The Clock Flower

by Barbara Casey

  The Clock Flower

  Book 3

  THE F.I.G. MYSTERIES

  by

  Barbara Casey

  Copyright © 2018 by Barbara Casey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

  copied in anyway without written consent of the publisher other than short quotations for articles or review. For information about

  permissions please write:

  Gauthier Publications

  P.O. Box 806241

  Saint Clair Shores, MI 48080

  Attention Permissions Department

  Cover Design: Elizabeth Gauthier

  Editing: Merideth Hadala

  This is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are

  fictitious and any similarities are coincidence and unintentional.

  1st Edition

  Proudly printed and bound in the USA

  Hungry Goat Press is an Imprint of Gauthier Publications

  www.EATaBOOK.com

  ISBN: 978-1-942314-77-6

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017957112

  To Sophia Belle,

  Who continues to dance to the cadence of gypsies -

  With my love

  Wishes she carries

  Wishes she bleeds

  Wishes are scattered

  In her dandelion seeds

  Whitney Albright

  What I need is the dandelion in the spring.

  The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction.

  The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses.

  That it can be good again.

  Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Ninteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Also by Barbara Casey

  Excerpt from THE CADENCE OF GYPSIES

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Lyuba was startled awake by the screeching of the magpie. It was the third morning in a row the large bird had settled on the crooked branch of the tall elm tree outside her hut just before dawn. She had studied the Tarot late into the night to determine the meaning of the magpie’s warning, but the message was clouded and obscure—its purpose stubbornly hidden. She only knew it had to do with her precious daughter, Carolina, and the three orphaned students whom her daughter loved and cared for—Dara, Mackenzie, and Jennifer, all three geniuses born with special talents that couldn’t be explained.

  The Comino Gypsies, or Black Tribe as they were sometimes called, had been staying near Frascati, Italy, less than 10 kilometers south of Rome, the nearest of the Castelli towns. As in times past, the gypsies camped on a hill, once called Tusculum by the ancients, in the shadows of the Villa Mondragone, so named because of the many dragons carved in its brown stone edifice. The gypsies simply called it the Old Villa, and they had made this their home during the warm months for as long as anyone could remember. Even before there was a Villa Mondragone.

  Originally built on Roman ruins in the sixteenth century, it had survived through the centuries as home to various Catholic cardinals and periods of abandonment until most recently when it had been sold by the college of the Jesuits to the Second University of Rome. From their camp, it was an easy walk into the rural village of Frascati. Many of the villagers living there who were advanced in age still held on to many of the old beliefs, making it easier for the gypsies to sell their wares. Through the years, the travelers and the settlers had enjoyed a mutually beneficial association. But even in Frascati, there was the hint of change; it was a different generation—younger and less experienced to the ways of life, and less patient. Lyuba noticed it; the others from the tribe who made daily visits did as well. It was just a matter of time before it would become a destination for tourists, with its fancy wine and its historical villa, and the old beliefs would be cast aside and forgotten.

  Once it had been a place of heart-breaking sadness for Lyuba, for it was here where her young daughter barely three years of age—Carolina—had been taken from her by the Italian authorities. In her unrelenting sadness, she had felt a great darkness toward the person responsible and taken revenge; something she would regret the rest of her life.

  Lyuba was a choovihni—a wise woman, an exalted and envied position among gypsy women. As her birthright, she and she alone had been given the responsibility to pass on the knowledge of the travelers to those who would follow, but it was rare to find a child born with the natural gift. In all her years as a choovihni, she had only known one—her own—the beautiful one that was taken from her so long ago. And because her child—Carolina—had also been born with the gift, she was able to find her mother many years later, the Kaulo Camio, a black gypsy who went by the name of Lyuba, there in the shadows of the Old Villa. The zee, the essence of all life both animate and inanimate, had been forgiving of that one vengeful act and chose to smile upon Lyuba. Now, returning to the shadows of the Old Villa for the warm summer months was a source of great joy.

  With the knowledge of gypsies from the beginning of time running through her veins, Lyuba had the ability to communicate in a way that no other could. Carolina had that same ability, although she didn’t completely understand it—not yet. But in certain situations, especially if there was danger near, she would hear her mother’s voice, warning her, telling her what to do. That ability had saved Carolina from the gypsy boy’s curse, the wicked son of the Bandoleer. It had also helped Carolina and her three gifted students when they were lost deep inside the bowels of Grand Central Terminal searching for Dara’s mother. There would come a time when Carolina would be able to communicate in the same way as her gypsy choovihni mother and also be heard. That time was drawing near.

  As Lyuba listened to the sharp cry of the magpie, she prepared a cup of sassafras tea, the root and leaves taken from the tree in the early morning dew just before dawn; that time of day when the benefit of its essential oils was the strongest. Perhaps the leaves would reveal what she needed to know.

  She felt a sense of urgency. Soon her tribe would be departing this place on the hill near the Villa Mondragone, for it was that time of year when the shadows lengthened and the cool darkness of night more quickly replaced the warmth of day. They would need to travel south to another place and set up their camp away from winter’s chill. She would prepare a special duk rak, her own psychic shield. Perhaps that would ease her anxiety.

  Chapter Two

  Carolina Lovel tearfully watched the plane carrying her girls away as it nosed into take-off position. She slowly lowered the sign she had made for the occasion—SEE YOU IN 108 DAYS.

  Her girls—

  Dara Roux, abandoned when she was seven years old by her mother. Exceptionally gifted in foreign languages. Orphan.

  Mackenzie Yarborough, no record of her parents or where she was born. Exceptionally gifted in math and problem-solving. Orphan.

  Jennifer Torres, both parents killed in an automobile accident when she was sixteen. Exceptionally gifted in music and art. Orphan.

  The three FIGs—Females of Intellec
tual Genius—as they were called at Wood Rose Orphanage and Academy for Young Women, probably couldn’t even see the sign, but holding it made Carolina feel slightly better about everything. It kept them connected just a little while longer.

  As the plane began picking up speed down the runway, Larry squeezed her hand, sensing how she must be feeling. “They will be fine,” he reassured her for the umpteenth time since early that morning. Even though it meant getting one of his teacher’s aides to take over his morning classes at the university in Chapel Hill, he had volunteered to take Carolina and her three students to the Raleigh-Durham airport and be with Carolina to see them off. She had been completely stressed out for days thinking about the FIGs leaving Wood Rose and each going her separate way—to different universities, in different states, and beyond her protective eye. He knew the FIGs were just as stressed out for the same reason.

  Carolina watched the plane lift off the ground and point toward the sky. On an impulse, she waved and once again held up her sign until the plane disappeared from view. Then she burst into sobs. Larry knew it was coming. He wrapped his strong arms around this woman he loved, his soul mate that destiny had brought into his life, and held her, realizing that was all he could do. As the son of a Gypsy King, he knew that words simply wouldn’t help.

  The past year had been an unbelievably strange journey for them beginning when Carolina was hired to be totally responsible for three “incorrigible,” as the headmaster described them, teenage girls their final year at Wood Rose; all three orphans with intelligence quotients in the genius range. FIGs they called themselves, along with everyone else at Wood Rose—Females of Intellectual Genius. Being only a few years older, however, Carolina immediately filled the role that was more than a mentor and teacher; she became a big sister and friend to the incorrigibles, not finding them that way at all, even if they did occasionally need to express themselves creatively in the middle of the night.

  As far as the FIGs were concerned, she was their Carolina; she was one of them—a kindred spirit. And with everything that they had experienced in that brief time they had been together, a permanent bond of love had been forged between them that would intertwine their lives forever.

  It all started with Carolina learning that she had been adopted, and then later discovering her birth mother in Italy—a gypsy. Then there was the deadly curse that was placed on Carolina, which eventually led to the connection between a letter she had inherited from her biological father and the most mysterious document in the world—the Voynich Manuscript.

  And then, only a few weeks later, they located Dara’s mother in New York City, hiding underground beneath Grand Central Terminal where she lived in some sort of secret subculture with three homeless men. It was remarkable, really, and something that only the FIGs, with their genius and special talents, and Carolina, with the blood of a choovihni—a wise woman who possessed the knowledge of all things through all times—running through her veins, could have accomplished. Through it all, Larry had been there for them, offering his support and using his innate instincts as the Gypsy King’s son to gather information that would help them.

  Larry held Carolina tighter as her sobs quieted. He would tell her later what Mackenzie had asked him to do just before boarding the plane. After he had a chance to see what he could find out. Meanwhile, Carolina pulled out her phone, thinking about the pact she and the FIGs had made the night before. If any one of them got into serious trouble, they would text the word “Thurgood”—the given name of Wood Rose’s headmaster—to all of the others. That meant no matter what, they would all return to Carolina at Wood Rose, because whatever was going on, Carolina and the FIGs would be able to straighten it out. Together.

  Leaving the protective walls of Wood Rose and uncertain about how they could function in any other environment had created a tremendous amount of anxiety for Carolina and the FIGs. So much so that even their creative expressions in the middle of the night had brought little relief to the FIGs in spite of the fact they had caused serious havoc by completely upsetting the natural rhythm of the entire orphanage, not to mention the entire order of the universe.

  The whole idea of having a pact before leaving Wood Rose and going their separate ways had started out as a silly game to help relieve some of that anxiety—at first. Deciding on the so-called secret code word they would use, however, became a challenge. Dara suggested using a word from Sanskrit, which Mackenzie simply could not pronounce. Mackenzie wanted to use a mathematical term, which Jennifer said she would never remember. And Jennifer wanted to use an obscure musical notation which Dara said sounded more than a little vulgar. It was Carolina who came up with the idea of using the headmaster’s given name “Thurgood.” After all, it was a name none of them could ever forget. With the secret word chosen, the seriousness of what the pact actually meant became more evident and more real; a desperate attempt to keep them connected even when they were apart. And when the three FIGs left Carolina’s bungalow and returned to their dormitory suite that night, knowing what was facing them the next day when they left Wood Rose and would no longer be considered student-residents there, they were glad Carolina had come up with the idea.

  As the plane reached cruising altitude, shoulder bags placed under the seats in front of them within easy reach, Dara, seated between Mackenzie and Jennifer, as usual was the first to say out loud what each of them was thinking.

  “OK, this is what I think we ought to do.” Arching her right eyebrow, she glanced at her two best friends to make sure she had their attention. “We will give this so-called pursuit of advanced studies a try, even though it means being separated. But if things don’t work out by winter break—for any one of us—then I say we come up with another plan. A plan where we can be together. Deal?”

  “Exactly!” said Jennifer, flipping her long, blond ponytail.

  “Right!” said Mackenzie, knowing that because of all the anxiety she felt, there was no way she could say the three-syllable word “exactly” without a lisp.

  With that simple declaration founded out of a need to survive in an unknown future and fortified by the love, respect, and understanding they had for one another—a promise made between three Females of Intellectual Genius—the uncertainty of what was happening to them and the realization that their lives were about to be forever changed was made slightly more acceptable. They could survive for a while knowing that there was an out, and the option that they could be together again would always be there for them. They also knew that they had the secret pact with Carolina, and if they needed to, they could always go to Carolina for help. Because no matter what, she would understand. After all, she was one of them. And no matter what the problem was, together they would be able to fix it because they were Carolina and the FIGs.

  With their biggest concerns now addressed, each FIG settled back to concentrate on what was ahead.

  Chapter Three

  Leaving behind someone or something—being separated from the familiar—had never been easy for Mackenzie Yarborough. As a young child living in an orphanage in upstate New York, when it was time to put them away, she would say good-bye to her toys—most of which had been donated to the orphanage and passed down to her when other orphans had outgrown them or simply gotten tired of playing with them. She would also say good-bye to her clothes whenever they were taken to be washed, or to a room that she was leaving, or the day as it disappeared into the night.

  Or to the numbers that constantly filled her thoughts—especially the numbers—she would tell them good-bye before she went to sleep. Good-bye, cofactor matrix. Good-bye, antipodal points. Good-bye, 3. The simple, natural number 3 was her favorite for some unknown reason. She agreed with the Greek mathematician Pythagoras that it was the noblest of all numbers. She liked its simplicity and the fact that it was the only number written as three lines in Roman and Chinese numerals, as well as the Brahmin Indian and the Gupta, although the Gupta made their lines more curved. Perhaps it was her favorite, howev
er, because it made her think of a father, mother, and child. It was the trinity, the troika. It was the family she had never known.

  When she got older, and after it had been a particularly challenging day, she included complicated calculus, algebra, trigonometry, algorithms, geometry, and numerical codes on the list of things she needed to say good-bye to at bed time, which kept her awake deep into the night, long after all of the other orphans had fallen asleep. Even now as an eighteen year old and recently graduated from Wood Rose Orphanage and Academy for Young Women, she still on occasion said good-bye to the things she cared for on her list, especially if she felt fearful about something and couldn’t sleep—which happened quite often.

  For as long as Mackenzie could remember, she had been afraid. At first, when she was aware of such things—with a child’s understanding of failure that so often was confused with disappointment—she had been afraid that by not living up to someone else’s expectations—it didn’t matter whose they were—she wouldn’t be adopted. Also, she had always been slightly overweight, which made her self-conscious. And, because she had a tendency to lisp and mispronounce words whenever she got nervous or excited, she was afraid of being laughed at if she talked.

  So she focused on those things she enjoyed the most that caused the least amount of criticism. Things that wouldn’t draw attention and that she could do alone—quietly, without having to say anything. Even at a very young age, that focus was on numbers. She loved them—playing with them like they were her friends, seeing how many unusual ways she could make them relate to each other and relate to her.

  It quickly became apparent that she had exceptional mathematical skills, and when she turned seven, it was recommended that she be transferred from the only home she had ever known to Wood Rose Orphanage and Academy for Young Women in Raleigh, North Carolina, where she could receive more personalized and advanced instruction. It was there that another seven-year-old child with exceptional abilities had recently been admitted. Dara Roux, Mackenzie soon learned, was the “other” gifted orphan, and she had the unique gift of understanding foreign and obscure, as well as obsolete, languages.