Temple of Indra's Curse (Time-Traveling Bibliophile Book 2) Page 3

  Zafira sipped her tea. It had an odd taste. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t really see him. It was more of a dark shadow.”

  Miss Alice opened the wire bird cage and lifted the raven from its perch. “Oh, so you mean you saw him at night after a few drinks,” she said, stroking the bird’s feathers.

  Zafira nodded.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not judging you. I was young once, too,” Miss Alice said, smiling. “Drink your tea, dear.”

  Zafira swallowed down the rest, spitting out small ends of leaves.

  “That is a lovely ring. Where did you get it?”

  Zafira felt her cheeks blush. “It belongs to my mother. It’s an anniversary gift from my father,” Zafira replied. “I’m not supposed to be wearing it but I made the mistake of trying it on and it got stuck. I really do need to get home and get it off before my father notices.”

  Miss Alice put the bird away, walked to the counter and returned with a knife. “Let me help you.”

  Zafira jumped up from her seat.

  Alice frowned as she cut into the slab of butter on the table and dropped a small piece onto Zafira’s finger. She set the knife down and rolled the butter around Zafira’s finger, successfully pulling the ring off.

  “Thanks.” She’d definitely have to polish it again now.

  “Wouldn’t want you getting in any more trouble now, would we?”

  Zafira took the last sip of her tea, noticing a pattern of leaves in the bottom of the cup. “What are these?”

  “Tea leaves.” Miss Alice took her cup and peered into it, frowning. “Before I moved here I was a spiritual medium with a travelling fair. I read tea leaves.” She stood rather hastily. “I’m afraid I must bid you good day, Miss Breathour. Thank you for visiting and be careful with that sapphire.”

  The light flickered as she stepped out into the hall—sending a chill up Zafira’s spine.

  Chapter Seven

  Forget Me Knot

  Dublin, Ireland, April 2015

  Cullen bent his head toward me as we strolled casually out of the alcove, his lips brushing mine one last time. There was a large table that took up most of the room and it was filling with Cullen’s family.

  “It looks like your grandmother has arrived with your parents.”

  They were all staring at us. Busted.

  I smiled through gritted teeth. “She’s probably staring at this low cut dress.”

  “Well now, she’ll have to be after findin’ her own frock, won’t she? Cause ye look bloody deadly in that one.”

  His mother, Lucille, rushed across the polished wooden floor, playfully elbowing him out of the way in order to hug me. She was a fine-boned woman with beautiful brown eyes and curly auburn hair and when they stood side by side, it was easy to see he took after her. Lucky for him, because she had great genes. His father—or Da, as they called him—wasn’t too bad, himself. He had a charisma that both his sons carried.

  “Ye best be behavin’ yourself, boy. Now go see your Auntie on the other side there, she keeps askin’ after ye.”

  “Sophia.”

  My name was said in a strange, low whisper, and for a moment I froze as hands fell on my shoulders.

  “Look at you, lass.”

  I suddenly felt like a fool. I smiled and turned to see Cullen’s brother. “Liam, I’m so glad to see you.” I hugged him back. He lived close by, and was over for dinner at least twice a week.

  “Ye’re a beauty! For the life of me, I can’t be figurin’ why ye’re still with me brother.”

  “Did you hear that, Cullen?” One of the cousins, Ewan, called out. “Liam’s after ye're wan.”

  “Go ‘way from her, ye bloody jealous maggot—always after me scooter growin’ up, too,” Cullen called back.

  “Oh, here we go,” I said, preparing myself for their playful banter, most of which was lost on me.

  Liam drew me in for a kiss on the cheek and lowered his voice, practically whispering into my ear. “I saw ye first.”

  I smiled at the harmless peck. They were always teasing, although I couldn’t help but think sometimes Liam took it too far, especially for a priest. He let go and looked back at Cullen, who finished hugging his aunt on the other side of the table and strutted toward us.

  “Hold tight. I’m on my way to rescue ye.”

  “No rescue necessary,” Liam said, grinning. “I’m a man of the cloth.”

  Ewan, the youngest of the three, jumped to his feet and pretended to step between them. Both Cullen and Liam gave their cousin a friendly shove, and then gave each other a loving pat on the back as they hugged.

  Cullen, obviously sensing I was lost in thought once again, turned to me. “Ye sure ye’re all right, love?”

  “I’m perfect,” I said, finally beginning to relax. I’d made up my mind. I was going to tell him the truth, come hell or high water, and it would have to be tonight because he was traveling to London first thing in the morning. He would only be gone four days but he was never home long before he had to jet off again on business.

  “Brilliant.” He kissed my forehead, his lips soft and warm on my skin. “I’ll miss ye tomorrow. How ye plannin’ to keep busy?” He fiddled nervously with his jacket pocket. It wasn’t like Cullen to fiddle, and I gave his hand a squeeze.

  “I thought maybe I’d go to that fundraiser tomorrow night—see if Leslie or one of your cousins wanted to tag along.”

  Maybe that was why he was so jittery. He mentioned once or twice the guilt he felt leaving me all the time.

  Someone clinked their fork off a glass and the musical tinkling made me look up.

  “O’Kelley Clan, can I get your attention up here for a moment?” Da called. “If you haven’t noticed already, champagne is being passed about so set your whiskey aside and grab one. Just remember to behave. Father John will not be happy to see the likes of yous pickled at tonight’s service.”

  We sat as the table quieted down, and Cullen switched out my glass as the tray went by.

  “Now ye know that beautiful lass sitting over there at Cullen’s side,” Da continued, and all eyes turned to me.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered, nudging Cullen.

  He gave me his best I-have-no-idea look, and extended an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in tight.

  “T’was a year ago today she fell into our lives from Sainte Marguerite Island—or perhaps it was the sky, ‘cause surely that one there is an angel.”

  “Quit stealin’ his lines, John,” Lucille chided.

  “I did, didn’t I? Sorry, son. Well then here's another stolen line while I’m at it: to women's kisses, and to whiskey, amber clear. Not as sweet as a woman's kiss, but a darn sight more sincere! Anyway, Cullen, time to be a man.” The laughter faded as Cullen pushed his chair back and stood, pulling me gently to stand with him.

  “Thanks, Da! Not sure how I’ll follow that up, but how about: to passionate people, beautiful futures, and lovely lasses who fall from the heavens,” he said, knocking glasses with me. Clinks echoed all around, and I smiled as he set his flute down.

  Then he lowered to one knee.

  Chapter Eight

  Coming Apart at the Dreams

  Blood Moon, Toronto, Canada, May 1920

  Zafira’s dream began as it often did, with sunshine and an overwhelming feeling of freedom. She was reading by the window when the haunting silence came, like the world holding its breath. A violent force flew from the closet and knocked her to the ground. His dark hair and familiar face were like an invisible punch to the stomach.

  Zafira screamed and scrambled to get away but she was now in a forest. The beautiful trees were a blur. Here and there, she caught glimpses of a swamp—she was peering through a hole in a sack.

  Zafira woke, biting off the start of a scream. The little fan beside her bed whirred, but she was drenched with sweat. With trembling fingers, she felt for the lamp switch, then blinked against the sudden light. The familiarity of her room calmed her. She needed a drin
k. She climbed to her feet, and treaded into the hall where it was cooler and more open.

  Her little sister, Veronika peeked her head out into the hall and studied her.

  “What are you doing out of bed, Vee? It’s after midnight.”

  “I heard you crying.”

  Zafira pulled her robe the rest of the way over her shoulders. “I’m going to get a glass of water. I had a bad dream.”

  Vee followed her to the stairs.

  “What are your dreams about? You always cry for daddy,” Vee said.

  “Let’s talk about it later. I had a real lulu of a weekend, little sis. Come on. I’ll walk you back to bed.”

  “Do you think they’re really gonna send you to live with Aunt Maggie?”

  “I don’t know, Vee. Probably not, but you never know.”

  “Do you think they’d let me go with you? I love Aunt Maggie.”

  Zafira laughed. “I know you do, but it’s time to go back to bed. I’ll come up and sleep with you once I get a drink.”

  Vee’s eyes widened. “You will?”

  Zafira nodded. “Just like when we were little.” It might be enough to drown out the nightmares.

  Vee jumped back in bed. “I wish we could go back in time and you could still sleep with me every night. Will you tickle me to sleep like you used to.”

  “Sure.” Zafira kissed Vee’s cheek. “You are an absolute doll, Vee, my girl.”

  Vee crawled back into bed and Zafira ran her finger in trails over her shoulder. She watched the light make patterns on the ceiling in the dark as she did it.

  “Have you ever known something that you were afraid to tell?” Zafira asked. She was growing tired just watching Vee doze off.

  “Whaddaya mean?” Vee slurred.

  “I’m not sure,” Zafira murmured. She wanted to say more, but wasn’t sure how to begin, and Veronika was already fast asleep anyway, so with one last kiss she left the room and padded down the stairs to her father’s office. She knew he had a book on deciphering dreams.

  The steady click of the clock kept her company as she took a look around. His desktop was awash in newspaper clippings and books. Curious, Zafira leafed through the newspaper clippings. They were old reports from port towns across the country of runaway sightings. She turned to the shelves, looking for the book on dreams she’d seen while hiding the jewels in here yesterday. She moved the H.G Wells novel to the side. The shelf was empty behind it.

  The book teetered on the edge of the shelf but remained until she was distracted by a strange buzzing that emanated from the other room. She started to move toward the sound when something thudded to the ground. A piece of paper fluttered out from it. She picked up the note and straightened the crease where it had been folded. It was some sort of short poem but it didn’t make any sense. Some foreign poem—must have belonged to the shop keeper who sold her the book. She put the book away and carried the paper with her into the parlour where the sound was practically rhythmic.

  The jewellery case sat open on the coffee table between the couch and the fireplace, surrounded by tbits of tissue paper, snippets of lace, and two empty champagne flutes. Papa had obviously given her mother her anniversary gift in here after their dinner.

  Setting the paper on the table, Zafira touched the case. The jewels were almost vibrating. She picked up the ring and squeezed it in the palm of her hand. It felt warm. She was glad Miss Alice had pulled it from her finger yesterday. Her father would have been furious to know she’d worn it. She was about to put the ring away when she noticed the paper shimmering on the table. There was a golden iridescent hue to it and she picked it up once again and re-read the words. The buzzing grew unbearable and she instantly felt ill. She dropped the ring back into the box and headed upstairs. The hallway was now spinning. She hurried for the bathroom not wanting to get sick on the rug.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Til Death Do Us Part

  Dublin, Ireland, April 2015

  Cullen grinned up at me—so charming and gorgeous. His green eyes, as always, were mesmerizing. They had flecks of gold in them that clung to the edges and danced in the center, like they were on fire. My heart beat so loudly in my ears that it almost drowned out the ‘awws’ and ‘oohs’.

  “Ye’re already mine, lass, in every way possible and I am yours, but I want the world to know,” he said, taking my free hand. Someone took the glass of champagne from the other one, as I was shaking so badly. The black velvet box squeaked open, and his aunts gasped in unison, as if on cue.

  “Will ye make me the happiest man in Ireland, Aeval, and join our O’Kelley Clan?” He kissed my fingers as I stared down at him.

  The marble-sized rock in the box swirled, and doubled in front of my eyes. Deep purple amethyst with a thin frame of diamonds set in pink gold and accentuated with a slender shank and crescent details.

  I looked past the ring, into his eyes, and found him still staring directly at me. He’d removed the ring from the box and was holding it out, ready to place it on my finger.

  He cleared his throat. “It was my great-great-great-grandmother's and I thought ye might appreciate it, since ye were so intrigued with her portrait.”

  I nodded, trying to smile through the confusion, but my head swam with random bursts of chatter, the fiddle, and all the thoughts flooding me at once, mostly that Cullen had just proposed to me with the missing Purple Delhi Sapphire ring I had lost in the nineteenth century.

  A bead of sweat ran down the side of my cheek as the ring touched the tip of my finger. Cullen’s face began to distort. A shimmery haze had fallen over the room as if the desert were closing in. The vibration from the ring traveled up my arm, and the room began to shift and blur at the edges. Another room, a darker room, was coming into focus. I could still hear Cullen’s aunt ordering someone to get me a glass of water.

  There was something I should remember. Water. Rochus said water was necessary to ease the pain of time travel. Maybe this was what it felt like without. I tried to blink away the heat, tried to stop myself from going, but I couldn’t. The edges of the room were burning away fast now, like a Polaroid scorched by flames. I could hear the trickling of the fountain in the corner. I ran for it, or at least I intended to, but it was too late.

  Chapter Ten

  History of Lies

  Blood Moon, May 2nd, Toronto, Canada, 1920

  The house was eerily quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock. I came out of the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe. The upstairs corridor creaked with my every step. This made sneaking around something of a conundrum, especially considering I was not used to this body. It felt all wrong, disproportionate and slightly shorter than my usual 5’5.

  “I can’t believe this,” I whispered, holding my hands in front of my face. Squinting hard to focus, I examined the backs as they drifted in front of me. They were the small, smooth hands of a girl. I dropped them to my chest which was now almost flat.

  I’d just been in my own body, in a restaurant being proposed to by the man of my dreams. Why had this happened? I knew the answer. The Purple Delhi Sapphire—that beautiful, sinister stone I’d inherited had once again transported me to another time and place. What I couldn’t fathom was how Cullen had gotten the ring.

  I owned the Purple Delhi Sapphire in its entirety in 1857—but it had been cut into a set in 1920 and passed down through my great-grandmother, Gigi. I’d lost the ring on that first trip through time one year ago. I’d just assumed the portal had burned up its energy and it had disintegrated.

  I’d worn the bracelet in place of the ring when I’d traveled back to 1857 the second time and I’d been surprised when it came home with me. I had assumed the reason was that the bracelet had more gems, thus making it more powerful, but something must have happened to the ring on that first trip. Either that or it had something to do with the ‘butterfly effect’—the theory that a single occurrence, no matter how small, could change the course of the universe. But I hadn’t seen any evi
dence of it since I’d returned. And now here I was once again in the past. What to do?

  The rational part of my brain told me to stay put and do no harm, but an air of mystery pervaded the dark corridor ahead with its darkly patterned runner, and the deep-seated need to explore took over. I followed the brown border, watching as it melded into the tone of the floor and blended with the woodwork. White doors lined the length of the hall, all closed except for one.

  I walked to the recessed window near the stairway. It was curtained with blue-violet silk fringed with orange and the seat was upholstered in the same violet color. The streetlamp outside cast light down the sweep of stairs that descended into the gloom of a foyer. The hall spun as I lifted my hands to touch my face. They felt so heavy and there was a faint buzzing in my ears, like a hangover without the fun of the hours preceding it.

  Finally the vertigo eased, and willing myself to inch forward one silent step at a time, I crept down the stairs.

  Half-open open pocket doors flanked either side of the foyer. I went to the right first. The floor of the dining room was black oak, polished to the highest degree with wax and partially covered with a deep green and crimson Turkish rug. The ceiling was also dark, with dividing bands of lighter oak. A wrought-iron chandelier hung from the center. The two bay windows had their upper parts made of ruby and amber stained glass; Green velour curtains hung on either side, lined with light brown silk. The window seats were covered with brown leather and stacked with pillows. The antique dining room sideboard was elaborately carved and the mantel was of the same wood, with cream-colored tiles set in around the fireplace. There was nothing here I could use to my advantage so I moved on, exploring the kitchen and parlor next.

  After several long, nervous minutes I stood motionless in a study. Moonlight, framed by lace curtains, peeked through one of the windows and cast shadows across the wide-planked wood of the floor. Around me, the dark shapes of unfamiliar furniture skulked in the shadows against the floral wallpaper. The ornate frames of several oil paintings gleamed in the moonlight.