“Get up!” Jamie yelled. “Get up and run!”
Blood was pouring down Robert’s temple. “I’m going to kill you!” He screamed, reaching for her again.
Grace’s palm came down on fabric.
Something had come free when the wooden box fell. Something lace. Her gaze went down to it, her lips parting in amazement. The shawl. They’d found it! And just as the rumors said, it was splattered with dark spots that could only be Clara Vance’s blood.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…” Jamie whispered, seeing it too and knowing what it was.
Grace smiled at him, knowing they’d just won.
Robert reached for her, intent on causing as much pain as possible. Before he could make contact, though, she slammed her palm down onto one of the blood stains, which looked a heck of a lot like a thumbprint. Her hand fisted around the fabric, holding tight.
And just like that she was free.
It was really kinda awesome and a totally victory for the white hats. All around her, the basement disappeared and she was catapulted into the past. There was nothing Robert could do to stop her. Nothing at all. She and Jamie had just swept the field or whatever the hell pirates did when they totally kicked ass.
Grace gave an exultant laugh. Victory was soooo sweet!
Her elated feeling lasted right up until the moment she and the shawl landed in 1789… just in time for the witch trial.
Chapter Sixteen
June 27, 1789- Clara Vance was jabbering on about those fortunetelling Riveras again and how the Reverend wanted to run them out of town. It was all I could do not to tell her that her sainted father and I have explored the wages of sin behind his pulpit, just to see the look on her face. I only allowed him to touch me, because I knew it would just kill Mother and Father if they ever learned of it, of course. Still, I was surprised at how enjoyable it was! For a man who preaches against wickedness, the good Reverend surely does engage in some deliciously twisted activities.
From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth
Jamie hated killing people.
Usually, he tried to avoid it at all costs. It seemed that July 4th 1789 was the day he was about break his own rules, though. He was mad enough to shoot every single citizen of Harrisonburg without a flicker of remorse.
No one touched his woman.
“Am I the only one who understands this is the Age of Enlightenment?” Grace’s voice rang out above the angry shouts of the crowd. “You can’t do this! There’s no such thing as witches! You’re supposed to know that by now!”
“Quiet, witch!” Clara Vance screeched with all the zealotry in her shriveled soul. “We all saw you vanish into the ether last Wednesday. You disappeared, right from this very spot, and now you returned…”
“Because this stupid tree is bad luck.” Grace interrupted and Jamie could tell she was pointing up at the gnarled oak that loomed over the street like tombstone. For some reason, it had always given him a chill to look at it. “I’m sure of it. I can’t wait until that lightning strike burns it down.”
Clara kept talking, pretending she didn’t hear Grace’s complaints. “…And now you’ve returned to our righteous town to spread your poison. Do you think the good citizens of Harrisonburg will allow that? No! We will stop you right now, Devil Woman!”
Dozens of voices shouted their agreement.
“We’ll stop you, Devil!” Gregory Maxwell echoed.
Anabel’s brother never had an original thought in his head, so he made do with paraphrasing the idiots around him. The man was literally and unequivocally the stupidest man in town. It was no wonder Lucinda had laughed uproariously at all his attempts to call on her. She would have been better off with an orangutan as a suitor. At least their primitive ideas were their own.
“You morons will lynch anyone who stands still long enough!” Grace yelled back at him.
Gregory frowned, puzzled by her words. He was puzzled over a neighborly greeting of “How do you do?” though, so it was no surprise that Grace’s bizarre future-isms had him perplexed.
“You won’t ruin our Independence Day celebration!” Clara sounded jubilant now. Bolstered by the mob’s support, she was basking in the glow of finally being the center of attention. “We will stop you, Satan Spawn!”
The crowd cheered.
Clara beamed out at them from her position on the bed of a hay wagon. She’d climbed up there to be seen and she was getting her wish. For a moment, Jamie thought she might take a little bow.
“You know what? If there were witches in this world, they would have totally cured Methyn’s Syndrome!” Grace informed the mass of nitwits gathered to kill her. “Which I’m sure was a terrible, horrible, skin melting-ish disease. So you guys should be thanking them.”
“She’s threatening to melt our skin!” Clara shrieked. “You all heard her!”
Gregory jammed a fist in the air. “Skin melting!” He bellowed, with no deeper meaning. The man had the attention span of a hyperactive puppy, so it was wonder he hadn’t gone chasing after a leaf in the breeze by now.
Eugenia Wentworth staggered backwards, fanning herself like she was about to faint again. “Oh mercy! Skin melting! Someone do something!”
“We have to burn her!” Clara’s frenzy was reaching its crescendo. “We have to burn her now!”
“Burn her!” Gregory screamed and --stupid or not-- half the crowd was with him.
“I can’t believe I’m actually trying to help you, you sanctimonious airhead!” Grace shouted at Clara. “If I wasn’t afraid of getting your stupid blood on me, I would have knocked you out by now!”
Jamie could see her now, standing on the wooden sidewalk by the tree. Ned Hunnicutt was holding her arms, preventing her from escaping. Damn it, Jamie should have killed that ass when he’d had the chance.
Grace jerked against his grip, trying to get free. “Look, I am having a real bad afternoon and you nuts are not frigging helping with this revisionist history crap! Nobody burned witches in Virginia!”
Give the number of torches being lit, she was clearly wrong about that.
“Oh God.” Grace’s eyes went wide at the sight of flames coming towards her. “Jamie. Jamie. Jamie. Jamie. Jamie.” She chanted his name like a prayer, ignoring the odd looks Eugenia and Ned sent her.
Jamie’s heart turned over in his chest. No one but Grace would ever call on him for help. It was humbling.
He shoved his way through the final throng of people that had gathered outside The Raven. “Clara Vance!” He bellowed, trying to get her attention before she incinerated the love of his life. “You have something of mine and I’ll be having her back.” And just in case she wasn’t inclined to listen to his reasonable request, he leveled a flintlock pistol at her bonneted head. “Immediately.”
This time, he’d felt Grace arrive in Harrisonburg.
He’d been on the Sea Serpent, contemplating getting rip-roaring drunk to block out the pain of knowing Grace was beyond his reach. Then that twinkle of knowing he’d been born with lit up like that evening’s fireworks display. Somehow he’d known she was back. When he’d gone looking for her, though, he’d found Grace right in the middle of an execution. It seemed she’d had done her magical appearing trick right in front of a meeting of Clara and her fanatics.
No doubt about it, Jamie much preferred it when she popped up in his bath.
Grace’s face lit up when she saw him standing in front of her. “Jamie.” She breathed. She tried to move towards him, but Ned yanked her back.
Yeah, Jamie really should have killed him.
Clara’s beady eyes narrowed, not appreciating the fact that he’d interrupted her moment in the sun. “Not even you would shoot a God-fearing lady, right in the center of town, Captain Riordan.” She decided, trying to gauge his resolve. “Your own father was a minister.”
“That he was, but I never much liked the man.” Jamie arched a brow at her. “Sorry to say, I donea much like you either, Miss Clara.”
She gasped like he’d somehow insulted her feelings. “When my father comes back from Richmond, I’m going to tell him you said that!”
“Tell him! Tell him!” Gregory urged.
“Jamie’s right.” Grace snapped. “No way are you smart enough to write Horror in Harrisonburg. …Which was an awesome book, even if it was filled with lies.”
Jamie and Gregory both squinted at her., wondering what the hell that meant.
Edward Hunnicutt took a threatening step forward, dragging Grace with him. Unlike Clara, he was more offended by the pistol than Jamie’s insults. “You good for nothing pirate! You wouldn’t dare hurt any of the honorable residents of…”
Jamie switched the muzzle in his direction, cutting off his bluster. “You I can shoot even easier than her, Ned. Trust me. You donea want to test what I’ll dare to reclaim my bride. Let her go. This is the last time I’m warning ya.”
“You can’t kill all of us!” Clara pronounced grandly, refusing to give up the stage. “There’s only one round in that pistol.”
“True, but I can definitely kill Ned.” Jamie assured her. “I’ll bet I can hurry and get off a shot at you, as well. That will be quite satisfying. Possibly enough to make the whole effort worthwhile.”
“Goddamn pirate.” Ned muttered, but he wasn’t looking so confident anymore.
Jamie bit back a smirk. Talking had won him more engagements than arms ever would. …Which was lucky, since the pistol in his hand wasn’t even loaded. He hadn’t had time to get fresh powder before wading into the fray. Grace had needed his help and it didn’t seem the pack of assassins was inclined to wait for him to ready his weapon. Of course, none of that was going to slow Jamie down. Not with his whole future at stake.
“I’ve also got three cannons on my ship, all of them aimed this way.” He pointed towards the harbor with his free hand and hoped to hell no one called his bluff. “I can reduce this town to rubble at any moment, with the whole lot of you standing in it.” His voice got hard. “And I bloody well will unless I have my woman back in my arms right fucking now!”
Most of the mob took off, rather than be in the line of fire. Gregory --who’d never been the “Hero of Yorktown,” regardless of what he liked to boast in taverns-- ran the fastest of everyone.
Jamie met Grace’s amazed eyes and gave her a quick wink. That had been even easier than he thought. It went to show what a grand pirate he was. Reputation took over where reality left off.
Eugenia’s lips pressed together in starchy disproval at his language and crossed her arms over her chest. Unlike so many others, Sunday school teachers didn’t scare easy. Certainly, she looked less frightened than Clara and Ned.
Ned glanced towards the Sea Serpent, then at Jamie, and then back again. He believed Jamie’s lie. Why wouldn’t he? Jamie was the worst pirate in Virginia. He worked damn hard to ensure that everyone knew that and his (slightly exaggerated) infamy was paying off in spades.
With no other option to save his skin, Ned shoved Grace forward. “Take the witch, if you want her so bad. Be my guest, Riordan. As long as she’s with you, it’s your soul she’ll be trying to steal.”
She already owned his soul.
“Come here, Grace.” He held out a hand to her and she hurried over to take it. “Stay behind me, lass.” He didn’t let out an easy breath until he felt her palm in his and that magical energy of hers playing over his skin.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he couldn’t let the woman out of his sight for a second.
“I am really, really glad to see you.” She whispered fiercely, gripping his fingers tight. She bent down to grab a soiled shawl with her free hand. “Like really glad. You and my Aunt Serenity were totally right about the witch burnings, even though you shouldn’t have been right.” She was talking too fast, riding high on emotions. “Do you think that you were remembering things that hadn’t happened yet? Or just --like-- getting a vibe of it? Do you think that’s possible?”
Jamie understood approximately three words in that rush of question. “With you around, I think anything is possible.” He said honestly.
Grace smiled. She leaned against him like she needed comfort and, for some reason known only to Grace and the Almighty, she’d chosen Jamie Riordan to give it to her. His eyes closed briefly, his chin resting on the top of her head. The woman was a gift, in every possible way.
“This is the second time today you saved my life.” She whispered against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Jamie was fairly certain he’d remember rescuing her at another point that afternoon. “I take it the other rescue was performed by the illustrious future-me?” He guessed quietly, holding her tight with his free arm.
She nodded and pulled back to meet his eyes. “My ex-boyfriend…” She paused, as if trying to find a word he would understand. “Ex-beau? Ex-guy-who-courted-me? Anyway he attacked me and you helped me get away.”
Jamie glanced at her sharply, taking in the darkening bruise on her jaw. “Did I kill him?”
“No!”
“Why the hell not?” He truly needed to kill more people when the opportunity presented itself. This business of trying to save the lives of assholes was a bloody nuisance.
“We’ll talk about it later, alright? Just give me the gun.” Recovering from her distress, she reached for the pistol and he gave it to her. “No offence, but we both know you’re not going to shoot Clara. Your gentlemanly impulses are going to get in the way of this plan.” She was the first person to ever see through his façade, because she was the only one who’d ever known him. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to have that issue.”
“You plan to murder the girl?” Somehow he doubted it. But, maybe he should warn her the gun was empty, just in case.
“Not exactly.” Grace turned with the pistol in her hand, aiming it right at Ned. “I might shoot him, though. I’m still half-convinced he’s a murderer and I’d like to solve this whole thing quickly, so we can be on our way to Jamaica.”
The remainder of the crowd took off running, even more scared of an armed witch then an armed pirate. All except Eugenia who just rolled her eyes. She’d always been the brains of the Wentworth family.
“The only murderer here is Riordan!” Ned snapped. “He’s the one who killed Lucinda, not me!”
Jamie ignored that and arched a brow at Grace. “We’re going to Jamaica? Why are we going to Jamaica?”
“I’m planning a honeymoon cruise.”
His lips curved at that happy news. “You’re staying this time, then?”
“Yep.” She shot him a quick glance. “I’ve signed on with you for good, Captain.”
Jamie couldn’t have been more thrilled to hear that. “Well, I’m sure I can find something to do with you aboard ship.” He assured her lasciviously.
Grace arched a brow at him. “And in the meantime,” she glanced back at Ned, who was silently fuming, “I’m going to need some fingerprints from both of you.” She yanked the mermaid pendant from her neck and held it out to him. “Press your thumb onto this, please.”
Ned and Clara looked at her like she was deranged.
Even Jamie squinted slightly at the odd request. “What is this about now?” He whispered.
“It’s about me being amazingly good at my job.”
***
“We could just go to Jamaica now.” Jamie offered. “Whatever it is you’re doing with that pendant, I can’t imagine it’s as important as having rollicking sex on our ship.”
“Can you focus, please?”
Grace didn’t have her forensics kit in 1789, but she did have her family’s collection of potions, powders, and unidentified goo. The Crystal Ball had fully stocked shelves and, after some experimentation, she found that ground up mothswort worked just fine as fingerprint powder. Loyal told her to use as much as she wanted, just so she didn’t make too much noise or bother him.
…And just so long as she paid.
Riveras really never changed.
�
��How about that useful, can’t miss investment tip I promised in exchange for the mothwart?” Grace had offered, when he started nagging her about money.
“Something from this century?” He’d challenged. “Knowing to buy ‘Microsoft stock’ in the 1980s does me a shitload of good.” He’d added some air quotes around the words. “And that’s the only kind of vague financial advice our relatives seem to know.”
“Fine.” She’d wracked her brain for something useful to tell him and then arched a brow. “I know! The cotton gin’s going to be huge in a few years. There. You’re welcome.”
“What’s a cotton gin? Some kinda booze?” He’d looked over at Jamie who’d shrugged.
Grace had disregarded their confusion, because she was on a schedule. “Now go away and let us work.” She’d told Loyal and he hadn’t argued.
Currently, he was upstairs, reading a Danielle Steele book that some time traveling relation had left behind. It was clearly more important to him than running the shop or Grace’s problems. It was no wonder the family was always broke. No Rivera had ever understood the concept of “business hours.” In the meantime, she and Jamie had taken over the entire shop, closing it for the day, while she worked on the investigation.
Also, it was a convenient place to hide from the angry citizens who no doubt still wanted her and Jamie dead.
“How can I focus when I donea even know what the bloody hell you’re doing?” Jamie hoisted himself up onto a tabletop, absently playing with some futuristic doohickey that looked a little like a glowing Slinky. Whenever that whatsit was from, it sure hadn’t been invented in the early twenty-first century. Grace wasn’t even going to ask who’d given it to Loyal, because it would probably cause some rip in the space-time continuum for her to know. She’d seen Back to the Future, so she was taking no chances.
“I told you, I’m comparing fingerprints.” She’d tried explaining a sanitized version of everything, but it was still a lot of information for him to process, even omitting the “Hey, by the way, you die today!” spoiler. She glanced at Jamie, trying to get him to understand how vital it was that they catch the killer now.
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