by Paige Elwood
Sophie knew he believed what he was saying was the truth. She watched the girl nodding her acceptance of the proposal, crying now as the onlookers cheered and clapped louder. Sophie believed that they both thought this was the beginning of the rest of their lives together. But lives were long, and people changed.
Still, she smiled a little at their obvious joy as they hugged each other tightly. Maybe these moments made any later bad experiences worth it. There must be some reason we all kept chasing after love when we lived in a world where love falls apart on a regular basis. The crowd was congratulating the newly engaged couple, partially blocking the spectacular view of Notre Dame, and Sophie decided it was time to walk a little further along the Quai.
As she walked along the Quai, her ears picked up on hundreds of snippets of conversations against the low background sound of the flowing Seine. Some of the conversations were French, and she strained to hear their words and understand them. When she could make out parts of their conversations, she was pleased that her university French was getting a little use, even if so far it had only been to order pain au chocolat and eavesdrop on strangers.
Many other languages floated through the air, the threads of different colored conversations mingling and intertwining into a rich tapestry of cultures and languages. Sophie thought she heard some Spanish, a little Italian, and what she thought could be German –or perhaps a Nordic language with its guttural vowel sounds.
Everywhere she looked there were tiny stalls, their tables packed full of all kinds of souvenirs. Antique books piled high, artwork featuring the local sights—particularly Notre Dame—and various artifacts in displays ranging from neat to cluttered. She stopped a while to examine some of the antique books, which were predominantly written in French. Opening a particularly old one, with a worn burgundy leather cover and dusty pages with that unmistakable ‘book’ smell, she found she could barely recognize half the words, although they were unmistakably French words.
Regardless of the fact that she couldn’t understand a word, they were beautiful with their aged leather covers and gilded lettering. She thought they’d make incredible decorative props for the vintage clothing boutique she was opening with her sister. And they’d make lovely photo props for the online store as well.
She pondered for a while over which ones to choose. Should she stick to similar books, or would a mix of sizes and colors be more effective? Eventually, she picked three similar-sized books, two brown ones and a deep burgundy one, and purchased all three. The burgundy one in particular held a mysterious draw. She found once she’d picked it up she simply had to buy it, regardless of having no idea what it said when flicking through the yellowed, slightly dog-eared pages.
She perused a few more stalls, looking over the mass-produced watercolors of Notre Dame and occasional small antique items, but nothing else caught her eye. An older couple with their hands entwined, probably in their sixties, were also browsing. They wore matching wedding rings and had that easy way around each other that suggested a lifetime of familiarity. The man purchased a small watercolor for his wife, and she kissed him in return. The way they were around each other suggested they were still very much in love, and Sophie couldn’t help but wonder about their history. The cynic in her said that even though they seemed very familiar with each other, chances were they’d met and married late in life.
She didn’t know many couples that had married young and remained together until their retirement years. Her own parents had divorced when she and Claire were sixteen. It had come as a shock to Sophie, who had always assumed her parents truly loved each other. The divorce had been fairly amicable, compared to the divorces of some of her friends’ parents, who had screaming arguments in front of their children. Sophie’s mother still spoke fondly on occasion of their father. Claire had interpreted this as a hopeful sign for love, but Sophie had wondered why two people could just fall apart like that. Her conclusion was that love was probably like most natural things—temporary in nature, like flowers that withered each year to start afresh the next. It made much more sense to her to view romantic relationships like flowers, beautiful entities but with a short life cycle. That way, you avoided disappointment when the inevitable decay began.
Her own love affairs had been few in number and short in nature. Her first boyfriend had been the first guy to ask her to senior prom. All her friends had boyfriends, so she thought she should probably do the same. When Chris asked her to the prom, she’d accepted happily as he was tall, good-looking, from a well-respected family, and he was good at sports. All of the things a good high school boyfriend should be, she had thought. She’d enjoyed spending time with him, but never felt that ‘spark’ her friends talked about. Unfortunately, the lack of ‘spark’ hadn’t made it easier when he’d dumped her two weeks later, hurting her pride.
None of her subsequent relationships had fared much better. She’d gone out of her way to be a perfect girlfriend: not clingy, jealous, or a bore. She’d laughed at their jokes, didn’t push them into making public displays of affection, and didn’t complain when they spent time with their friends. Yet over and over again, her relationships failed within a few weeks. She just couldn’t see what she was doing wrong.
This trip would change that. She’d throw away the rules and throw herself into a fling, knowing that it could only last a few days because then she’d be going back home. She couldn’t get hurt if she knew it would be short and sweet; and maybe she’d experience that passion that other people spoke of but that she’d never experienced for herself.
Her stomach rumbled, and she thought it was about time she had something else to eat, and perhaps a glass of wine. She tore her attention away from the stalls and looked around to find somewhere she could grab a bite to eat. She was walking towards a small café to read the menu when a hand grabbed at her elbow, pulling her to one side.
Chapter 5
The three of them sat around a small inn table in the flickering candlelight. The inn was empty for the time being, the merchants who normally frequented all out at the market making their coin. The smell of stale ale and baking bread permeated the air as they discussed their plan.
A storm was building outside, and the howling winds seemed to Edouard to be vocalizing the tension in the room at the conversation that was unfolding.
“It is time,” he told the other two. “We must do this now. The time is right and the rings have shown me the place. We may have only one chance.”
“Are you certain it will work?” The plump, middle-aged brunette asked, her fingers tapping rapidly against the uneven wooden surface of the table.
“I am, Madame Petellier.” He nodded, his eyes met hers confidently. “It has to,” he added, placing his hand over hers to stop the tapping. They couldn’t afford to wait, he thought.
“How do we know that she is the one?” the innkeepers’ wife, the third member of their group, challenged.
He shrugged. “The ring showed me through dreams. I’ve searched for years for her, and I am sure that she is the one.”
“I just want to be sure we don’t waste time and effort on the wrong girl,” she said, taking another sip of watery ale from her tankard.
Edouard folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on his chair, causing the front legs to lift from the floor slightly. He regarded her coolly. “Why don’t you trust my judgement? The rings are the key, and they brought me the dream.”
She waved away his criticism. “I just wish to be sure that we do the right thing. This affects me, too.”
“Sabine, we cannot simply sit around and wait. If Edouard says it is the time to act, then we should do so,” Madame Petellier said., speaking reassuringly to the innkeeper’s wife.
“It is a risk,” Sabine replied, and her lips pursed tightly.
Edouard leaned forward again, the front chair legs clattering against the stone floor. “Your risk is minimal.” He pointed a finger at the innkeeper’s wife angrily before turning it upon h
imself. “I am risking everything doing this.” He tapped his finger angrily into his chest. “Everything! I know you are frightened, Sabine, but we both need the curse broken. That is what I am trying to do.”
“I am not frightened!” Sabine roared, but the other two held their ground unflinchingly. “I am simply mindful of the dangers. What if you get stuck there? What if she’s not the one? What if we don’t even find her?”
Edouard held her gaze. “It is true, there are dangers. We will have a small window of time to act once we arrive, and we need to get it right.”
“So how do we make sure she’s the one? What happens if you give the ring to the wrong woman?” Sabine said.
“The ring will not go to the wrong woman,” he assured her. “The danger is in not achieving it quickly enough. Our time there will be limited. We will have only a few hours. After that…” he closed and opened his fist in a ‘poof!’ gesture.
Sabine sighed, a sound of acquiescence rather than frustration. “My magic can keep me there longer if needed. It will not be the first time I have taken such a journey.” She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, her chin in her hands. “But when we succeed at the first hurdle, she isn’t going to fall into your arms and immediately break the curse, is she?”
“Of course not. This trip will be just the beginning. There will be much work to do in breaking the curse. While she is the one to save me, there is also something in her that must be repaired before she can break the curse. That is the way of the rings.” He reached his hand up and closed his fist around the cool metal of the ring that hung from his neck on a golden chain.
“She will be travelling far, she will be homesick and will need care. You are about to rip her from the life she knows,” Madame Petellier said. “It will take time for her to accept it. We must do what we can to speed up that acceptance, before we run out of time completely.”
“Agreed,” Sabine said. “How long will we have?”
“I do not know. It will not be very long. Weeks, at most.” Edouard shrugged. This was his one chance, his only chance to get his life back on track. Failure was not an option.
“Fine,” Sabine relented. “What do we need to do to get started?”
“I need us to be somewhere we will not be seen arriving,” Edouard said.
Sabine nodded. “Follow me.”
Edouard picked up a candle in its holder and followed Sabine through the darkened inn, Madame Petellier close on his heels. They climbed to the very top of the staircase that opened onto a short corridor on a disused floor. The musty odor of stale air and sweating stone permeated the narrow space. A lone wooden door loomed at the end of the corridor.
Sabine sucked in a breath and turned the key to the door. A deafening click shattered the silence. Madame Petellier jumped at the sound, and the candleholder Edouard grasped tilted violently. Burning wax slithered over the rim and down his arm. Pain raced up his arm and he sucked in air through his teeth. Like a too-tight second skin, the wax began to harden.
Sabine glanced over her shoulder, pulled open the door, and ushered them inside. The room was small and bare, like a stone cell. “This room is too small to use for guests,” she said. “I expect it will be unoccupied when we arrive.” She pondered a moment. “That is, if this building is still there. We must hope that it is.”
“It is,” Edouard said. “I saw it in my dream.”
Sabine nodded. “Then this is a good place to arrive.”
Edouard took Sabine’s hand and pulled her to the center of the room. “Stand back,” he said to Madame Petellier. “You must not be too close, or you will be pulled with us.” The middle-aged woman took several steps back until she was pressed against the wall.
“What do I need to do?” she asked.
“Just wait here,” he instructed her. “For you, only moments will pass. We will return here in the circle when the time runs out. I will be weak and in need of food and drink to make sure my strength is returned by tomorrow.”
“When will the girl arrive?”
“Tomorrow, all being well.”
Madame Petellier nodded her understanding. The storm grew outside, rain now lashing against the small window. A flash of lightning startled Edouard. He and Sabine sat on the cold stone floor in the center of the room, cross-legged. He relayed to her one last time the details of her role once they arrived in the future.
He opened the box, an ornate pewter lined with velvet, and removed the other ring, the twin to his own. Both rings heated at their proximity, and he curled his fist around the ring in his hand, a more delicate and feminine version of his.
He closed his eyes and drew on the power of the rings. A breeze trailed around the room that picked up speed as he willed the power to work. The breeze changed to a wind, and it circled them faster and faster until it was like being in the eye of the storm.
Past, present, and future tumbled together, creating an infinite stretch of time that tightened and squeezed around him. He was lifted from where he sat, and the force squeezed the breath out of his lungs, before dumping him in a crumpled heap on a soft, carpeted floor.
Disoriented, he straightened up on his knees. The room was the same size and shape, although the walls were painted a brilliant white and there were shelves in the far corner that held unfamiliar objects. Sabine stood, inspecting the shelves.
“I think they are cleaning supplies,” she said. She turned, taking in his appearance. While Sabine had retained her normal appearance, Edouard was unable to travel in his normal form. As part of the curse he would appear as a wizened old man in any time outside his own.
“You look awful,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Charming, as always,” he said. “Can you check the coast is clear?”
“Wait here,” she instructed before slipping out of the door.
Edouard slumped back to the floor, his head pounding. He raised his hand to his head. Despite being aware he had aged, he was shocked by how wrinkled and fragile the skin on his forehead felt. He moved his hand. Glancing down at it, he saw flesh more ravaged with age than any he had ever seen before.
He moved his hand, his mind unable for a moment to make the connection that this wrinkled and frail bag of skin and bones belonged to him. He opened the clenched fist of his other hand to see the ring still lying there, and slipped it into his pocket.
Sabine re-entered the room. She was wearing strange, tightly fitted clothing with a short jacket and immodest skirt. “This is the uniform of the people who work here,” she explained to him. A brooch on her jacket bore the name Helene. “I stole this and cast a charm on the inn,” she said. “We will be able to work in peace, nobody will disturb us. Only she will be able to enter the inn until tomorrow.”
She looked over him. “You look like a beggar man, but we don’t have time to change your clothes. We must be in place ready for when she arrives.”
Sabine helped him off the floor and into the corridor. The floors were covered in a plush fabric, and the old stone walls had been painted the same white as the room they had just left. Strange light emanated from the ceiling, where there were candles of a kind that Edouard had never seen before.
They walked to the end of the corridor, where there were metal panels inserted in the wall. Edouard recognized these from his dreams. He pressed the button set into the wall. It glowed with a strange luminescence that changed from red to green before the metal panels slid open to reveal a strange box inside the wall.
He tried to get Sabine inside, but she resisted, unsure of the purpose of the box. “Just get in,” he said, pulling her elbow until she followed him. When they were standing side by side inside the box, the wall closed again on them. Sabine closed her eyes, whispering a prayer under her breath.
“What is the purpose of this witchcraft?” she said, opening her eyes again just as the wall slid away again, revealing a new room.
“It’s called an elevator,” Edouard said. “It’s like magic stairs,” he a
dded at Sabine’s confused expression.
“How do you know of such things?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It is not the first time I have been to this century—in my dreams, at least. It is the farthest forward in time I have travelled, however.”
They entered the room, which Edouard guessed was the pub in the inn during his own time. It was much more luxurious now, the floors covered in plush carpet and furniture upholstered in opulent fabrics. It was much warmer too, but he could not see a fire anywhere.
Sabine guided him behind a large wooden counter that held a huge floral display, and she opened a door behind it. “Wait in here, I expect she will arrive soon.”
Through the door was a small room with a desk and a strange chair on wheels. Sabine pulled the chair out and sat him down on it. He waited for a few minutes, but tiredness overcame him. He dozed off, his head slumped against the desk.
The door opening awoke him some time later, and he sat up, startled. Sabine stood in the doorway. “She is here,” she announced. “You must be ready. Go outside and wait for her to leave. When she does, follow her until you see an opportunity to give her the ring.”
She opened the door and shooed him outside. The streets were bustling, noisy and disorienting. No matter how many times he rehearsed through dreaming, the reality of a future time rattled him to the core. It seemed even louder and more disconcerting than his dream. He found a quiet between two buildings where he could see the front door of the inn, and he waited. He found the familiar outline of Notre Dame, and the sight calmed him a little, making him feel more anchored in this strange place. Unfamiliar music and noises filled the street, but he could not see any musicians or identify the source of the noise.
People streamed back and forth as he waited in strange and often colorful clothing. It was difficult to tell men from women since many of the women seemed to be wearing trousers. The style of dress was mostly indecent, with a lot of legs, shoulders, and cleavages on show. He wondered what the priests of the time had to say about standards of dress.
