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  How had I mistaken Moby Dick for Rochus’s book? I closed my eyes and imagined it as I’d seen it earlier on Alana’s bed.

  The unmistakable marking on the spine—the shimmer from within… Had it shimmered? Was I adding that detail now, or had that been what caught my eye?

  I shook my head. I couldn’t be sure. I was obviously wrong, anyway. The book was locked away safe and sound the whole time. Alana didn’t even know where we kept the key.

  I had overreacted, plain and simple. Alana didn’t know the Purple Delhi Sapphire existed, let alone what it or the book could do.

  We had never even told her about the past.

  Perhaps we’d been wrong to keep it from her but she was sixteen now and if she was magically gifted then we needed to deal with it.

  Toward daybreak, I awoke to find Cullen in bed next to me. I came up on my elbows, rubbing my eyes. “Cullen? How’s Alana?”

  “Fine. Go back to sleep,” he said.

  I attempted to sit up.

  “Honestly, Aeval, go back to sleep.”

  I was so tired that I closed my eyes. Half asleep again, I realized that he’d gotten up. But I was too close to sleep to gather the energy to wake up and find out where he was going.

  I dreamed—dreamed I woke up and started looking for him. He wasn’t in the house. Then I was looking for Alana and Leslie. The door to the study was open but it turned into Madam Brun’s psychic storefront. Only the whole place began to shake and the card she’d once given Leslie was painted on the back of a giant door. It displayed a woman in a blue robe with a golden crescent moon, balanced as if she was stepping on it to keep it in place. There was something coming.

  “High Priestess!” Madam shouted and pointed at Leslie as she disappeared through the door. I tried to follow but it turned to glass and I couldn’t get to the other side—couldn’t get to my family.

  I woke with a start, bathed in cold sweat. I was alone. I almost leaped up in panic. I took a deep breath.

  From the kitchen, I could hear the reassuring sound of Cullen’s voice. Then a clattering noise alerted me to the fact that he was making coffee. I went into the kitchen and found him in jeans and a crisp blue shirt, red hair freshly washed and combed back.

  “Good mornin’, sleepy head,” he said, pouring a cup of coffee. I felt my cheeks grow warm as his gaze raked my body through the short thin nightie. He set the coffee pot down on the counter and pulled me to him.

  I melted into him as his lips claimed mine. I felt dizzy from his kiss … or maybe it was from the lack of food. Either way, the kiss was a good sign that Cullen wasn’t mad.

  The buzzer on the stove interrupted us, and he pulled away to check the oven.

  Smoked Salmon and Cream Cheese Frittata.

  “I haven’t smelled that dish in years,” I said, inhaling deeply.

  Cullen beamed as he sliced and dished me out a piece.

  “Shouldn’t ye be at the bookstore by now?”

  “Not for another hour.” I took a bite, letting the dill and smoked salmon flavor meld with the silky cream cheese texture. “You obviously used your mother’s recipe. It’s delicious.”

  He sat across from me, giving me his full attention. “Ye have time to chat…”

  I stopped eating and looked up. This was Cullen’s favorite comfort food—the fact that he’d made it told me he was preparing himself for something.

  “I’m ready to hear the story … about Alana. The whole of it if ye wouldn’t mind, and don’t be leavin’ anythin’ out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Diabolical Intrusion

  Hunedoara, Romania, 1494

  Muffled voices became audible. Groggy and confused, Sofia, who had just been drifting off to sleep, sat up, startled. She instantly recognized the voice of Alexandra Cuza, Vilhem’s wife. She was plump and harsh, with a hooked nose that made Sofia think of a hawk, or some other hungering bird of prey.

  At sixteen, Sofia knew better than to come out of her room and yet she could hardly sleep through the intrusion. She pushed back the blankets and peeked through a crack in the door.

  Alexandra paced in agitated strides, her skirts swishing about her legs. Sofia did her best to ignore the damp footprints on the wood floor but she resented them almost as much as she resented this evil woman’s presence. She would have to clean those floors later; her mother, Elena, had fallen ill, like much of the town and was surely in no shape.

  “Alexandra, calm yourself,” Vilhem said. His firm voice quieted the woman for only a moment. “I am caring for Elena so that Sofia may get some sleep.”

  “Your precious daughter must always come first.”

  Vilhem stepped forward and tugged at Alexandra’s arm until she faced him. “Lower your voice or she’ll hear you. Why have you come in the middle of the night?”

  “You know why. Mother’s condition has worsened!” She whirled and grabbed Elena from her bed, gripping the front of her dress in white-knuckled fists. “I know you can help her. And if you refuse me now, Elena, I vow revenge.”

  Sofia watched her mother as she stirred from her slumber, looking gaunt and confused.

  “What makes you so hateful?” Vilhem gritted his teeth. “You were the one who invited her into our marriage. You begged her to bear our children, and she said yes for your sake.”

  “For my sake? Oh, that’s a fine tale. This whole affair has been for my benefit, has it?” Alexandra laughed and turned to Elena who was now sitting. “I suppose neither one of you took pleasure in it?”

  “Enough...” Elena said, attempting to cut in. “Sofia is in bed and needn’t hear us bicker. Vilhem, please go outside to handle this.”

  Vilhem moved to open the door.

  “Alexandra was just leaving.”

  Alexandra stopped laughing. “I gave you a son. What did she ever give you? A worthless girl.”

  Vilhem’s face fell into deep shadow. “Watch your tongue! The girl does not know.”

  “And what of our son? Is he not deserving of your love?”

  “Yes, he is. Costin has been a good boy. He will make a good leader someday, but we both know I am not his true father. It’s no secret that you take another to your bed.”

  Alexandra’s face twisted, turning an even deeper shade of red and Sofia cringed. No good would come of this.

  “Return to your mother’s bedside and speak to no one else.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I Kid You Not

  Dublin, Ireland, 2031

  I finished my story and waited for Cullen to speak. I wasn’t sure which part irked him most but I had an idea.

  “Catastrophic events. Who talks like that? Con artists, that’s who! I knew somethin’ was the matter when ye got back from that trip. Why did ye lie to me?”

  “I didn’t—I just didn’t tell you.”

  “Pardon me, I’ll grant ye the difference. We promised we were goin’ to tell each other everythin’. Do ye remember that day, Sophia—the day we put ma into the ground? ‘Cause I remember it well and I’ve tried to live by those words every day since. ‘No more secrets,’ ye said.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I wish now that I had told you. I didn’t believe it then but Cullen…”

  “Awe, Sophia. Don’t tell me ye believe it now. Ye keep on her tail like that and ye’ll be after creatin’ problems.”

  “Sandra told me Alana would kill someone.”

  “Alana, kill someone? Never. I’ll stake my life on it.”

  “That’s what worries me. What if she meant you? What if Alana kills you with magic? She could try a spell and it could backfire. I couldn’t live without you or her.”

  “So, that’s why ye freaked out when ye thought she stole the book.”

  “I was afraid. I know this sounds ridiculous,” I said, and hoped I sounded equally sane. “I’ve started to dream again like I used to when—you know—when your brother was alive and stalking me.”

  “Ye’re sayin’ we need protection from our own las
s?”

  “Cullen, I don’t know how to say this so I’m just gonna blurt it out. She might not be yours.”

  Cullen slammed his fist down and his mug was knocked from the table. Coffee and porcelain bounced off the tiles.

  “Cullen! Calm down. It’s not what you think. I didn’t cheat on you. Sandra Brun was the one who told me there was a chance that you were not the father.”

  “Well how in the hell am I not her father if ye weren’t sleepin’ with anyone else? Immaculate conception was it?”

  “No.” I stood. “She asked if I was alone with Liam at any time.” Tears were openly cascading down my face.

  Startled, he put his thumb under my chin and gently turned my face toward him. “Aeval—did he rape ye?”

  “No.”

  He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. My heart squeezed in my chest. I bit my lip as I thought about it. “I mean, not that I know of—that’s why I didn’t think Alana would turn out to be bad. That’s why I didn’t believe it and I didn’t tell you. But Sandra Brun…she was right before, about the past—about my time travel —and I should have listened. We should have made the decision together.”

  “Aeval, ye would know if Liam did that—wouldn’t ye?”

  “I thought so…yes…but Cullen…he drugged me…I was unconscious...” I lowered my eyes, stunned by the pleading in my voice. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

  “Why would I be angry with ye for that?”

  He was silent and I knew he was most likely beating himself up for not protecting me, just as he’d done at the time.

  I stood and walked to him, wrapping my arms around his head and pulling him into my chest. Suddenly, he pulled me down into his lap. I could smell the spicy scent of his after shave and feel the heat radiating from his body.

  I flattened my palm on his chest. Beneath his thin shirt, I could feel hard muscle and the steady beat of his heart. Before I knew what was happening, my eyes were drifting shut and his lips were brushing against mine. Tenderly at first, then pressing harder, until at last we broke apart.

  I wanted to reassure him but I didn’t know what to say. I decided to change the subject.

  “Tell me about Móraí’s—how was your visit with Alana? You were gone much longer than a couple of hours.”

  “I wasn’t. Ye were out cold when I returned so I did some work. Móraí’s place was interesting. I felt like I was visiting a shrine to Liam. Have ye noticed all the photos she keeps of him?”

  “No, but I really haven’t been inside, seeing as I was almost murdered next door. It’s not really that strange, though; they were close and I’m sure it’s hard for her to wrap her head around who he really was and that he’s dead.”

  “Aye, to the raven her own chick is white.” He shifted uncomfortably so I stood and refilled our coffee cups. “I just find it odd,” he went on, “Or maybe it’s her I find odd—how she chooses to love. Ye know, it never seemed like she cared for me. She always loved my brother more, but then again maybe that’s because Lucille was my mother and she never liked her. ” He hesitated. “And it just seems like she has a strange attachment to Alana—the way she did to Liam.”

  I suddenly wondered if Móraí sensed that Alana was Liam’s child. Did she know something we didn’t? I shook my head. I couldn’t share these thoughts with Cullen although it seemed like he was having the same internal battle.

  “I just worry about Alana, that’s all,” he whispered.

  I stared at him. “You think Móraí had something to do with Liam being crazy?”

  “No, that’s ridiculous. He inherited those genetics from his own mam but…”

  “He did spend a lot of time with her.” I finished his sentence.

  He nodded as if saddened to admit the idea.

  “So ye want me to go to talk to Alana today and see if she’ll come home.”

  “That would be best. There is one other thing I noticed last night that I never clued into before—or maybe it’s new.” Cullen said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Móraí is a wiccan.”

  As if that wasn’t enough of a shock, our home phone rang very loudly. Unnerved, I jumped to answer it and almost spilled my own coffee.

  “Hey, Les …Oh no is she all right? An ambulance…I’ll be right there.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Black Art of Breaking Hearts

  Hunedoara, Romania, 1494

  The cottage grew quiet. Sofia leaned closer, trying to get a better view through the crack in the door. Her heart thumped in her chest as Vilhem thumped his hand down on the table.

  “Did you hear me, Alexandra? Return to your mother’s bedside. Elena and I will consider following as soon as she’s able.”

  “Of course you choose to travel with your whore—or should I call her a witch? That is, after all, what she is: a witch.” She squared her shoulders and slowed her words, “Are you practicing the black arts as well, husband, or are you simply under her spell?”

  “Go now, woman!” Vilhem ordered.

  “That’s why our baby died —because you chose to consort with a witch.” She turned to Elena. “Admit it. Admit you are an evil witch!” She waved a hand at the drying herbs that hung upside down in bunches, and at the jars filled with powders, lining the roughly hewn wooden shelves.

  Slowly Elena nodded, her serene expression never changing. “Herbs and plants are not evil, Alexandra. Knowing how to use them can surely be no sin.”

  “I saw you last summer, naked, under the moon. You are a witch, don’t bother denying it.”

  Sofia’s eyebrows flew up in wonder. She had heard her mother chant and of course she used herbs to heal the sick, but dancing by moonlight… It had never occurred to her that her mother would do such things.

  “What would the town think, Vilhem? Maybe I shall have to enlighten them.”

  “Go back to the Castle, Alexandra, and speak to no one. There is much distress and turmoil in the village—like tinder set to close to the hearth; should you choose to be the spark, you might just go up in flames with the rest of us.”

  “Is that a threat, Vilhem? Am I to die in a fire now? Is this your whore’s curse? You know that’s why people in the village are threatening to revolt against the Castle. We are being punished for your sins.” Alexandra’s face flushed, and her eyes narrowed as she ran at Vilhem’s chest, beating him with her clenched fists. “How could you do this to us?”

  “Enough!” Elena shouted. “I am no witch and I didn’t ask for your husband. You forced me to come here and I made the best of it. ”

  “You lie! You have sinful powers but I don’t care. Not if you help my mother. Now, gather what you need and come at once. If you didn’t make her sick, then prove it. Cure her, Elena. If you refuse....” Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t finish.

  “If I refuse, you’ll do what? Bear witness against me? See me stoned or burned? Last I checked, Vilhem was still your husband. So, maybe you should watch your wicked tongue lest you be put in a bridal.”

  Alexandra’s jaw hung open and, even though Elena would surely pay for that comment, Sofia enjoyed watching her jab back.

  “Next time you want my help, ask nicely and leave out the histrionics. I’ll do my best to heal your mother, but herbs or no, I may not be strong enough to help her.”

  Alexandra composed herself, smoothing down her hair. “If she dies, I vow to see you hang!” Alexandra lurched toward the plank door, tugging it open on its rawhide hinges.

  She left them, disappearing into a hurricane-like gust of wind.

  After she heard the door closed, Sofia emerged from her room, unable to stay quiet any longer. There were secrets here. Secrets Sofia had been ignorant to her entire life. Secrets she was determined to find the answers to.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Witch One Should I Believe?

  Dublin, Ireland, 2031

  Friday’s at Mysterious Adventures in Ink were typically mellow but with the ambulance having just l
eft, we seemed to have an influx of nosy visitors. The paramedics had come and gone with Deirdre Malloy, one of Alana’s schoolgirl chums that worked part-time for us. She’d been knocked unconscious when a vase fell from the top of the shelf she was restocking to land square on her head. Leslie, who had been frantic when I arrived, was now calm and chatting up a distinguished man with silver hair and glasses in the corner while I was busy handling the customers and getting the remaining broken pieces of the ceramic vase cleaned up.

  A knocking began at the window.

  “It’s that blasted bird again. Is it still lingering? ” I asked.

  Leslie pulled away from her conversation and walked toward me. “Actually it only seems to come around when you do.”

  “Great,” I whispered as the raven rose up outside and began beating its wings against the front door. “I’ve made a new friend…Go on!” I turned to Leslie who was now eating, “Maybe it wants to share your bagel.”

  “Fat chance. I don’t share.” She said and licked cream cheese off her lip. “Be gone!” She screamed at the bird through the door.

  The Raven looked from me to her with one bright, shiny eye, then flew away. The cat took note and bounded off the front table, leaping to the side window in the direction it flew.

  “Who are you, Snow White?” I asked, giving Leslie a quizzical look.

  She grinned.

  “Must be nice—nobody listens to me. Watch this!” I stepped toward the cat who was now perched on the top of a very tall bookcase. “Come on down from there, Daphne.”

  She remained where she was.

  “Case and point,” I said shaking my head.

  “That’s not a fair assessment. Cats never obey.”