surface, Annie was clapping.

  “A full minute!” she screamed, clapping and jumping up and down.

  I looked over to Damien’s proud face, love shining in his eyes, and my heart melted.

  It was a start.

  The End

  About the Author: Amanda Paris and has written the literary vampire mashup, Heathcliff, Vampire of Wuthering Heights. She has published Timeless on amazon.com under the pen name Emma Eliot.You can write her at amandaparisnovels@gmail.com and visit her website: https://sites.google.com/site/amandapariswrites/.

  COMING SOON….

  SHATTERED

  Prologue

  They came, their dark eyes boring holes into me as they approached. The life force seemed to drain from my body, which lay immobile, my arms and legs paralyzed by my side. My spirit drew to the whirling vortex beyond death as I shattered into a thousand pieces, a ball of heat breaking apart. Was I human anymore or part of some cosmic sphere awaiting rebirth?

  The high priestess loomed over me, the dagger poised above my heart. The darkest one—whose eyes I remembered from long ago— held up her hands to scatter my remains. Then the burning started from the inside out and everything became red…

  Chapter One

  “Camelot”

  If ever I would leave you,

  How could it be in spring-time?

  Knowing how in spring I'm bewitched by you so?

  Oh, no! not in spring-time!

  Summer, winter or fall!

  No, never could I leave you at all!

  Alan Jay Lerner, “If Ever I Would Leave You”

  They pulled me between them, almost ripping the fabric of the dress. Annie looked nervously in my direction, remembering, as I did, what had happened this time last year. I whispered for Ben to let me go, but he did so only reluctantly.

  “Cut!” Mr. Ormond shook his head at us. “That’s not in the script; you won’t fight over her until later!”

  He walked up to the stage, his hands gesticulating wildly.

  I took a deep breath and exited stage right, glad not to feel the pressure of their hands on my arms or the weight of Ben’s accusing eyes. This wasn’t going well.

  Ms. St. Clair, you really need to do a better job of looking at the audience. We need to feel the conflict you’re experiencing between your loyalty to the king and your undeniable love for his best knight,” Mr. Ormond was explaining. “You must show how aware you are of the pain you’re inflicting, the betrayal.”

  But I was all too aware of how I could cause pain. I groaned. I wanted to avoid this and had promised myself that I would never cause them to fight over me again. I was never supposed to play this role, I muttered under my breath.

  Ms. May, who’d volunteered to help us in rehearsals, stepped in.

  “Why don’t we take a break, John? We’ve been at it for two hours now, and I think they could use a rest.”

  Mr. Ormond shot her a look. If I must, it signaled.

  “Alright, folks, take five,” he said, frustrated with us.

  I felt relief. It was the night before the big show, which the senior class was putting on as their “creative project” for the year. This year, we’d decided to perform the musical Camelot.

  Correction. Angela Rossi, the senior class president, had chosen our class project. She thought it was romantic for her to play Guinevere, to have the two hottest guys in school fight over her in front of everyone. They just happened to be Ben and Damien, who hadn’t wanted to star as Lancelot, a poor excuse for a knight, he’d argued. We’d watched the 1967 Lerner and Lowe musical together, amused at the hokey songs, costumes, makeup, and acting. But he didn’t have much of a choice. As Class President, Angela could force any student to participate in the project. The power had definitely gone to her head.

  She’d cast Ben as King Arthur, but there’d been no real question about who would play the French knight who had stolen Guinevere away from the king. Only one student had the looks, personality, and strange accent to do Lancelot’s role justice—Damien. And both guys had more than decent singing voices, which couldn’t be said for Angela, who’d taken a starring role.

  Rehearsals had started just after Christmas. I was grateful that Angela hated me, relieved I wouldn’t have to play even a minor role, but all of my friends had been upset that I didn’t have to suffer onstage with the rest of them. Annie had been cast as a lady-in-waiting to Guinevere, while Zack had been cast as Mordred, the nemesis of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, which consisted of a spray-painted piece of cardboard we’d cut into a circle and propped on several cinderblocks. A less likely villain was not to be found, but Zack agreed to take the part, probably after more than a little prodding from Angela. And since I’d taken up sewing in earnest over the last year, I was in charge of costumes, which suited me just fine. After the past year, I didn’t crave attention and certainly didn’t want to act or sing in front of an audience.

  I’d worked hard on designing and making everyone’s outfits. I considered it good practice for the wedding dress I had started to make last summer. Damien and I had finally settled on a summer wedding after graduation. That gave us enough time to explore England for our honeymoon and then come back, ready for college in the fall.

  I was waiting any day now to hear from several universities. Damien had also applied to the same schools, and I thought he probably stood a better chance than I did of being admitted. When he wasn’t with me, he spent his time poring over books in the library, still anxious to understand all that had changed since the thirteenth century.

  My grades were okay, but I knew they could have been better. In my defense, I had had a lot going on in the last couple of years—my mother had died and I’d learned that I had a past life. I knew I could use my power, but I wanted a university to accept me on my own merit. Though I’d always expected to go to college with Ben, all of that changed last year when I’d experienced the strange dreams that led me to discover I was a witch or “wise woman.” My past life had definitely affected my present one, and I thought better of going to the same school where I’d helped Ben to land a swimming scholarship.

  The rehearsal was back underway. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Damien watching me, signaling that he wanted to speak to me privately. I met him behind the castle scenery.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “I think Ben has had enough.” Damien said, nodding in Ben’s direction between the tree props.

  I turned to look, but Ben was speaking with Mr. Ormond.

  “He looks okay to m
e,” I said.

  Damien looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t think it was the outfit. It dawned on me that Damien might be the one ready to call it a day. Seeing Ben embrace me several times had likely tested his patience, which looked a little thin. We were all tired after the sudden casting change, which made the dress rehearsal longer.

  Angela had suddenly come down with strep throat, threatening to close down the entire performance, which had sold out. She hadn’t thought to cast an understudy for herself, and I’d been surprised that Mr. Ormond hadn’t thought of this before. I supposed that Angela’s forceful personality had been enough to convince him that she wouldn’t need one. But even divas got sick, I thought a little maliciously.

  Over the last few months, I had helped Damien practice his lines, so I knew everyone’s part, including Guinevere’s. And Aunt Jo had listened to me hum the tunes around the house as I made costumes. Both of them had ganged up on me this afternoon when it looked like Angela wouldn’t be ready for Saturday night.

  “What do you mean you want me to play the part?” I’d said incredulously to them both earlier, two pins still caught between my lips as I made a last minute adjustment to Annie’s gown.

  “Emmeline, you know this part cold. We didn’t even use the script together last weekend when we rehearsed my lines. And you know I’d much rather have you play Guinevere than Angela,” he’d reasoned.

  I couldn’t argue with him there. I didn’t much relish the idea of him embracing Angela in several scenes. She’d gotten a little carried away in the last rehearsal, and it took all of my energy not to use my power to stop her. I’d dreamed of suddenly having a trapdoor open beneath her. The temptation almost proved too great the last time she’d tried my patience.

  Aunt Jo hadn’t helped either. “But Emily, you have such a sweet voice,” she’d argued. “Remember when you sang in Oklahoma?”

  How could I forget? I had been twelve at the time, and Mom had made me enroll in the downtown summer theater. I’d had a small—very small— singing part.

  “But that was with other people, not by myself,” I complained. “And besides, I don’t have a costume.”

  “Emmeline, you have to play Guinevere. You’re the only other person who knows the music and the lines. Otherwise, they’ll have to cancel the show. Do you want to disappoint all of those children?” Damien finished.

  "That was low,” I answered him, but he knew he’d won. He could guilt me into playing the part, knowing that we were donating the money to a local children’s charity.

  I hesitated for a few more moments but then relented.

  “Okay,” I said, “but you owe me. Big time.”

  I thought of the sultry way Vanessa Redgrave had performed Guinevere, a part Angela played to the hilt. I wasn’t sure I had it in me.

  Damien smiled over at me, springing up from the sofa where he’d been sitting to call and tell a delighted Mr. Ormond the news that he’d found a new Guinevere.

  Annie rushed to assure me I would be fine.

  “And you know,” she said, “you sing much better than Angela does. I think she might be a little tone deaf.”

  We giggled. It was true. Angela didn’t have the best voice in school.

  I didn’t have time to make myself a costume, and Angela was several inches shorter than I was. I remembered, however, that I still had the dress I’d bought at the mall with Annie over a year ago. I’d only ever worn it once, when Damien had first arrived at my aunt’s house.

  “Wear that,” Damien suggested.

  “It might work,” I replied, still hesitating. Most of the costumes I’d made were fairly elaborate.

  “Don’t you think it will look too plain beside all of the other dresses?” I asked. I didn’t think my simple dress would work.

  “It will be perfect. You’ll stand out in the white dress amid all of the other colors. And with your long hair, you certainly don’t need the wigs everyone else is wearing,” Damien assured me.

  “And I can make you a small crown of roses for your hair, Emily. I remember doing that for your mother on her wedding day,” Aunt Jo offered, becoming sentimental.

  “I can tell you’re all conspiring against me. Now I’ll have to do it,” I said, becoming a little nervous. The dress rehearsal was just a few hours away.

  That had been this afternoon. When we’d arrived at the school auditorium, most of the cast thought Mr. Ormond would cancel, not knowing that he’d found a replacement—me.

  Before the announcement, I could tell that half of them were relieved at not having to perform after all. But the other half, including the art students, were grateful to me for stepping in. They’d worked for months to create the elaborate backdrops for the stage. And, I thought, I had worked hard on the costumes too. I hated to see my handiwork go to waste, even if I wouldn’t be wearing any of it.

  Ben had smiled at me when we took our places for the first scene we had together, holding my hand in his just a little too long. There were two places early in the musical where Mr. Ormond wanted King Arthur to kiss Guinevere. He had told Ben when we first started in January that he could ad lib whenever he felt like it. So far, Ben hadn’t felt any artistic urges move him with Angela. But in the dress rehearsal today, Ben had kissed me four times. I could hear Damien grumbling behind me.

  We were near the part where Lancelot saves Guinevere from burning at the stake, when Ben hadn’t wanted to let my arm go. Tensions ran high, and I could tell that Guinevere’s betrayal had made him think of my breaking up with him last year for Damien. I felt like Guinevere in more ways than one—she too had had a difficult choice, loving the king, who was kind, loyal, and good, but unable to keep away from her knight, the most perfect in the realm. I understood her dilemma.

  Thankfully, Mr. Ormond decided we’d had enough for one rehearsal, and we left. I avoided Ben, waiting for the stage to clear before we exited.

  ****

  Later that night, Ramona put the finishing touches on my face.

  “Beautiful! I always knew it. Alabaster. That’s your color. Now, just a quick flick of this brush, and we’ll be through.”

  I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. The girl who stared back at me didn’t look like a girl at all. Aunt Jo smiled, her soft eyes misty.

  “Emily, dear, you look lovely. Just like your mother did on her wedding day,” she said.

  “I thought I didn’t look anything like Mom,” I said surprised.

  “Well, you do today. And with those roses in your hair…Oh, it takes me back twenty years!” Aunt Jo said, tears in her eyes.

  She was right. I did favor the picture of Mom on the dresser with my hair rolled up with roses. And if I’d known how nice the makeup would look, I might have started wearing it sooner. I’d had my doubts about letting Ramona go to work on my face for the show. She wore heavy black eyeliner, what looked like false lashes, deep red lipstick, and very white face powder. Though gothic had been a style during the Middle Ages, it wasn’t the look I was going for tonight.

  But I’d been wrong. She’d chosen a shade to match my skin, creating a flawless finish that hid my freckles, and the golden eye shadow she applied made my green eyes sparkle. All together, it looked a lot better than I’d expected, though after an hour in hot rollers and another waiting for Ramona to apply makeup and Aunt Jo to pin the roses, I ought to look nice.

  Damien was picking me up, while Aunt Jo had decided to ride with Ramona in her Cadillac. Aunt Jo and Ramona had become friends after I’d nearly drowned last year.

  Aunt Jo pinned the last white rose to my hair and arranged several large curls to fall over my shoulder when we heard the doorbell.

  “That’ll be Damien,” I said, quickly kissing Aunt Jo and thanking Ramona for her help.

  “I’ll see you both later,” I called behind me as I ran down the stairs, putting on a shawl as I went.

  I opened the front door, and Damien stood before me looking spectacular. I’d only made part of his costume since he
wanted something at least partly authentic, and I couldn’t make armor with only fabric. We’d looked through Ramona’s Halloween catalog, Ghouls, Witches, and Other Halloween Designs, and ordered something from there. The armor looked a little plastic, but it was the best we could do. He’d offered to purchase an authentic thirteenth-century suit of armor from a museum, but I advised him against this, politely telling him he’d stand out a little too much.

  “Emmeline,” he said, his eyes taking in my new face and hair. “You look...amazing,” he finally finished.

  I blushed.

  “Really? You don’t think it’s a little over the top?” I asked, self-consciously patting my hair. Aunt Jo had taken her job to heart, and I thought my head looked a little like one of the blooming bushes at Sugar Hill.

  “No,” he said quietly, “I don’t.” He took my hand and kissed it, helping me down the stairs. I’d asked Aunt Jo not to come downstairs but to wait to see everyone in their costumes onstage.

  We got into the Audi—a little difficult for him with the bulk of his costume—but we managed anyway. He’d wanted to buy a horse to arrive in style, but I suggested we just take the car. I was unsure how my hair would hold up in the wind.

  Everyone stood around, nervously anticipating the evening and saying lines to themselves when we arrived.

  Ben was the first to see me.

  “Wow, Emily. You’ve never looked so beautiful,” he said, his eyes widening. He came over and took both of my hands in his.

  “Yeah, you look nice. I wouldn’t have recognized you,” Zack chimed in, laughing.

  I stuck my tongue out at him but then laughed. Zack had on his costume, which included plenty of hosiery. I smirked.

  “You don’t look too bad yourself,” I said.