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  My heart hammered.

  Squaring his shoulders, he appeared back at the side, and looked at me again.

  “Settle down, Sofia, or you’ll drown yourself. I’m trying to help you.”

  I stilled instantly. He knew my name? I had startled him, too. I could tell. He reached out for my wrist and I allowed him to pull me out of the water, into the boat. Then I just sat there on the hard bench, river water sluicing off my skin. My body shook compulsively. He retrieved a blanket from the seat at the far end of the boat and handed it to me.

  “Put this on.”

  It felt damp and I cringed at the thought of when it had last been washed but it would dry me at least.

  “What happened to me?”

  He narrowed his eyes and gave his head a shake. “You jumped to your feet with a dazed look in your eyes and leapt from the boat. You don’t remember?”

  I shook my head, not knowing the answer.

  There were hills all around us, a soft pattern of yellows and browns. Smoke drifted across the slopes from someone’s campfire and lingered close to the trees. The water around us was rippling, and on the far hillside there were small peaked haystacks.

  “Who are you?”

  He wasn’t yet a man, but based on the facial hair, he was clearly on the brink of it. I felt bad as I realized his clothes were also soaked from helping me. I was about to offer to share the blanket when it dawned on me that the blanket had sleeves, and fur, and it was not a blanket at all. This was his houppelande, and he must have removed it before saving me. He wore hose, pointed boots and an old fashioned buttoned up jacket—also known as a doublet. I looked down and realized I too looked strange—as if I’d been cast in the part of some 15th-century play—only I resembled a peasant.

  He ignored my question and stared at me, his eyes flashing with what I thought was worry. “Where did you get that knife from? Was it in the river? Was that why you jumped? You didn’t have it before.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re delirious. You’d best put the knife down before you hurt yourself.”

  I shook my head.

  The boy reached out and squeezed my wrist until I cried out in pain and the blade clattered to the bottom of the boat. He eased his grip, letting me go. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Get Packed

  Dublin, Ireland, 2031

  When Alana woke the next morning, she wiped her eyes and stretched. It took a full minute before the previous night’s find rushed back to her sleep addled brain.

  She jumped from the bed as though it burned her and made her way into the kitchen. Leslie was making coffee at the counter. She was still in her housecoat. There was no sign of Da.

  “He’s still asleep,” Leslie said to her unasked question.

  She sat down at the breakfast bar and watched Leslie fill the coffee machine. Her mum had loved coffee too, and she always brewed a pot first thing in the morning.

  “You’re up early,” Leslie said. “You saw me speaking to your Da last night, didn’t you?”

  Alana bit her lip and nodded.

  Last night she’d surprised Leslie and Da, it was long past midnight and she’d gone to bed hours before but noises in the study had drawn her attention. Their heads had been huddled close together looking at a map when she’d opened the door. Alana had the feeling they were discussing the trip.

  Cullen staggered into the kitchen, looking like he hadn’t slept at all. “I hope that coffee’s strong,” he announced, running a hand through his messy hair.

  “Strong as I could get it,” Leslie said.

  He took a seat on the stool next to Alana and accepted the cup of steaming liquid that Leslie slid towards him.

  “Well?” He looked around. “I don’t see them.”

  Leslie smirked and turned away.

  “Where are they?” he asked cheekily.

  “What are ye talkin’ about?” Alana asked, confused by the sudden vibe in the room.

  “Yer bags,” he said quickly, his expression softening.

  “My bags?”

  “Didn’t Leslie tell ye? She kept me up half the night pesterin’ on yer behalf. ‘It’s an invaluable research experience to assist yer daughter in writin’ her history paper on the notorious castles of Europe’...yada yada yada… I finally agreed just to shut her up. I can’t believe she didn’t even tell ye.”

  Alana jumped off her seat and threw her arms around her Da’s neck. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “All right, lass. Ye love me, I get it. Now it’s 8:30 a.m. Leslie’s goin’ to help ye pack. Don’t— and I mean don’t— be givin’ her no grief! I’ve got some things to do before we go, but I’ll be back to pick the two of yes up by noon. If ye’re not ready then ye’re not comin’. Ye understand alright?”

  Alana nodded and raced from the room, leaving her coffee behind on the counter; she took the stairs two at a time. It had been over four months since she’d actually felt happy about something. Giddy as, well, as a schoolgirl, she raced into the study and turned to the bookshelf, climbing the ladder in search of her mum’s slender guidebook. For years she’d dreamt of thick birch forests, mountains echoing and the howling of wolves which she’d always associated with Romania. She couldn’t believe she was finally going there.

  She couldn’t say what made her look over to the far corner but she did and there it was… glittering amongst rows of dull colors.

  The book. Not the guidebook but the book of spells her mother had accused her of taking.

  Alana moved the ladder over and pulled the older volume from its home, recognizing the spine. A tremor ran up her arm and the smell of age rose from between the pages as she opened it. In her dreams, her mum always came to her, dressed in funny clothes, smelling of grass and wood smoke. I’m ready to come home Alana. The dream always ended when she handed her this book.

  Alana flipped to the back. Inside was a stack of letters sealed with red wax and tied with a baby-blue satin ribbon. She undid the bow slowly and extracted the bottom letter. It was dated exactly one month after she was born.

  My darling Baby Girl.

  It was a letter to her, from her mother, detailing her birth and how much she looked forward to raising her. She opened the next one and it was dated one year later. Similar in style, it described the milestones she’d hit over the last year. Fifteen letters in total.

  She hadn’t realized she was crying until a drop splashed the page, smearing the ink. With a corner of her sleeve, she blotted it. She blinked to keep others from falling.

  Alana looked over her shoulder at the door. Did Da know these were here? More than likely—the wax seal had been broken on all of them. This must have been what they were looking over last night. She felt a sudden rage at the thought that they’d kept these from her. She was tempted to march back down to that kitchen, to scream and stomp, but they’d finally given in. Now was not the time to blow it—she would bide her time and get her answers when it was too late to turn back.

  Chapter Forty

  Castle Clues

  Hunedoara, Romania, 1494

  I closed my eyes to think but my mind made no sense. When I opened my eyes back up, he was staring, his intent green gaze fixed solely on me. I recognized those eyes but from where?

  He bent to pick up my blade, looked it over. “It’s a nice piece. If the stones embedded in the handle are real, then it’s worth some money, too. We’d better hide it,” he said, tucking it into his belt.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He motioned in the direction of the woods. There was a large castle sticking out of the crop of trees. “Home.”

  “The Castle,” I said and pointed.

  “Not there,” he said, pushing my finger lower. “Lord, take you to Corvin Castle?” he mumbled, then laughed. “That would be asking for trouble. You really did hit your head.”

  I nodded as he rowed us to shore and helped me onto the bank, once again playing the ol
d bump-on-the-head memory loss card. It was a role I was well accustomed to.

  “Follow me. I’ll walk you home.”

  I paused, looking him over closely. There was something strangely familiar about him.

  He narrowed his eyes in response. “You recognize me now?”

  I shook my head and closed my eyes, trying to remember him, or anything. I couldn’t even remember my own life, outside of my name—at least it felt like it was my name.

  “Who are you and why are we out here?”

  Before I knew what was happening, he was holding me firmly by the shoulders, drawing me to him. My mind went blank with shock, and the searing heat of his lips sent a whirl of sensations through me.

  “Do you remember me now, love?”

  I plopped down on the embankment.

  “I…this isn’t one of your damned spells, is it?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

  “It had better not be. You promised.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The last time, when you tried to make me stop loving you, I told you, I don’t care what they think or do to me. I love you, and no spell will make me forget you or this. Nothing can keep us apart.”

  He sat down beside me and kissed me again.

  “I’ve got to warn you, though: my mother is up to something. If we don’t run away now, then I fear she’ll capture you somehow and lock you away from me.”

  “You just said nothing could keep us apart.”

  “I did say that…” He trailed off as his hand found my cheek. “And I meant it, only I don’t wish for complications. When you are my wife, both you and your mother will be protected. There will no choice for my family but to tolerate the situation.”

  I scooched back to sit up and avoided his eyes.

  My cheeks were suddenly burning. My memories had come back to me all at once: the time portal, Sandra Brun, and my husband Cullen O’Kelley—my gosh, I was married! I jumped back even farther from the young man before me.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Life after Shh…loss Lichtenstein

  Baden-Württemberg, Germany, 2031

  “Here we are,” Cullen said, slowing turning into the castle’s parking lot. It took a second for Alana to wake up. The last thing she remembered was leaving the airport. She rubbed her hand across her eyes, wiping the sleep away.

  Da pointed to the blurry outline of Schloss Lichtenstein, barely visible through the lashing rain and the constant motion of the wiper blades. “Just look at those magnificent turrets.”

  Alana stretched and craned, taking in the medieval castle’s jagged-toothed drawbridge.

  “It’s much smaller than I thought it would be.”

  “Whisht! Ye’ll love it. We’re early for the walkabout, and I could use a pint. There’s a tavern about here somewhere, what do you say we leg it.”

  “I think we lost somebody, didn’t we?”

  “Ah, we did. Leslie’s stayed behind at Hotel Forellenhof Rössle—she said she was jet lagged, but I bet she was just hungry.”

  Alana yawned. “I think I’ll stretch my legs and have a gander.”

  “Plenty of time for that, a mhuirnín. Besides, it’s bucketin’ down out there. Ye’ll get soaked.”

  “What else is new?” Alana pulled out her hooded waterproof cape.

  “Clever girl, but ye still need to eat.”

  “Really, Da, I’m grand to explore. Go on without me. ”

  “I will yeh. Do as ye’re told.”

  Alana looked the other way and rolled her eyes, but she listened and walked in the direction of a log building.

  At a table near the window, they ate their way through some bread and cheese, admiring the outline of the castle and people watching as the tourists explored in the horizontal rain.

  “I think I need a kip now too—this fine drizzle is zappin’ my energy. Did Leslie tell ye that we’re up early to catch the train tomorrow?”

  “She did. We’re takin’ the scenic route to Budapest? ”

  “Indeed—eleven hours’ worth.”

  “I hope Leslie doesn’t snore the whole way.”

  “I’m sure she will.”

  “Is it eleven hours straight?”

  “It makes six different stops. We’ll see Austria on the way. Then I’m meeting with The Professor for a pint in Hungary. Ye ladies can check out the festival in town while I go about my research. ”

  “Why are ye meeting your old professor?”

  “The Professor is his nickname, although he does work at the University of Budapest. We went to school together as lads. From there, we take the train to Brasov for the Blood Moon Ball.”

  “I can’t believe I’m finally going to see Bran Castle. After all those scary books Mum used to read to me, I wonder if it will compare.”

  Da set his stein down in a hurry and pointed out the window. “By the holy, it’s clearin’ up and we’ve fifteen minutes to spare. Just enough time to see the Echaz valley.”

  Da led the way up the hill, stopping only for a moment so he could snap a picture of Alana in front of the studded wooden door.

  “What do you think, a mhuirnín, is it ‘Instaworthy’?”

  Alana frowned.

  “Sorry, wrong one—Snap-cat, then.”

  “It’s not an animal, Da.”

  “One of them is an animal—a bird, right. I’m close. I know I am. Do ye know how hard it is to keep up with ye these days? Yer mum was much better at that social media stuff. Now, don’t go twitterin’ about me.”

  Alana laughed. “Oh, Da, you’re so lame. Speaking of mum, this was her favorite castle, do ye remember? She called it Württemberg´s fairytale schloss.”

  “Ahh. I do remember her sayin’ that.” Da smiled, but he cleared his throat and turned away, blinking back the tears. “How high up are we, do you think?”

  They had reached the edge of the cliff that overlooked the valley. Green, red and white dotted the landscape—trees and tiny little houses with terracotta roofs.

  Alana shrugged.

  “Too high to slip, that’s for sure.” Cullen joked. “I think I read that it was 817 metres above sea level, but we’ll learn all about it when we go inside.”

  Alana turned, admiring the breathtaking view of the castle with all of its turrets and peaks.

  “Did you know that the Count who built this was inspired by a novel? Mum once told me…” Alana said.

  “Been studyin’ for that paper of yours or are ye just practicin’ to be a tour guide?”

  “Why do ye always do that?”

  “Do what, Lana?”

  “Change the subject when I bring up Mum.”

  “I do?”

  “Ye do.”

  Neither of them said anything else for a couple of minutes until finally Alana broke.

  “Would you tell me the story of the Graf?” Stories were one of the comforts both her mother and father had always offered up. Mum’s were typically historical tales while Da’s usually drew from his silly childhood with the occasional leprechaun and fairy thrown in for good measure.

  “A story about who, a mhuirnín?”

  “The Graf who lived here. The one Mum used to tell.” Alana felt an inexplicable surge of pain at the memory. He turned and looked mildly at her, thick eyebrows raised above his green eyes.

  “I barely remember it—Viktor something or other. I do remember from my last visit that there are some brilliant knight costumes that were worn by children, and a broken mirror that was damaged during the war—you’ll hear of it once we’re inside,” he said.

  He was shifting—a surefire sign that he was not tellin’ the truth. There was no way he could have forgot about Viktor and the Princess. Mum always joked that Da had been the Graf in another life. “Da, I need to ask ye somethin’.” Alana paused and he looked up sharply. “I was pokin’ around before we left and I found a letter—”

  “Ah c’mon will ya look at that, a mhuirnín,” Culle
n interrupted. “The tours started!”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Sealed With a Curse

  Hunedoara, Romania, 1494

  The grass from the embankment felt cool under my hands, or maybe it was just in comparison to the heat coming off this young man. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I’m not who you think I am.”

  “You’re not Sofia, then? I suppose I’m not Costin?”

  He gazed at me, clearly not about to let me go.

  I took a deep breath and went on. “I’m much too old for you.”

  “Too old. We are the same age. What has gotten into you?”

  I shook my head absorbing this new detail.

  “Could you take me home, please?”

  “What about our plans? You will still meet me, right? I told you something is amiss at the Castle. We must leave tonight.”

  As though realizing something, he paused and then relaxed. “You’re afraid. I told you, we don’t have to do that right away. Your virtue is quite safe with me. Now, come here,” he said, enfolding me once again.

  When he kissed me, the familiarity soothed and yet butterflies in my tummy reminded me of the truth. I wasn’t at home and this wasn’t my husband, not really. I couldn’t remember the last time Cullen’s kiss had felt like this, so innocent and new.

  I pulled away. This was Cullen and yet it wasn’t. This was a much younger, untouched version but I wanted and needed to get back home to the man himself. Some things were better with age.

  In the regression—this boy, who I was certain was one of Cullen’s past lives, had been trying to save me from the noose. How far away was that day?

  A sense of urgency moved me.

  I had to get back to Elena. If she truly was a witch, then maybe with a little forewarning she could save us both and send me home to my family—my real family. Oh my god—Alana! Sandra Brun had kept her hostage in that basement. No, Cullen had picked her up. I remembered him carrying her from the séance and suddenly things clicked. I remembered the way home to the cottage in the woods.