by Jill Morrow
Gregory’s hands began to quiver, but his voice remained steady. “Madame, the man called Hugh is not man at all, then. The body was left through death, and evil now inhabits it.”
“Are you sure?” Francesca asked.
“Yes,” Gregory and Alys both answered at the same time. They turned to stare at each other.
“You heard her voice!” Alys’s eyes widened with astonishment.
“Yes.” Gregory looked stunned. “I heard her.”
“Can you see her?”
“No, praise our merciful Lord. I am not yet prepared for such visions.”
Francesca began to pace. Alys’s eyes followed her progression from pew to altar and back to pew again.
“Forgive me,” Francesca said. “This shocks me as much as it does you. I had known that Asteroth could inhabit physical bodies through the acquiescence of the living. I didn’t know that he could pillage the dead. This makes him more powerful than I thought.”
“Do not think it.” Gregory folded his arms across his chest. “One can never guess the choices of the dying. Who knows what the demon promised the wretched man on his deathbed in order to gain his corpse?”
“May God have mercy on his soul,” said Alys, but the sentiment was perfunctory. Her comprehension raced ahead with speed that surprised even Francesca. “Then Hugh—Asteroth, as you call him—has found a body and is here incarnate. Why?”
“I don’t know,” Francesca said. “I think it involves my niece and her family, but they live in a time and place far removed from this one. I can’t imagine the connection. But, Madame Prioress, we both know that Hugh has an interest in your niece. Could she perhaps hold a key?”
Alys flinched. “She is no longer here.”
Gregory turned to her in surprise, and Francesca saw that he had not yet heard this news.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“She has run away…with Hugh.”
The silence spoke more loudly than words.
“I see,” Francesca finally said.
Gregory gripped Alys’s hand. “We must find her. She cannot remain in the hands of a madman.” He flushed at his own understatement. “A demon, Alys.”
Alys stiffened. “She joined him willingly,” she replied in clipped tones. “I am inclined to let her suffer the consequences of her folly.”
“She cannot know what he is!”
“Does that really matter, Gregory? She is a foolish young woman who mistakes lust for love and cares not who the object of her passion might be.”
Gregory squeezed her hand hard enough to bring a gasp to her lips. Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to his.
“We cannot abandon her to his foul nature,” he said quietly. “You know I speak truth, Alys. You know it deep in your heart.”
Jumbled thoughts raced through Francesca’s mind. Perhaps lust had indeed motivated Isobel, enticed her to see only what she wanted to see. She was certainly not the only woman on earth to follow her passions instead of her common sense. Asteroth, though, was a different matter entirely. He had cloaked himself in the identity of a man, but he was no man. Of course, Francesca had witnessed enough to see that lust was a powerful force over which he had little control. It was as if he’d received his stolen body without thorough instructions for its proper use. Still, she doubted that sexual desire fueled his need for Isobel. There was something else at play here, a puzzle piece floating just beyond her reach.
“Madame.” Gregory had turned toward her. “You say that your family is in danger.”
“Yes,” Francesca said. “Asteroth means to destroy my niece and nephew, along with their children. They have two daughters. One is only eight, the other one nearly Isobel’s age.” She stopped short, dumbstruck by her own words.
Yes. Julia and Isobel were nearly the same age. A memory seared her brain: Julia’s fleeting knowledge of the medieval banquet table…her odd recognition of illusion food….
None of those recollections had belonged to her. For one brief moment, Julia’s thoughts had merged with those of someone else.
“My God,” Francesca breathed.
“What is it?” Alys asked.
“I must return to my own time immediately.”
Somehow, Isobel and Julia had connected as one. Perhaps their merger had lasted only a second. Maybe it could last longer. What if it already had?
“How do you return to your own time?” Gregory asked.
“I don’t know.” Her glance traveled past him. Asteroth needed a physical body. For some reason, an appropriate one had not presented itself in twenty-first-century Baltimore. Or perhaps such a plan was no longer available to him. Kat and Stephen had grown lax in their recognition of the spiritual, but they would surely rear up fighting should an obvious danger to their children arise.
Isobel and Julia could become one. And Asteroth—
Asteroth needed prolonged access to Isobel’s mind and soul. Was it possible that he could then cross through Isobel and into Julia?
“Isobel is the conduit,” Francesca said, mostly to herself.
Her gaze returned to the priest. He stared directly at her, awaiting her next words.
“Gregory.” Her heart thudded against her chest. “You can see me.”
He started; the realization had apparently not yet registered in his mind. “I see a shadow where you stand. You are becoming clearer to me, madame, there is little doubt of that.”
Panic rose in her throat. “Is this because your spiritual eyes are focusing, or because I am becoming a permanent part of your time?”
Neither Alys nor Gregory answered her. She hadn’t really expected them to know.
“I must get back,” she repeated, more convinced than ever. “I must warn my family.” She hurried toward the chapel door.
“What of Isobel?” Alys asked.
“Find her!” Francesca shot back over her shoulder. “Keep her away from Hugh.”
“Wait!” Gregory’s voice echoed against the stone walls. “You must tell us, madame—has the demon any powers?”
Francesca stopped at the doorway, considering. “He has no more power than you allow him. But be careful. He works through your mind and senses. He can easily addle your thoughts, make you believe that lies are truth. Your faith in the light must stay strong.”
“Go with God,” Gregory said, but Francesca had already crossed the threshold, racing toward the priory courtyard as if she actually knew what to do next.
21
“A H, I SOBEL.” H UGH ’S VOICE FLOATED BACK TO ISOBEL AS SHE struggled to keep up with his long strides. “You heard me call to you even though I never spoke a word. Perhaps my hope in you is not misplaced.”
Of course his hope was not misplaced, though Isobel could not convince him of this unless he slowed his steps. She drew in a ragged breath and increased her own speed to a trot.
Hugh’s pace did not flag. “You knew to pass through the gate and follow me,” he said with smug satisfaction. “Perhaps you cannot speak, but there is nothing amiss with your ability to understand. Believe me, my dear, the gift of comprehension is of far greater value to me than the gift of idle chatter.”
She finally pulled alongside him, gasping for breath as she did so. Must he travel so quickly? Perhaps he feared that Aunt Alys and Father Gregory would dispatch the priory wagon behind them. He needn’t worry. The wagon, pulled as it was by two ancient oxen, was no match in speed for anyone with two strong legs. Besides, if he so feared capture and retribution, why not travel hidden through the woods instead of on this dusty, open road?
She sent him a sidelong glance. He was lost in his own thoughts. They obviously pleased him well. A broad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His shoulders were straight and square, his back erect. He looked as if he’d stumbled upon a secret cache of riches.
Well, he might be pleased, but she could not continue. She plucked at his sleeve, demanding his attention. His face contorted into a glare as he yanked his arm away.
If she could have made a sound, she would have screamed. Perhaps the look on her face reflected this, for Hugh halted in the middle of the road. Grateful, she stopped beside him, hand fanned across her chest to calm the pounding of her heart.
“I see,” Hugh said. Once again, Isobel felt as if she was a creature he had never before encountered and couldn’t quite understand. “You’re tired, of course. I forget that your vigor can never match mine.”
She wanted to pass him a saucy smile, one that promised great future vigor in certain endeavors, but she was indeed tired. It had all been too much—a daring escape right under her aunt’s upturned nose, a romantic dash down the road with the one who robbed her of breath even under ordinary circumstances, the delightful possibility that their shared future might begin right at this very moment. Such headiness required a pause. She managed a wobbly smile, then glanced about for a comfortable place to sit. There wasn’t one. She limped over to the side of the road and slumped against a broad tree.
“We mustn’t linger,” Hugh said.
She nodded her agreement. Slow oxen or no, somebody from Saint Etheldreda would surely come searching soon.
“Come,” Hugh continued, a statue firmly set in the middle of the road. “Something has changed. I can sense a hole in the fabric. It’s not a split, mind you. Only a hole, and one that perhaps can be circumvented or even mended. Francesca knows something, Isobel.”
Francesca? But he’d called the dark-haired girl Julia! How many rivals existed for this man’s heart? Isobel placed a hand on her waist, willing him to turn and face her displeasure. He stared instead into the woods, distracted by a sea of thoughts.
“She fights alongside the angels of light,” he said, his face a blank mask. “And she loves Julia as if the girl mattered. Beware love when it opposes you, Isobel. It appears trivial and useless, but hardens into brilliance before your eyes. It is like the diamond, a beautiful bauble that hides its power. It can cut through the most tightly constructed ties.”
Isobel nodded slowly. She didn’t understand his words, but she certainly understood love. She’d never before heard him discuss matters of the heart. This was an improvement over his usual conversation.
“Time grows short.” He remained unimpressed by her admiration. “I can easily overcome Francesca while she stands alone. It is simple enough to pry one soul from its moorings. The skirmish becomes more difficult if Katerina joins the fray. Her strength is greater than she knows. I rely upon her ignorance. Once she comprehends her true nature, reaching Julia will become more difficult.”
Julia again! Would that cursed girl never leave them be?
Hugh stroked his chin. “This doorway will close soon. I feel it. We must make haste.”
Isobel’s brow furrowed as Hugh finally turned to face her. She turned both palms upward and allowed her shoulders to rise and fall with the wave of her questions. Who was Katerina? Francesca? Why did the hateful Julia still intrude into so many moments? Even more important, what influence did any of these people have over her own hopes and dreams?
His brow wrinkled in reflection of her own. Ordinarily, his gaze upon her encouraged preening. Once again, though, came the curious feeling that she had somehow become an object of study. The coy toss of her head would not come. She squirmed and stared at her shoes.
“You wish to know who these people are,” he said flatly. “You will not understand. They are evil and embittered women set out to destroy me. I must therefore destroy them first.”
Isobel’s hands flew to cover her ears even as she leaned forward to hear more.
Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “Francesca is an old warrior. We have met before. We are perhaps destined to meet again. Left to my own devices, I would drive her mad, leave her to the end of her days chasing her vile philosophies as a dog chases after its tail. She is a protector rather than a weapon, and I deem her ridiculous. No, she may continue her wretched life as she sees fit. It is Katerina I must silence.”
Isobel carefully arranged her face into an expression of rapt interest. It was not easy in the stream of such gibberish.
“Katerina must be destroyed.” Hugh’s voice grew icy cold. “She is not yet aware of the power she wields, of the influence she has on the child of light.”
His words made no sense. Not only that, he’d made no mention of her true rival in this drama. What were his plans for Julia? Isobel settled all her weight onto one foot and raised an inquiring eyebrow. Hugh seemed to read her face as if it was a finely scripted page.
“No, Isobel,” he said. “No harm must come to Julia. We need her.”
They needed her for what? Unless the girl was to join them as a maidservant, Isobel could see no earthly purpose for her. And even then, she herself was not so stupid as to keep a maidservant her husband clearly desired.
Husband. Her gaze slid toward Hugh. There were so many questions she needed to ask, so many answers she hoped he could provide. She assumed that they would marry and live together in a cozy little cottage somewhere. Was this his plan as well?
His laughter jarred her from her thoughts. She had never before heard him laugh. It sounded more like barking.
“Isobel, why do I try to enlighten you? Very well, then. Perhaps, if you are a very good girl, there will be a cottage. But you must listen carefully to whatever I say. Your obedience is vital.”
A thrill raced up her spine. Finally, words quite close to what she’d hoped to hear. She nodded her agreement, but stopped short of melting into unbridled enthusiasm. She, too, had demands. She took a determined step forward until she stood within an inch of him. She read the struggle on his face as a whiff of her rosewater-scented skin enticed him closer. The man wanted her. Let him speak in lofty terms of theories she couldn’t care less about. She knew human nature, and this man desired her more than he cared to admit. She saw it in the clench of his jaw, felt it in the warm heat of his quick breathing.
He would kiss her now, sealing their future with a lover’s token she could remember as they hurried on their way.
But he did not kiss her. Instead, he stepped backward until both feet were planted firmly on the road.
“We must go, Isobel,” he said in calm, practical tones. “There is much to do and little time to squander in hiding from the Church. Come along.”
She stared in dismay at his retreating back. He was an impossible riddle, an aggravating mystery perhaps not worth the effort it would take to solve. Still, he was also right. She had no desire to live the rest of her days locked away in the musty rooms of Saint Etheldreda’s.
With a final gulp, she raced to Hugh’s side.
22
“D UCK, D ADDY!” C LAIRE ’S BRIGHT VOICE SHOT SPLINTERS OF color through the damp, gray November morning.
Stephen looked up from his perch on the back porch step to see a snowball plop about two feet away from the toe of his right boot. Claire wasn’t much of a pitcher under ordinary circumstances, and last night’s snow hadn’t done her any favors. Dense and wet, it had fallen in patchy clumps, leaving random heaps of white interspersed with grass throughout the backyard. It was hardly good packing snow. He opened his mouth to tell his daughter this, then quickly closed it again. Claire wouldn’t care. Besides, she’d exhaust the small supply of snow soon enough and would then require entertainment. Might as well make the most of every available distraction.
“Try again,” he said, confident that there was no danger of annihilation. “No, don’t move closer to me. Throw it from where you are and see if you can break your own record.”
Claire obligingly knelt to gather more snow. Stephen studied the smooth curve of her cheek. She looked so very much like pictures of Kat at that age—small and wiry, with eyes almost too large for her elfin face. Of course, her eyes were green rather than brown. Other than that little detail, however, Stephen often felt as though he’d taken a quick jog through time, landing years ago in Little Italy, the Baltimore neighborhood in which his wife had grown up.
&nbs
p; The time-travel thought made him wince. That had once been the playful stuff of science fiction. Now, with Francesca supposedly stuck in fourteenth-century England, he had no desire to joke about a reality he couldn’t even begin to understand.
He turned halfheartedly toward the tangle of Christmas lights strewn across the wooden floorboards of the porch. Christmas was a little over a month away. They would celebrate Thanksgiving next week, although only Claire appeared to feel the least bit festive. He knew it was premature to begin the yearly struggle with the Christmas lights. Still, it only made sense to use his time at home productively.
A misshapen snowball landed in a flowerbed about a foot and a half away.
“Darn!” Claire stamped a booted foot. “I thought I had you with that one.”
A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. Claire was optimism personified. “Try again,” he said, reaching into the heart of the tangled wires and bulbs. Next year, he’d wrap these things neatly before placing them into assigned boxes and pushing them out of sight in the garage.
His left foot began to tap an even rhythm on the step. He felt edgy hanging out at home on a Saturday morning, as if he were a tool left in the least useful place. He’d meant to pull back on his work hours after that glorious afternoon with Kat. He’d cherished their time together, actually longed for more of it. Still, he found it difficult to justify his existence while sitting at home. It hadn’t taken long to drift back into the habit of spending every day at Angel Café.
Kat had awakened with a blistering migraine. Even Stephen, a master of the art of denial, could not pretend that this day would be business as usual. Julia had an indoor hockey practice scheduled, and Claire required attention. Kat herself had looked as white as bone china, a fact that only accentuated the dark circles beneath her eyes. Down in the kitchen at seven in the morning, Stephen had winced each time he’d heard her footsteps race across the hall to the upstairs bathroom. Poor Kat. Only a pure cad would leave her alone when she felt this foul.
