“Why doesn’t she recognize ye, Sandra, ye thievin’ liar?”
“She was drugged.” Sandra answered.
Da took a step forward with murder in his eyes.
Leslie stepped in between them. “Please, Cullen. Let her finish her story. Please, it might be our only hope.”
Leslie looked at Alana.
“Sandra’s admitted that she’s been behaving badly, to say the least, because she’s trying to get home to the past—to 1494, where we’re assuming your mother went instead.” Leslie looked to Sandra. “Go on.”
Sandra took a deep breath. “Like I was saying, I made myself immortal with the curse and then, in every life, I found them and watched it play out—from a distance, of course.”
“Of course.” Cullen snorted.
“I was Nico’s apprentice Gabriella. I used my power to convince him to find the book, the same way I did with Velte and Liam. I whispered into his mind whatever he needed to hear—whatever spoke to his soul in that life. The more lives he led, the more his poor soul corrupted and the easier it got. I soon found he was truly evil.”
“Ye’re truly evil,” Cullen responded.
“No. You’re wrong. I was a bitter, wronged woman but my humanity strengthened after watching all of the death and havoc that I caused. His lust for power and blood grew. In the 20th century, I made up my mind to go straight. I assumed the life of a gypsy and later a psychic. The woman whose identity I assumed, Sandra Brun, was a great friend to me and when she passed, I burned her body. That was always the way of it, you see: To stay young, I had to perform a blood ritual every hundred years or so and then, as time went on, more and more often.
“The spell requires the ashes of a burned witch but I no longer have it in me to commit murder and I used up the last of my ashes this year. I swore I would not take another witches life. I’m tired of the cycle. If I could die then I gladly would but I can’t so I must go home.”
“Ye stole my wife ‘cause ye sold yer soul and ye can’t bear looking like a hag. That is not a good enough reason to me.”
“It wasn’t just that. I tried to stay away but I couldn’t resist being close to all of you. You remind me of home. I guess that’s my curse. When Rochus was killed without a properly trained heir, the book went missing. I looked all over for it. Eventually it surfaced in that library where Leslie and Sophia worked. I was excited at the prospect of finding a spell that might finally take me home. I asked Liam and Sam to steal it but Sophia guarded it well.”
“You were the witch Sam spoke of. You were the one who shot him by the grave?” Leslie accused.
Sandra’s lip quivered. “Please forgive me. I loved that boy, Leslie, I did. I didn’t want to but I had no choice. I did my best to help him but he was out of control. He almost killed you, Cullen, and he was going to tell you everything about me.”
“I don’t forgive you for that. I never will. And why didn’t you just ask for the book?” Leslie questioned
“I tried to get her to give it to me, but she wouldn’t.”
“So you sent her into 1494.”
“I never meant for Sophia to go back. I missed my life and regretted my sins. I wanted to go back so I could change things, undo the curse. Sophia falling through the time portal was an accident. That should have been me. If you write down the spell for me, I will go through the portal and I will send Sophia safely back.”
“No way.” Cullen barked. “Ye’ll never hold up yer end of the bargain.”
Leslie looked from Cullen to Sandra. The woman was pale, her eyes were red, she even looked like she’d lost weight but she was a master at manipulation.
“He’s right. I wish we could believe you, but we were fooled before by Liam.”
“I understand. I don’t know how to earn your trust.”
“Ye can’t and that’s why I’m going with ye,” Cullen said sharply.
“It’s too dangerous. You can’t trust her. She’ll have you hanged, too,” Leslie said.
“She’s right—not that I’ll betray you, but I don’t know if I can send you back. What if you get stuck there? Then I’ll have yet another mistake to add to my repertoire.”
“I don’t care. I’d rather be stuck back there with my wife than to think she is alone and in danger from the likes of ye.”
“I’m going too!” added Alana.
“No bloody way.”
“Da, you can’t work magic. We just saw that. I’ll go with ye. That way if Mum isn’t there and if this woman turns on us then I can get us back.”
Leslie nodded. “That’s a good plan, Cullen. Alana is strong and gifted.”
Cullen punched the wall and then spun back around to face them. “Argh, what choice do I have?”
“It’s settled then. You will all go back and I will perform the spell,” Leslie said.
“And how will ye do that?” Alana questioned.
“I’ve read the book front to back and inside out. I was the one who unearthed it and —I can’t explain it but —I know how it works, probably better than anyone else.”
“Good,” Sandra said before Cullen could argue. “Where’s the jeweled dagger—the one Sophia had made for you with the purple sapphire.”
“We don’t have it. We never had it.”
Sandra bit her lip and nodded. “Sophia must have taken it with her when she went. She had wrestled it out of my grip. I think that’s why she went back instead of me. This one will have to do then,” Sandra said, picking up the dagger that Da had obviously brought and handing it to Leslie.
“Oww,” Leslie said, sucking on her index finger. “You cut me.”
“Sorry,” Sandra said insincerely. “No worse than what you are about to do to us, I guess.”
Leslie nodded, and ran the edge across Sandra’s palm. At Sandra’s sharp breath, Alana smiled, remembering when the older woman had cut her four months before.
“Who’s next?” Leslie asked.
Da took the knife and in one swift move slid the blade across his own palm. He tipped his hand over the bowl, allowing the blood to drip below. Alana glanced between Leslie and Da nervously; both gave her encouraging looks. She ran her finger across the scar on her left palm but instead held out the right one. Leslie carefully cut her palm and squeezed a small drop of blood into the bowl that sat on the table.
“Now hold hands and do as I say.”
Without design, the three of them circled Leslie, who stood with her head bowed at the desk to read the spell. Alana felt the chill of the room creeping through the thin soles of her shoes, reaching upward along her flesh with cold fingers. Sandra began to chant along with Leslie, and soon both Da and Alana joined in, intoning the words in Romanian as they moved. Alana didn’t understand them, just as she hadn’t the first time, but it was simple enough to mimic. They began to chant faster and faster and at a gesture from Leslie, they began to shuffle the other way, circling three times anticlockwise.
After they had circled the third time, they halted. Alana was feeling flushed from the movement. She stared at Leslie, whose hair was now disheveled from performing a spell. In the candlelight her eyes seemed to flicker between red and black and Alana was suddenly struck by the thought that Leslie looked like a real witch.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Hang On
Hunedoara, Romania, Blood Moon, September 1494
Alexandra was standing near Costin, her posture one of domination.
When she turned to me, I saw that her eyes were filled with hate. “What are you doing out here? No one has come for you.”
The twenty-first-century adult woman in me wanted to push this woman on her ass, but that would only bring about more trouble.
“I apologize. I don’t wish to burden anyone, so if you’ll just let me pass, then I’ll leave. No one need protect or suffer on my behalf.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She waved her hand. “There’s nowhere to go. My son has been filling your head with nonsense and fairytales.”
Costin’s head came up sharply, and he looked at his mother.
“She’s to hang at noon,” Alexandra announced with pride, as if she’d just told me she’d baked my favorite cookies.
Once again I bit my tongue.
“Please reconsider. You started this all and you have the power to stop it.” I flicked an uneasy glance at Costin, unfortunately he made no move to respond. He was pale—unnaturally so. Had she drugged him?
As if intuiting my thoughts, he looked up at me, giving a little groan of anguish. “I’m sorry, Sophia. They will not free her. I’ve been pleading with them all morning.”
Alexandra gestured toward her son. “And now we have no choice but to return you to them as well, or else Costin will be imprisoned.”
“Mother. I told you, turning Sophia over is not an option, either I am imprisoned or you help us both to escape.”
“How can you be so stubborn?” Alexandra demanded. Her tone was steeped in viciousness. “Her mother is a witch. You are allowing her to destroy this family. She turns your very heart against me.”
“Even if that were true,” Costin began, “and it is not, it is madness to kill Sophia for her mother’s transgressions.”
Alexandra’s eyes took on a steely cast. “You do not want to see the truth, my son, but she is a witch, too, and even if she were not, she is a bastard child—carried in the womb of a witch.”
“As was I!” Costin yelled back.
I was as startled by the vehemence in his tone as his mother was. For a moment it seemed we might have a chance but the words seemed to take all of the fight out of him.
Alexandra turned to me. “Sophia, since you are the only one he listens to, I require you tell my hard-headed son that this is the only way. Convince him of his duty to this place, to his family. He is in position to become a great leader one day if only he ceases with this running-away nonsense.”
“Costin could be a great leader, much better than your father and his sadistic Priest, but I will never encourage Costin to side with you or them.”
“It is the only way,” Alexandra rebutted in a cold, clipped tone. “Your death and your mother’s will bring peace to the castle and to the village. It will heal the sickness, and this is better for all concerned.”
“It’s not better for me or Elena.” I shifted my stance. “I know that you do not believe what you are saying. Superstitions are for peasants; this is simply a convenient way to get rid of your nemesis. Just admit it.”
She stopped to consider my words. “Very well. I suppose I won’t cry over her body if that’s what you’re suggesting. Regardless, what I am about to do is very difficult.” She turned to her son. “Please try to understand. You are my son and your life is all that matters to me. One day you shall have a child and you will understand.”
“Mother, what are you up to?” Costin questioned, his voice strangely tight. His knuckles had turned white as he gripped the mantel.
“Seize her,” Alexandra called and two guards stepped inside the door.
“No.” Costin yelled but the drugs seem to take effect and he hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.
“Costin,” I said sharply. My eyes darted to his face. “What did you give him?” I asked bitterly as Alexandra’s cold grey eyes locked on to mine.
She dropped my gaze, not giving me the luxury of her response.
“The same thing I gave you.”
I was all at once relieved that I hadn’t eaten my breakfast. Then again, now I would be lucid for whatever torturous death they were about to bestow.
I struggled against the guards, who were now carrying me from the cottage. “You know this isn’t going to work. Costin will die too. Mark my words, after I am hanged, he will kill himself.”
I stayed quiet and still, letting my words penetrate like salt in Alexandra’s wound. She surprised me though with a smile. This woman was one cool customer.
“We’ll just have to skip the hanging then, won’t we?” she said menacingly. “Take her to the river and drown her. It was always her favorite spot to bewitch my son. Fitting, I think. And once she is dead, the spell she has over my son will be broken.”
“No, Please, Sandra Brun, Alexandra, whoever you are, please don’t do this,” I begged her. “You…you sent me here from the future. One day you are going to regret this.”
“The only thing I regret is inviting your mother into my home. Now, I apologize for cutting our conversation short, but I must take my leave. They’re hanging my favorite witch. My deepest apologies that I won’t be there to witness your death. I hope you understand.”
She was off and riding before I could utter a response.
One of the guards carried Costin outside and he groaned in protest.
“Costin,” I screeched and he raised his head. The guard attempted to pick him up but Costin fought him and then rolled into a ball on his side.
“Leave him for now. Help me toss this one and then we’ll be off to the hanging. We can come back for him.”
“But Alexandra said,”
“Alexandra won’t know—besides, the old lady drugged her food. She’ll be out soon and drowned regardless. You want to see the witch hang, don’t you?”
Chapter Sixty-Six
Left for Dread
Cullen was sure he was dead, but then again, if he were dead, he wouldn’t be in pain. Sophia had been right; there was no way to explain time travel outside of saying that it felt like you were being ripped apart. He opened his eyes to a bright blue sky. He was flat on his back.
Above him hovered a traditional house made of timber, with steep shingled roofs, dovetail joints, and wooden pegs. He sat up and stared at the gates directly in front of him. He’d never seen anything like them. They were enormous, topped by a shingle roof, with intricate woodcarvings of ropes, suns and wolves' teeth. To the left were neatly hoed rows of vegetables. Colorful pots and pans dangled from a tree.
The spell worked. He’d made it, but where were Alana and Sandra Brun? Bugger it! He couldn’t worry about that now. He needed to find Sophia.
“Costin! You’re not dead?”
“Of course I’m not dead! Why would you even think such a thing?”
The girl jumped up and threw her arms around him. There was something—some moment of déjà vu. A sense of odd, niggling familiarity about the place, as he looked around, he suddenly recognized her from the dream. She’d called him Costin, he didn’t know why but he identified with that name. She was one of the servant girls—she’d been like a younger sister to him.
“I saw you fighting the guard before they dragged her off. When you hit the ground, I thought you dead.”
“Dragged who?” Cullen said, gripping her fiercely by the arms.
“Who do you think? Sophia—”
Cullen blinked. “What for?”
“Are you all right?” she said with a gentle sigh. “You don’t have much time but maybe you should have a bite of bread.”
His stomach twisted into a tight knot as he climbed to his feet. “Just tell me what’s happening.”
“After you freed Sophia from the dungeon, your mother negotiated a deal—your place amongst the castle ranks in trade for Sophia’s life. She didn’t want you to run away with Sophia.”
He stumbled back, the pit in his stomach growing larger.
She reached for his hand and held it tightly. Her bones were so fine, so fragile, that he felt like he had been captured by a bird. This wasn’t at all like the dream. How would he save her if he didn’t know where to go?
“She’s not in the town square then?”
“No. Why would she be there? They were taking her to...” She looked down at her bare feet, “the river—your mother said to drown her in your favorite spot.”
“Why would anyone want to hurt Sophia?” A ribbon of memories unfurled before Cullen. The soft sounds of Sophia’s laughter floating through their closed bedroom door. The look in her eyes
every time he walked into the room. The way she used to say she was the luckiest woman in the world.
“Nevermind,” he said, shaking her a little too hard. “How long ago did they take her?”
“Not long ago, but they had a bag over her head and she wasn’t struggling. It didn’t seem like she was alive.”
Panic seized him. “She can’t be dead,” he said, choking back tears. “Not yet.” Then he was off and running before he even knew whether or not he was headed in the right direction.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Hope Floats
It was too late. He closed his arms around her sopping wet body and heaved her to shore. She’d practically been right there anyway. The river wasn’t that big. Tied and tossed and left for dead. The girl had been right about where. It had only been about a three minute ride but the men who’d done it were nowhere to be found—and lucky for them, because he would have made sure they’d felt his rage and his pain. His own life be damned, it wasn’t worth a lick now anyway.
All was silent except for cricket’s chirping, and birds singing. Everywhere, wild flowers surrounded him – a glorious, waist-high tangle, unchecked by chemical sprays, filling verges, and yet he hated this place now.
He contemplated walking into the river himself but that was the coward’s way and he had Alana still to think of. Alana, god, he couldn’t lose her too, he’d have to let go of Sophia soon and go find Alana.
But as he held her small thin body tight to him and sawed at the rope had bound her wrists as well as her ankles, he couldn’t imagine letting her go. Her head gripped tight against his shoulder to keep it from lolling back, he pawed compulsively at her slicked satiny hair, pausing for only a moment to brush the stray wayward strands away from her cheek.
He turned his face full into that hair to inhale its scent and to feel it and to commit it to memory—as well as to hide the tears that welled up in his eyes. So warm, her face on his skin. So much so, it was almost as if she were only sleeping. Why hadn’t he tried CPR? Her arms had been tied awkwardly in the way. If her face was still warm then he should try.
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