Timeless

Amanda Paris

Published by Amanda Paris at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 by Amanda Paris

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is available in print under the pen name Emma Eliot or Amanda Paris at most online retailers.

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Cover Image: “The Horsehead Nebula,” photo courtesy of European Southern Observatory Accessed 9 December 2010 and reproduced and licensed from Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported

CONTENTS

Prologue

Emily

Chapter One: "The Dream"

Chapter Two: "Plunging In"

Chapter Three: "The Quest"

Chapter Four: "Darkness Falls"

Emmeline

Chapter Five: "Dream Kingdom"

Chapter Six: "Reckoning"

Emily

Chapter Seven:"Discovery"

Chapter Eight:"Torn"

Chapter Nine: "Limbo"

Chapter Ten: "Flight"

Chapter Eleven: "Touching Eternity"

Chapter Twelve: "Voyagers"

Chapter Thirteen: "The New World"

Chapter Fourteen: "Encounters"

Chapter Fifteen:"The Ring"

Chapter Sixteen: "Following"

Chapter Seventeen: "Déjà Vu"

Chapter Eighteen: "Being and Unbeing"

"Epilogue"

Time present and time past

Are both perhaps present in time future,

And time future contained in time past.

If all time is eternally present

All time is unredeemable.

What might have been is an abstraction

Remaining a perpetual possibility

Only in a world of speculation.

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

T. S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton”

Prologue

Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.

Song of Solomon, King James Version

The icy waters engulfed me, pulling my long skirts down to the depths below. The chill reached inside my lungs, stripping the air slowly as I fought the first rush, the great flooding torrent that overwhelmed me.

I could see her shadow above the water, a thousand glittering lights fading as I drifted farther below. Her horrid brilliance dimmed as I lost consciousness, and a weight pressed down upon my chest, now lit from within by an inescapable fire that tore the last breath from my lungs, shredded by a thousand frigid knives.

I saw his face, my last conscious memory a kaleidoscope of our lived past, fused together in a radiant burst of careless passion that had led us to this awful moment.

Death loomed. As I felt its icy grip envelop me, a curious peace ensued, despite the knowledge that, either way, I would die. I struggled the first minute—anyone would—it was a natural, human reaction. But then I stopped fighting it. To break the surface, to draw breath, would be to choose another death, a more hideous, violent end. I had my choice—fire or ice. And I would not give her the satisfaction of fire. He would come back to fight for me, would try to save me, and I could not let her kill him too…

EMILY

…And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

Chapter One

"The Dream"

And where you are is where you are not.

T. S. Eliot, “East Coker”

I tried reasoning, pleading desperately for them to relent. I felt the tears spring forth, though I refused to shed them in front of her. Why couldn’t I make them understand? Why couldn’t they comprehend my terror?

“Emily, I’m afraid to tell you, if you don’t pass your swim test, you can’t graduate,” Mrs. Anderson, the guidance counselor, said. She looked compassionately into my eyes and slowly nodded her gray head in my direction to emphasize her point.

I groaned inwardly. I’d tried everything to get out of it, but there was no hope that I could see. I’d have to learn to swim. It was a well-known rule that everyone had to pass to graduate. Fifteen years ago, someone left a sizeable amount of money to the school after a beloved son, a senior about to graduate, had died in a boating accident. The one stipulation made was that every student must learn to swim.

I’d made the effort to several times, but I had an unnatural fear of drowning since I was a small child. To my knowledge, this aversion was completely unfounded—I’d had no traumas to attribute to it. And yet, anytime my head was under water, I panicked.

It was perhaps one of the great ironies in my life that my boyfriend Ben was captain of the swim team at school.

He waited for me patiently while I collected my things and mumbled my thanks to Mrs. Anderson. Much good that appointment had done me, I thought. I was no closer to getting out of it than I had been before.

“What am I going to do?” I complained to him once we were in the hall, out of Mrs. Anderson’s hearing.

Ben smiled at me, taking my book bag as we walked together.

“Well, you have two options. Either you can stay in high school forever—you know how much you love cafeteria food…” I punched his arm lightly at this.

"Or…you could do what everyone else does and finally learn to swim,” he finished.

It was true. Ben and I had grown up together in the small town of DeLand, Florida, not too far away from Daytona Beach. It was almost unthinkable that I wouldn’t know how to swim. Most of the kids in town had long progressed from their doggy-paddling days to windsurfing and jet skis. Water surrounded us everywhere we turned. There was the St. Johns River that ran through the county and several beaches, including Daytona, less than an hour away.

Ben had tried teaching me, starting with the first summer after I’d moved to town as a kid, but to no avail.

We entered the parking lot, and Ben put his arm around me to offer some reassurance. I definitely needed it.

“Well, Em, where to now?” he asked.

“Wait, I thought you had practice for the swim meet tomorrow?”

“Coach gave us the afternoon off. He said we could use some rest before the big day.”

By now, we’d reached his red pick-up in the school parking lot, where our friends, Zack and Annie, waited for us. Zack had longish brown hair, and like most of the students at our high school, very tan skin. Annie, with her dark hair and wide brown eyes, was a little on the paler side, like me. But even she tanned during the summer.

“About time. We thought you guys got lost behind the bleachers,” Zack snickered.

Annie rolled her eyes at him. Like Ben and me, Zack and Annie had been together since our childhood days. We did almost everything with them.

“Don’t start, Zack,” I warned, smiling nonetheless.

“So what did Mrs. Anderson say?” Annie asked.

Annie’s large dark eyes showed real concern, and I knew I could always count on her. She’d been my best friend since I’d moved to Florida over ten years ago.

“Looks like I have less than two years to learn to swim or I won’t be going to college after all,” I said, not feeling as lighthearted as I sounded.

“Really? Wow, they’re really serious about that swim rule. We could practice, you know, at the Y,” Annie offered. She knew I was mortally terrified of drowning and wouldn’t even approach the deep end.

“Thanks, Annie, but I think it’s going to be harder than a few tries at the Y,” I said, still glad to have her support.

I did appreciate everyone’s concern. Annie thought it was really my intense fear of wearing a bathing suit in public. On that point, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Being the palest person in a school where everyone else consistently worked on their tans was not my idea of fun. But my fear went much deeper than that, I knew.

Ben could read me better than anyone else, and he quickly changed the subject, suggesting that we all go downtown to find something to eat. But I wasn’t feeling all that hungry, and I’d already promised Aunt Jo, my seventy-year-old aunt, guardian, and only living relative, that I’d help her paint several rooms in our house when I got home.

Ben and I made plans with Zack and Annie to meet up later in the evening for a movie, and then Ben and I climbed into his pick-up.

Once we were inside, I knew he’d bring up the swim test again.

“You know, Em, you’re going to have to learn sometime,” he began, more serious now.

“No, I don’t. I’ll change schools,” I retorted. I knew I sounded like a child, but I didn’t care.

Ben rolled his eyes, shifted gears, and looked over at me.

“You’re really beautiful when you’re stubborn, you know that?” he said, reaching over to kiss me when we came to the stop sign in front of Aunt Jo’s house.

Ben had a deeply Southern accent, the kind that draws out in soft, stroking waves. His family had moved to Florida from Georgia when he turned two, and while he’d lost some of the slow dripping heaviness characteristic of a true Southern voice, he’d lost none of the charm. His impeccable manners—he always held doors and said “m’am” and “sir” –blond, wavy hair, clear blue eyes, and six-foot-two athletic frame compelled every girl to follow him with their eyes. With my unruly red mane, freckles, and sunburn-prone skin, I knew I was the luckiest girl in school, especially since I wasn’t exactly the prettiest one.

I could feel the flush creep up my neck.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” I cautioned, not wanting Aunt Jo to see us.

“I always do,” he replied as he pulled into the drive.

Aunt Jo’s small, two-story brick house was within walking distance to downtown, and I loved growing up in this turn-of-the century home with a large front yard and swing. I’d spent hours of my childhood here playing with Ben, Zack, and Annie, and I had happy memories of planting roses with my mother, who’d died a year ago of cancer.

Aunt Jo must have heard us drive up because she came out to the front porch. A still-attractive woman with glossy white hair, Aunt Jo braided it into two long, thick plaits, which she wound around as a swirling bun, a coronet atop her graceful head. She had startling light blue eyes and few wrinkles beyond a couple of well-earned laugh lines.

The Duchess, Aunt Jo’s long-suffering black cat, followed her, perching on the top step to watch the activity below. As always, she commanded our attention, and Ben and I paid our dues on our way up the stairs, stroking her back as we passed. The Duchess reigned over the house, and she had to approve all guests. Fortunately, she had long accepted Ben as a member of the family and began to rub her fur against his legs, circling the inside of them as he walked.

“Hi, Miss Jo,” Ben said, greeting her with a hug. “Emily told me you needed some help painting.”

One of the qualities I loved most about Ben was his generous spirit. He was always ready to help, no matter how long it took or how boring the task.

“Hello, Ben,” Aunt Jo said, smiling and picking up the Duchess. Her hand automatically began stroking the Duchess’s head as we walked into the house. She only let Aunt Jo carry her around. The rest of us hadn’t yet earned the right.

No one actually knew how old the Duchess was. Even Aunt Jo couldn’t remember, though she’d often remarked that the Duchess had come from a long line of proud felines. She’d been living at the house for as long as I had, and I often wondered if she really did have nine lives.

“We’re tackling the dining room today,” Aunt Jo continued, glad, I was sure, for an extra hand.

Aunt Jo and I had been painting each of the downstairs rooms for the last several weeks. Ben had helped us last week with the living room and kitchen.

“You kids go inside to get something to eat first, and then we’ll get started,” she said, giving me a wink. I knew she wanted to leave us alone before we became too busy and dirty with painting. Aunt Jo was a little shameless and totally romantic.

Thirty minutes later—the appropriate amount of time for a young lady to entertain her boyfriend—and she joined us in the kitchen.

“How was school today?” she asked us when we sat around the table, eating the cookies she had ready. Aunt Jo loved to bake, which was fortunate. Cooking wasn’t exactly my strong suit.

I sighed deeply.

“I have to learn to swim,” I began, “Otherwise…” I left my sentence unfinished.

Aunt Jo knew the “or else” part. We’d talked it over a hundred times, and she’d already visited the school principal. Going to see the guidance counselor was a last, desperate step. I’d hoped for a pass for psychological reasons, but since this actually involved seeing a doctor, that door was closed too. I wasn’t quite ready to go there yet, not because I wasn’t desperate enough—I was—but whatever fear I had, I wanted to leave it undiscovered, if possible. Something inside of me didn’t want to face it.

Aunt Jo stopped smiling then. She understood my fear, and she never tried to push me.

“You don’t have to learn today, dear,” she said sympathetically, patting my shoulder as she stood up to signal that it was time to get down to business.

I smiled at her less-than-subtle hint. Aunt Jo was my grandmother’s youngest sister and had helped to care for me since I’d moved to Florida with my mother. We relocated from Denver after my father died in a skiing accident when I was five. Though most of my memories of him had eventually faded, I did remember the overwhelming grief and longing I felt when he died. His face and voice had merged with pictures and a few home videos, as Mom had tried to keep his memory alive for me. She never got over losing him.

When Aunt Jo offered her home, Mom decided that we should leave Colorado for sunny Florida, a total change and a new start for us. It was a welcome haven, and my mother, who loved children, had made a place for herself as a kindergarten teacher at the local elementary school near our house in DeLand. I was happy she had some real happiness before meeting her own tragic end a year ago. I still felt close to her in the house and yard, filled with the now overgrown gardens she had once lovingly tended.

Everything reminded me of her. I suspected that Aunt Jo, who’d lived in this house all her life, wanted to change the rooms to help me overcome my loss. I thought that Ben suspected it too. He’d not been that surprised when Aunt Jo announced that we’d started painting the house a few weeks ago. He was eager to help.

Ben had looked after me almost from my first day in DeLand, when he’d passed by the house on his bike. He’d seen the U-Haul and stopped, waving and welcoming us to Florida with a “Howdy, Ma’am” to Aunt Jo and a much shier “hello” to me. Two cupcakes and several glasses of lemonade later, we’d become good friends. By the end of the first week, we were inseparable.

I knew that no one else really understood why Ben and I were always together. Even I didn’t really understand it. Only my green eyes were remotely attractive, and according to Mom and Aunt Jo, they didn’t come from anyone in my family. I didn’t know any other red heads—and I do mean that carrot-top, orangey-red color—in school except for Mrs. Colms, the Home Ec. teacher, and I suspected hers came out of a bottle. Why anyone would actually choose red hair was beyond me.

Ben had already gone upstairs to the guest bedroom to change into some old clothes that Aunt Jo had found for him. She’d bought me painter’s overalls when we started this project several weeks ago.

The Duchess had positioned herself on top of the overalls, which Aunt Jo had neatly laid out on my bed, a four-poster canopy with an antique lace coverlet that had belonged, like everything else in the room, to my grandmother. It took several minutes for the Duchess to agree to let me have them. She would not be moved. Once she became settled, that was usually that.

“Please?” I asked her, exasperated.

She cocked her head at me, licked one paw, and finally deigned to move over, stretching herself on her back. I obligingly scratched her belly.

I picked the hairballs off the front of the overalls and quickly dressed, cringing when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Painter’s overalls aren’t exactly the most flattering attire, not that I gave too much thought to what I wore anyway. Carelessly throwing my long hair in a bun, I was ready to go.

We decided to move the furniture out instead of trying to cover it with plastic. We’d learned our lesson painting the kitchen and living rooms, when we ended up bumping into chairs and overturning tables.

After we moved the large table out to the porch and slid the chairs into the foyer, we began tackling the walls, converting the stately beige to a bright, electric blue. The entire downstairs had begun to look like a brochure for a Key West hotel. Aunt Jo was nothing if not adventurous. It was one of the features I loved best about her.

Three hours and two paint fights later, Ben had covered half of my face, and I knew I probably looked like one of those ancient Picts in one of my history textbooks, ready for battle with my blue war paint. I’d managed to get in a few swipes on the back of his neck, but the effect wasn’t nearly as savage or as thorough.

We eventually put our paint brushes down, lying together on the plastic covers we’d spread over the hardwood floors. Staring at our handiwork, our paint-smudged hands behind our heads, we both laughed at the same time.

“It’s really awful, isn’t it,” I said in a whisper so Aunt Jo couldn’t hear in the adjoining room.

“Yeah,” he whispered loudly, “I didn’t want to say anything. I thought you’d probably picked it out,” he finished, a huge smile on his face.

I sat up and shoved him. He held up his hands in defense.

“Hey, don’t blame me! I see the crazy stuff you wear to school!” he protested, laughing more loudly.

I hit him a little harder, but he was right. I did like bright colors—just not on the walls. Aunt Jo was probably trying to follow what she thought was my taste.

“I started to get worried when we painted the kitchen mango,” he said through the tears of laughter.

By that time, we were rolling on the floor, forgetting we had to stay quiet.

“What’s so funny in here?” Aunt Jo asked, poking her head in and wanting to share the joke.

“Oh, nothing,” we said together, trying to keep from laughing again. Neither of us wanted to hurt her feelings.

“I’m getting hungry,” I said to save us both.

A little later, Aunt Jo ordered pizza, and we sat around the kitchen table stuffing ourselves until Ben looked at his watch. He gave me a quick kiss, thanked Aunt Jo for the pizza, and drove home to shower and get ready for tonight.

I climbed the stairs, glad that Aunt Jo didn’t follow me. I was still upset about my meeting with Mrs. Anderson, and I wanted to take a nap before going out tonight.

I changed out of the overalls, now splattered with blue paint to match the equally exotic shades of the kitchen and living room.

I lay on the bed, thinking of my grandmother, who’d grown up in this house. It was a lucky thing that I didn’t have too many clothes, as I was still using her antique armoire standing opposite to the bed. Houses built at the turn of the last century didn’t include closets, and most of my friends still couldn’t believe I could live without one.

I liked to feel in touch with the past, and though my grandmother had passed away before I was born, it felt right somehow that I was still connected to her, sleeping on the same bed that she did as a girl and looking in the same mirror she used above the dresser. Aunt Jo had even left me the antique wash stand, with its porcelain wash bowl, beside the bed.

The house had been in the St. Clair family since it was built by my great-great-grandfather in 1908. He’d been killed in World War I, but his son had grown up here and raised my grandmother, her younger brother, and her sisters. It was natural, Aunt Jo said, for my mother and me to come home to live. Though my mother, a native of Iowa, had no roots in Florida, she agreed with Aunt Jo, knowing that I needed a place to belong. Aunt Jo always treated Mom like a daughter, not ever having any of her own, and me as a granddaughter. I think she was glad we’d come to Florida for the company, and I knew she missed Mom terribly. Aunt Jo had some close friends and a very active Bridge club, but it wasn’t the same as family, she always said.

I didn’t know what I would do without Aunt Jo now that Mom was gone. I looked at the wedding picture of my parents on the dresser beside the one of Ben and me taken two summers ago. My mother’s smile, the only physical trait I’d inherited from her, made her still seem alive. The picture quickly became blurry with the familiar sting of tears. Mom and Dad looked so happy holding hands together on their wedding day. Dad had dark waving hair neatly brushed back, a carefree smile on his face, and Mom looked very young in a white lace dress that had belonged to her mother, her dark brown curls pinned up with the ivory roses she’d probably grown herself.

I remembered then her last days, the slow, long drips of the morphine, the meaningful looks between the doctors. No one wanted to tell me that the end had come, but I knew when it was time. I’d watched my mother battle too long not to recognize when I had to let her go. As much as I loved her, I didn’t want to see her live in pain. People think that letting go is the hardest part of death, but it isn’t. It’s seeing the person you love the most suffer.

That didn’t mean that I didn’t miss hearing Mom’s voice throughout the house. No one had prepared me for the emptiness her passing would create. The worst part was the silence, as though she just didn’t exist anymore.

I choked back the tears and concentrated instead on the more immediate problem at hand. How was I going to overcome my fear of drowning? There was no other high school in town, and it looked like they weren’t going to budge on the rules. That must have been some sizeable donation, I thought sleepily, curling up on the bed.

I drifted off to sleep, still not having come up with a plan and knowing that I couldn’t keep putting it off forever.

I awoke on the floor sometime later, covered in a cold sweat. I had dreamed that I was frantically running through the woods, trying to escape someone or something. Someone strong, tall, and dark—a figure I knew better, even, than myself—pulled me along, but we could not move quickly, hampered by my long skirts and the low tree branches that continuously pelted my face. Danger followed, gaining on us every minute. My long hair caught on one of the low hanging branches, halting our progress. He turned to face me, a perfect study of strength and beauty, and I was struck by the deep, penetrating force of his gaze and the urgency written on his face. Despite my fear, I felt mesmerized by his dark eyes, which locked with mine, sending an unspoken message of love mingled with courage and despair. He untangled my hair, loosening it from the clutching branches, and we ducked into the abandoned ruins of a small church just beyond a clearing, a place we knew by heart.

We heard the loud clang of their approach, their chanting growing louder as they closed in. Knowing we could not escape, he bestowed a burning kiss, fired by the intensity of his love. It could not last. We broke off, and he drew forth his sword, sweeping me behind him.

“This is it,” I whispered to him, waiting for them to descend upon us.

They drew closer, their swords drawn against us. Though strong, he could not defeat so many, and I knew he would die trying. They made a ring around us, their faces like snarling wolves.

“Burn the witch!” they demanded, over and over again.

It took me a moment to understand they meant me. I screamed furiously, fearing for our lives.

Then I saw her, her hideously beautiful face twisted into a wicked smile, and my fear trebled, becoming almost a palpable thing.

My breathing became more ragged as she approached. I frantically looked for a way to escape, but they had us trapped from all sides.

I felt myself fall hard on the ground below and abruptly woke up, a silent scream on my lips. I must have rolled off the bed, I thought, disoriented. I shakily stood up and sat on the edge of the bed, now soaked with the effects of my feverish dreaming.

The Duchess, who’d been licking her paws in the corner, looked at me curiously. She jumped on the bed, rubbing herself beneath my hand—a rare event that signaled her alarm. I stroked her for awhile, taking comfort in her soothing purrs.

Several minutes later, Aunt Jo knocked on the door and poked her head around.

“Everything okay in here?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I whispered, still unsure if I could find my voice. “I just had a bad dream,” I croaked.

“Well, you have about fifteen minutes before Ben comes to pick you up,” she reminded me.

It was initially difficult to move off the bed. I felt paralyzed by fear, even knowing that my dream had only been a nightmare.

I slowly got up, took a sip of the water I kept by the bed, and headed for the shower, though I could feel the old fear assault me. I shuddered as I approached the tub. I didn’t want to go near it.

We only had one old-fashioned bathroom, which I shared it with Aunt Jo. I had to let the water run for awhile and then latch the shower head to a hook above the tub. Normally, it was no problem—inconvenient, but also quaint. Today, however, I just couldn’t bring myself to turn on the tap, let alone get in.

Snap out of it, I muttered to myself, knowing I was already running behind. I forced myself to approach the tub. At this rate, I wouldn’t have time to wash and dry my hair, a task that often took at least thirty minutes. I’d have to pin it up. Ben liked my hair curly anyway, so perhaps it was for the best. I smiled, trying to concentrate on Ben instead of the dark-eyed protector in my dream, unquestionably a powerful knight who had shielded me from danger.

I knew him, I thought, frustrated that I couldn’t place him. Surely I’d met him before? Or was he some celebrity I’d just re-imagined? He certainly had the looks, but I couldn’t think of any Hollywood star he resembled. He looked like no one else I knew and yet his face seemed so familiar to me, as though I had known him my entire life. As I contemplated him, my heart melted in a way it never had before, a feeling immediately replaced with overwhelming guilt that I was somehow betraying Ben.

I turned my thoughts instead to the others pursuing us in my dream. Who were they, and why did they come for me? And why was I so terrified of water that I couldn’t even take a shower? Though I’d long feared drowning, water hadn’t figured into my dream.

I finally steeled my nerves and turned on the sink faucet, letting the hot steam clear my head, but I still didn’t touch the water.

I hadn’t let myself contemplate the dangerous woman in my dream. She too seemed familiar somehow. Her face glowed with an unholy, iridescent light, her hair spread out in a vivid array of sparkling golden hues. I could see her clearly, almost as though she appeared before me. I realized suddenly that I was not imagining it. She stared at me in the mirror, her mouth a bloody shade of red. Her black eyes bored into mine, forcing me to look at her. I tried to break the intensity of her stare, but she would not let me. I felt the scream erupting but could make no sound emerge. She controlled me entirely, as though she had taken over my body.

The light emitted from the mirror blazed out, hurting my eyes. It seemed to glow almost towards me, as though she were reaching out to pull me to her. I felt an intense heat burning my face, now inflamed almost from within. The mirror fogged, and the figure disappeared from view. I realized the burning came from the steam rising from the hot faucet water. I quickly shut it off and mentally shook my head. My imagination must run in overdrive, I thought, wiping away the moisture on the mirror to reveal my own face—no threat there. And yet, the small tap shouldn’t have produced that much steam, not enough to burn me. My cheeks still stung.

What was wrong with me? My hands had started to shake, and my footing was a little unsure, as though I’d had a few too many drinks—not that I’d had much experience with alcohol. Aunt Jo kept an unopened bottle of wine tucked away for special occasions that never came, and she’d once let me taste champagne at a wedding we attended at the end of last summer.

I finally summoned enough courage to get into the tub, but I had to practice breathing deeply to make it through even a quick shower. It was the shortest one I’d ever taken.

I turned the water off, grateful to be done, and realized that I’d lingered too long getting ready. Time had run out, and I could hear Ben laughing with Aunt Jo in the kitchen. I must have missed the doorbell because I could hear him at the bottom of the stairs.

“I better see what’s keeping her,” I heard him say as he climbed the steps.

I rushed to my room, wrapped only in a towel, and quickly put on underwear and clothes, towel-drying my hair and fastening my sandals as I hopped on one foot.

Ben stood at the door, amused.

“Don’t hurry on my account,” he said, looking stunning as ever as he leaned against the doorframe.

I looked down at my wrinkled blue t-shirt and faded jeans. I wished I’d set an alarm for more reasons than one.

As if to answer my thoughts, Ben told me I looked great. He stepped into the room and took the comb out of my hand.

“Let me,” he said, smoothing down the curls with one hand while he worked the comb with the other.

Ben loved my hair, which I’d let grow to my waist mainly out of laziness. No hairdresser had been able to tame it yet.

He carefully unknotted the tangles and brushed them aside, nuzzling my neck as he went along and finally abandoning my hair altogether.

“You know, we’ll never be on time if you keep up with this,” I told him. But I wasn’t really annoyed. Ben’s hands on my hair had a calming effect that was just what I needed, though his next question brought me back to reality.

“What’s up?” he asked, sensing my tension.

I never could hide anything from anyone very well, especially Ben. My face usually gave me away, as I blushed constantly, but I knew I also still shook slightly from the dream.

“Nothing really,” I said, unwilling to confess how affected I was by what I’d seen and felt in my nightmare. It felt so real, as though it had really happened to me.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I had a bad dream, that’s all,” I continued, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, turning to face me on the bed.

Curiously, I didn’t. I shared everything with Ben, but this was too horrifying and somehow too personal even for him. It was the most frightening dream I’d ever had, waking or sleeping, and I couldn’t discuss it with him. Understandably, he’d be upset that I’d dreamed about another guy, even if it was a knight from long ago.

For the second time that day, I felt overwhelming guilt. Ben and I had no secrets.

I tried laughing it off to ease the tension.

“I’ve just been watching too many horror flicks,” I said, forcing a note of lightness in my voice.

Ben looked at me strangely. He knew I hated horror movies.

“Okay…Are you ready?” he asked, sensing my unwillingness to say more and not wanting to push me.

I was grateful he’d let it go.

We met Zack and Annie a short time later at the movie theater near the mall. Three movies were playing, and two of them were horror films.

“It looks like it will have to be Bride’s Night Out,” Ben said, a teasing tone in his voice.

“Why’s that?” Zack asked, disappointed.

“Emily can’t watch anything scary—she’s begun having dreams of zombies and werewolves,” he said, trying out his best vampire impression by going for my neck.

“Cut it out, Ben,” I said, pushing him away. I didn’t want to be reminded of the dream I’d had this afternoon, and I couldn’t even joke about it.

“But that’s a chick flick,” Zack complained, “and besides, I wanted to see The Undead Night, Part Three. In the first two movies…” Zack began.

Annie interrupted, rolling her eyes.

“Save it, Zack,” she said, “Nobody wants to hear about the sequel to Night of the Whatever.”

I shot her a grateful look. I knew she wanted to see the movie about weddings anyway. Ben didn’t care either way. Lately, he liked for us to sit in the back and make out. Tonight, though, it felt wrong somehow, and when he tried kissing me five minutes into the first preview, I shook my head, nodding in the direction of Zack and Annie.

Ben looked strangely at me, as if to ask what was wrong. But I avoided his gaze.

I couldn’t pay all that much attention to the rest of the movie, the dream still uppermost in my mind.

Afterwards, we decided to get some ice-cream and ordered a large banana split with four spoons. But I was still distracted, picking apart the napkin in my lap.

“Hell-o,” Annie said, waving her hands in front of me.

“Don’t mind her, Annie,” Ben answered. “She’s been out of it since I picked her up.”

Ben shook his head in mock reproof but squeezed my leg nonetheless.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, still staring at my lap. I tried to focus on the conversation…something about Will Adams getting caught cheating in history class. But I couldn’t concentrate. I was too absorbed in another world, another time.

“What do you think, Em?” Annie asked.

“What?” I said, startled. I realized I needed to pay more attention to the conversation, but I couldn’t seem to focus.

I tried to listen without really knowing what we were talking about anymore.

Someone was asking me a question again.

“Nope, sorry, didn’t hear that one,” I answered lamely.

Zack and Annie looked from me to Ben.

“Aren’t you going to eat any of this?” Zack asked me through a mouthful of bananas.

“No, I’m not really hungry,” I replied, finally putting down my spoon.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Annie asked, breaking through my malaise.

I knew I’d have to tell them something. But what?

I paused for a moment before answering. They were my friends, right? They’d understand, wouldn’t they? Maybe we could all laugh about it.

“I had this dream…” I began, staring at the ruined bits of napkin in my lap.

“Yeah, what about?” Zack asked, attacking the ice cream with a vengeance.

I looked at Ben and then looked down again.

“Nothing, really,” I said, not wanting to continue. It was just a stupid dream, right?

I needed to change the subject.

“Who’s going on the spring break trip?” I asked suddenly.

“The one Mr. Dean is planning to Europe?” Annie replied, easily distracted.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to go,” I said, realizing it myself for the first time.

Ben looked at me in surprise.

“Really?” he asked. “You didn’t tell me,” he said, sounding a little hurt. We planned everything together, so I knew that it came as a shock for him that I wouldn’t involve him in a major decision like this.

“I only just decided,” I said, glad I could be truthful with him for the first time that evening.

I really couldn’t explain it. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to go overseas, to see England…to find the place in my dream, terrifying as it was. I knew somehow that my dream had taken place long ago, and the pull felt very strong to discover everything I could about it.

“Well, I guess that means I’m in too,” he said, always cheerful and eager to do whatever I wanted. He smiled at me, and I felt an immediate, inexplicable rush of shame mixed with the now familiar guilt.

“No!” I said, a little too loudly, then hastily added, “I mean, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Ben put down his spoon and sat back, the smile gone from his face. An awkward moment passed, and I knew my face had turned crimson.

I stood up then and picked up the ticket.

“This one’s on me,” I offered. It was the least I could do.

Annie’s eyes followed me, and the worried look on her face had returned. She and Zack stood up to leave too.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, twirling her hair as she always did when she was a little nervous. I could tell that they thought Ben and I had had a fight beforehand. They couldn’t leave quickly enough.

I finished paying and returned to the table.

“Are you feeling okay?” Ben asked.

“Yeah,” I said, not sure that I actually was.

We left shortly after Zack and Annie, but when Ben opened the door to his pick-up, I shook my head no.

“I can walk,” I said, not meeting his eyes.

I knew it wasn’t fair, but I just needed to be alone for awhile to clear my head. Though it was late, it wasn’t far to walk.

“What’s with you tonight?” he asked, starting to get more than a little irritated with me.

For the second time, I mumbled an apology.

“I just need to get some air,” I answered.

“Okay. Fine,” he said, now thoroughly angry with me. It usually took a lot for Ben to lose his temper, so I knew I must have pushed him too far and probably really hurt his feelings. But it hadn’t been my intention. I honestly couldn’t understand the way I felt.

He got into the driver’s side, slammed the door, and drove off. He had a right to be upset. I’d been distant ever since I’d had the dream that afternoon, and it wasn’t fair to him. He had a swim meet tomorrow, and it was the regional semi-finals. He likely wouldn’t sleep well tonight, and I felt bad for the way I’d treated him. I just wasn’t myself.

I sighed, knowing I should have called to him before he got into his truck and drove off. But I just stared at the dust cloud he left behind, slightly shaken. Eventually, I started walking home, not entirely sure myself why I was so disturbed by the dream I’d had or how it could have affected me so much.

Aunt Jo had left the outside light on but had long gone to bed. Most of the school would have loved to have the lax supervision I enjoyed. But Aunt Jo trusted me. She knew I wouldn’t sneak around or do anything really bad.

I quietly let myself into the house and saw the Duchess sitting on the bottom staircase, waiting on me with a curious look of sympathy in her eyes, which seemed to glow in the dark. Given that she normally treated me as a servant at best or a pesky human at worst, I was curious to know why she paid me so much attention now.

“Do you know what my dream means?” I asked her, only half in jest as I rubbed her head.

She purred loudly and followed me up the stairs, staying close to my legs as if to guard me, I thought.

It was a night for strange happenings.

Chapter Two

"Plunging In"

Between melting and freezing

The soul's sap quivers.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

Sleep eluded me, so I picked up the sampler I’d begun a week ago. Sewing calmed me, and for some inexplicable reason, anything related to sewing had always fascinated me. Neither Mom nor Aunt Jo had understood it when I’d announced my new passion at age ten. “In this age of feminism,” Mom had once begun, shaking her head, “why would you want to go back to the dark ages?” But she had laughed, glad I’d found a hobby that could make me happy.

I couldn’t explain my desire to sew or the calming feeling that came over me when I threaded a needle. It was as much a part of me as my innate fear of drowning. When I’d learned some basic skills at camp one summer, I knew that it felt more natural to have a needle in my hand than a pencil. Mom, who couldn’t sew a button on a shirt, had nevertheless paid for lessons for me, and once I discovered needlework, I never looked back.

After her death, I’d had little patience or interest in sewing and had only recently decided to begin it again. Though I’d always enjoyed a challenge before, now I preferred the monotony of cross-stitching, an easy and mindless pastime that helped when I was upset. Before Mom died, I’d made all of my clothes and many of hers, many of them designed from older patterns—often frilly, feminine gowns we both liked to wear. Neither of us cared about current trends, preferring our own style to those found in magazines or movies.

Whatever interest I’d had in clothes had vanished since her death, however. It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to sew; I literally couldn’t do it for the first few months following her death. It was only recently coming back to me, as I remembered the happy times I’d spent with Mom, her weeding the garden, me sewing a dress or quilt for us. The less grief I felt, the more able I was to resume the life I’d lived before she died.

I worked quietly, not putting the sampler down for several hours and realizing, as I did, that I dreaded going to sleep. Who knew what kinds of dreams I’d have?

My eyes finally refused to stay open, and I climbed into bed. The Duchess jumped on the bed, curling around the blue and green patchwork quilt I’d made several years ago. She seemed to understand my need for company, and I was glad to have her there.

I woke up around nine the next morning, relieved that I hadn’t had anymore nightmares. I still had an hour before Ben’s swim meet began—time enough to get a pop-tart on my way to the school. I was picking Annie up on the way in Aunt Jo’s old car, which I hoped would still run. It was a red, antique, 1940 Chrysler Saratoga—a stylish car for its day—but a real pain to learn to drive. Aunt Jo felt sentimental about it because it had been her father’s prize car. Since we weren’t exactly good at keeping it in tip-top shape, it wasn’t in the best condition. We lived close to downtown, however, so the grocery store, post office, and cleaners were right around the corner. I usually ran Aunt Jo’s errands for her—literally.But school was too far away for that.

I grabbed the keys from one of the hooks in the laundry room and went out the back where we kept the car. After three tries, I finally got it started, shifted gears, and backed out, making sure the Duchess wasn’t anywhere near the tires. Driving the Saratoga was always an adventure.

Annie lived across town and was waiting for me on her parents’ front porch, an umbrella tucked under her arm.

“Hey,” I said as she got in.

“Hey,” she mumbled sulkily. Usually Annie flooded me with a stream of the latest gossip when I saw her. I must have been more out of it than I’d realized last night.

“So what are you and Zack doing later?” I asked, hoping to lighten her mood.

“Oh, nothing much,” she muttered.

I took a deep breath. “Listen, Annie, I’m sorry about last night. I had this really horrible dream yesterday before Ben picked me up.”

“What about?” she asked, her irritation dissipating as her interest piqued.

Somehow it was a little easier telling Annie about my dream than Ben. I gave her a basic outline.

Her eyes widened.

“A knight?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“What did he look like?” she asked, her earlier bad mood evaporating.

How to explain?

“Well, he was very tall,” I began, hesitantly.

“Taller than Ben?” she asked, a little skeptical. Ben towered over almost everyone at school. They’d tried to recruit him to the basketball team, but his heart was always in swimming.

“Yeah, I think so. Maybe by a couple of inches, even,” I replied, trying to sketch the outline in my mind from the haziness of my dream. The knight I saw in my mind was…fierce, sculpted, raw. Words couldn’t describe him.

“Okay, so what else?” she asked, becoming more excited.

“He had very intense dark eyes and dark curling hair. And he had the strongest arms of anyone I’ve ever seen, like he worked out all the time,” I finished, the details becoming clearer as I described him, but not because I remembered it from my dream. Had I recreated someone I knew? Was my knight a real person? The thought disturbed me.

“And…?” Annie prompted, clearly wanting more details. But there the vision ended. It was as though a door had been shut, and I couldn’t open it.

“He looked like he was from a different age, from long ago,” I said, sad I couldn’t reach him. The feeling left me unexpectedly breathless.

“Well, he was a knight,” Annie pointed out, quickly losing interest. I was thankful.

“Don’t tell Ben, okay?” I asked, suddenly afraid she might let something slip. There were some things better left unsaid, I thought. It was just a dream. Right?

“Why not? I mean, I wouldn’t anyway, but still…” she said.

“I don’t know,” I said quickly, “Just don’t.”

“Did he look like someone you know?” Annie asked, becoming interested again and more persistent.

“No!” I answered a little too loudly.

“Well, what’s the harm, then?” Annie replied, puzzled.

What indeed?

We drove into the school parking lot, which was near the indoor pool. I didn’t want Ben to see me before he swam. If he was still angry with me, I didn’t want to break his concentration.

Zack met us at the gate leading into the pool area, a grin on his face. He’d already been in the pool for a couple of laps, and his hair was slicked back from his head.

“Hey,” he said, a little out of breath.

“Where’s Ben?” I asked, looking behind him. Zack and Ben were always together when Ben wasn’t with me. I wanted to gauge how upset he might still be.

“Not sure,” he replied, not meeting me in the eye.

So Ben was still mad, I thought.

“Wish me luck!” Zack said, quickly pecking Annie on the cheek before heading back to the pool. At least he wasn’t still upset, I thought, thinking of Zack’s sunny disposition. He never held a grudge.

My eyes scanned the pool for Ben.

He was already doing laps. I loved watching Ben swim. He looked so effortless, so graceful. His strong arms reached from the water, dipping in and out, and I wondered how he could do something that made me so terrified.

It was obvious that he wasn’t looking for me. I’d have to make it up to him later, I thought, a little chagrined.

“Okay, guys, let’s go,” the coach barked out, blowing his whistle and rounding up everyone. Juniors would swim first, then seniors. It was a mark of Ben’s abilities that he’d been made captain as a junior.

Annie and I took our places to watch the competition in the bleachers, and we cheered when we saw Zack and Ben come out from the locker room. Both usually won easily.

Angela Rossi, the most popular girl in school, was waiting for him at the door. She’d worn a short skirt and high heels. I felt frumpy in last night’s jeans, which I’d pulled from the top of the laundry basket. I really would have to start paying attention to what I wore, I thought, as I saw her catch his attention. There were still a few minutes before the meet began.

From where I sat, I could tell that she was obviously flirting. This was nothing new. Everyone knew she liked Ben, including Ben. Normally, it didn’t bother me, but today Ben looked definitely interested.

“Hey, isn’t that Angela Rossi over there beside Ben?” asked Annie.Trust Annie to point out the obvious.

“Yeah, I see her,” I said, trying not to sound as irritated as I felt.

“Aren’t you going to go over there?” she asked.

“There’s no time,” I said. “Besides, why should I? If he wants to talk with her, fine. I trust him,” I said belligerently, forcing a note of bravado in my voice.

Annie’s large brown eyes became huge.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, shaking her head.

I knew what she was thinking. The prettiest girl in school—blonde hair, gorgeous blue eyes, great tan, fabulous legs—was actively trying to steal my boyfriend. What did I have that could compete with that?

Someone blew the whistle, and Ben took his spot. But I couldn’t concentrate the entire time; my mind kept wandering back to the dream and the nagging feeling that I knew the knight who’d protected me.

The match passed in a blur. Ben and Zack both must have won, not that I’d noticed much. I clapped and smiled when Annie did, but I still couldn’t take my mind off my dream.

Annie was the one who snapped me out of my reverie.

People were starting to file out of the bleachers and leave. Some of the swimmers had already come out.

“Hey, you need to get over there, quick,” she said, pulling at my arm.

I looked over and saw Angela Rossi making a bee-line for Ben.

I quickly climbed down the bleachers, tripped on the last step and nearly fell into the pool.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, catching my balance just before I launched headlong into the deep end. It was enough to embarrass myself by looking like a drowned rat but quite another to need one of the swim team to come fish me out.

By this time, Angela had already beaten me to him, and of course she looked as immaculate as ever. I hoped that Ben wouldn’t start making comparisons. He flicked his eyes over to me and then continued talking to Angela. So that was the way it was going to be, I thought, starting to get more than a little angry.

“Yeah, I thought the Chem test was hard too,” he said to her. “Mr. Clayton is tough,” he finished.

“But you’re good at everything, Ben. I mean, you beat everybody here. I’m sure you’ll be a state champ this year,” she said, almost purring.

Was she really saying this right in front of me? I rolled my eyes. Really, wasn’t he seeing through this?

Obviously not. He smiled down at her.

“Well, I work hard, I guess, but I’m not good at everything,” he said. Was he actually smiling at her?

Angela had the world’s most annoying laugh—a kind of snort.

“We should really get together sometime,” she said in a low voice, edging a little too close to Ben than was strictly necessary.

It was definitely time for me to step in.

“Hi, Angela,” I said, stepping between her and Ben.

“Oh, hi, Emily,” she said, disappointed. She glanced briefly in my direction and then pointedly ignored me.

“I better go,” Ben said to her. Was that regret I heard in his voice?

“Oh, okay. I guess I’ll see you around then, Ben,” she said, turning to walk off, but not before she flashed me a nasty smile.

“Yeah, see ya,” he replied. His eyes followed her.

I was fuming.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“What?” he replied, shrugging his shoulders and sounding a little too innocent. Something was up.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” he asked. “I see your mood hasn’t improved since last night,” he finished, starting to walk off.

I could still see Angela out of the corner of my eye. She’d left the immediate vicinity but hadn’t gone away completely. Instead, she’d taken a seat on the bleachers, watching us. I needed to change my tactics.

I whirled around, meaning to grab his arm but suddenly stumbled, falling into the deep end of the pool.

The cold water enveloped me, and I felt the old, familiar dread begin. I tried to remember what Ben had once taught me about swimming but I couldn’t stop the rising panic from overtaking my mind. I could feel myself sinking further, a dead weight in the water.

A bright light forced open my eyes, and I saw her, glowing beneath the waters with her dark, burning eyes, bloody lips, and hair that blazed out around her. She swam from the depths below and caught at my ankle, pulling me farther and farther down. I tried to extricate myself but couldn’t break her iron hold. We were nearly to the bottom of the pool, and I could feel her overtake me, her hands clawing at my throat.

I could no longer hold my breath. The cold water slid like a knife down my throat.

Suddenly, the light faded, and her hold broke. I felt a new force pulling at me from behind. We moved swiftly from the lower depths, eventually breaking the surface. Several arms pulled me out, and someone applied pressure, forcing out the water. I threw up, gasping for air. I could feel strong arms circling me and finally opened my eyes to see Ben beside me, with Zack and Annie standing over me.

“Do you think she can hear us?” I heard Zack say through a tunnel.

“Emily?” Annie said from faraway.

I couldn’t answer. My throat felt raw, as if a knife had really cut it.

“Where are those marks from?” Zack asked, looking down at my battered legs.

“She must have hit her legs going over the side or scraped them when we pulled her out,” Ben said.

“No, I didn’t see that she’d hit anything going in,” Annie said, puzzled.

“Let’s get her out of here, away from the pool,” I heard Ben say, lifting me. I still had not found my voice.

“Emily, can you hear me?” Ben asked gently as we walked. I nodded, burying my face in his shoulder. I still had the lingering sensation of danger. Who was this woman haunting my dreams and literally trying to kill me? Could I have imagined all of this in my panic?

The locker room had cleared, and Ben set me down on one of the benches, making sure that I wouldn’t fall over. He must have signaled for Annie and Zack not to follow because it was just the two of us.

He grabbed a few towels and started drying me off as best he could, trying to make me warmer. I was shivering and not just from the cold.

“You really should take off those clothes. You’ll never get warm if you stay in them. I have some shorts and a t-shirt in my locker. You can take a hot shower and change. I’ll keep watch,” he said.

“No!” I screamed, finally finding my voice as I contemplated going near any water again, even to take a harmless shower.

“It’s okay,” Ben said, wrapping his arms around me. I realized then that I’d begun to sob, terrified by what had happened to me.

When the heavier heaving had subsided, Ben wiped the last of my tears away.

“Why don’t you just change, then, right here. I promise to turn around,” he said in a teasing voice meant to distract me.

“You won’t go away?” I asked, desperately needing not to be alone right then, especially after what I’d seen in the pool. I knew where all the scratches and marks came from and that I would have bruises the next day.

“No, I’ll be right here. I’ll always be here,” Ben said, kissing my forehead and stroking my wet hair.

He retrieved some dry clothes from his locker and looked away, giving me some privacy to change. I peeled off my wet t-shirt and jeans, toweled myself, and put on his dry shorts and shirt, which smelled delightfully of him—fresh and somehow strong, like him. The feeling of panic subsided, and I could feel myself growing calmer.

“Okay, you can turn around,” I said.

He turned around and smiled, putting his arms around me.

“Looks good,” he said, and we both laughed. Given our height and size differences, his clothes definitely hung on me, and I had to hold the shorts together to keep them up.

“Are you ready to go back out?” he asked.

“Not just yet. Ben, I’m so sorry about last night. Things just haven’t been normal lately,” I said, wanting to make amends.

“And?” he prompted.

“And I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“And?”

“Okay, and I love you.”

“Now, was that so hard?” he asked, squeezing my arm.

I started to feel a little better. I began to have a strong suspicion, though, that his responsiveness to Angela was more to send me a message than to encourage her. I wondered if she knew that.

He pulled one of my wet curls and smiled down at me.

We left the locker room, where Annie and Zack stood waiting for us. Everyone else had already disappeared except for Angela, who still sat in the bleachers. She smirked at me as I came out.

“Are you okay?” Annie asked, hugging me to her.

“Yeah,” I said, starting to feel really embarrassed. I could feel the blush creep into my cheeks.

“Zack and a couple of the guys wanted to go fishing,” Ben said. “Will you be okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her,” Annie said.

“We won’t be too long,” Ben said, flashing me one of his best smiles.

“I’m taking her to the mall,” Annie answered. Shopping was her remedy for everything. I didn’t feel much like going, but I didn’t want to go home, either.

“I think I need to dry my hair first,” I said, laughing a little. I was glad I didn’t feel so anxious. My eyes darted to the pool, and I couldn’t help but wonder what lurked beneath the surface of the water, now serene. My feet must have led me there because I was to the edge and almost over again before I knew it, almost as though I was led beyond my control.

“Whoa, there,” Ben said, taking me by the arms and pulling me back. Zack, Annie, and he cast worried glances at each other. Ben took a firm grasp of waist to steer me away from the side.

“Let’s meet up for dinner,” Ben suggested casually, carefully avoiding what almost happened again.

“What time?” I said hesitantly.

“I’ll pick you up around six. I don’t think the Saratoga would make it,” he said, laughing a little nervously.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” I answered, glad that he was teasing me in a familiar way after the trauma I’d had.

Just before we left the pool, he pulled me close and kissed me, almost directly in front of Angela’s line of sight. I could feel her fume, her eyes burning into my back.

Take that, I thought smugly.

Later that afternoon, Annie and I drove to the mall in Daytona. I knew she wanted to distract me, and after seeing Angela, I decided I was long overdue for some decent clothes. Since I wasn’t making them anymore, I needed to buy them. And I didn’t want to go home and contemplate what had happened to me, an eerily similar disaster to the one in my dream.

Shopping in general bored me, but Annie could do it for hours. I was glad she was with me; it helped take my mind off of the humiliating and frightening morning. She didn’t once mention that I almost drowned.

“So I saw Ben make out with you right in front of Angela,” she said as we started out of DeLand. Annie loved gossip almost as much as clothes.

“Yeah,” I replied. I usually didn’t like public displays of affection, but I was grateful today that he’d shown how he felt about me in front of her.

“You’re so lucky,” Annie mused. I was a little irritated at this. I knew he was gorgeous and, well, I wasn’t, but still.

“Maybe Ben sees something deeper than just looks,” I retorted, a little too sharply.

Annie looked hurt. “No, I didn’t mean that, Em, honestly. It’s just that everybody knows what kind of girl Angela is and what boys are into and all.”

“Huh?” I wasn’t following.

“You know,” she said, giving me a knowing eyebrow raise.

“Well, obviously I don’t,” I answered.

“Come on. Think about it. Isn’t Ben always trying to make out with you? And let’s face it, Angela puts it out there.”

“I don’t think Ben is tempted by that.”

“All boys are tempted by that,” she said matter-of-factly.

That gave me pause. Ben and I had always taken things slowly. Annie had pestered me, wanting the details of our first kiss when it had happened several months ago. She couldn’t believe we’d waited so long, but I was old-fashioned. I thought Ben was too. Her words made me think; did he feel tempted by Angela? Had I put the brakes on our relationship a little too hard?

We pulled into the parking lot of the mall and entered by the food court.Annie immediately found two stores where she wanted to shop. We wandered around for several hours, and I still hadn’t found anything I really liked. Seven stores, one ice cream cone, and five outfit try-ons later and I was sure I wasn’t going to find anything.

“One last shop, Em, come on,” Annie said, pulling my arm in the direction of a vintage store we’d overlooked on our way in.

“Okay, but that’s it,” I replied. “We’ve got to go soon so I have time to get ready for tonight.”

“Is Ben taking you somewhere nice?” she asked.

“I don’t know. He said ‘dinner at six,’ but I don’t know where.”

A strange feeling came over me as we entered the store. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed this place before. A mannequin in the window wore the most unusual dress I’d ever seen. I loved it on sight.

I pulled Annie in, asking the sales girl if they had my size.

“You’re in luck; the only one in stock is in the window, and it’s a six,” she answered, checking the tag and taking the dress down for me to try on.

Annie just looked at me with disbelieving eyes. It had a very old-fashioned cut, even for my tastes. I didn’t care. I felt curiously drawn to the ivory dress, which featured wide sleeves that opened from the elbow down. The waist parted to reveal a golden lace underskirt. Normally, I didn’t go for something quite this old-fashioned, but something compelled me to try it on. I knew it looked almost like a costume, but it seemed so familiar to me.

I quickly undressed in the fitting rooms and put on the dress, which fit like it was made for me. I stared at myself for a moment and then knew. I looked like I had in the dream. The dress looked familiar because it was.

I came out of the room and modeled for Annie, who looked at me, surprised.

“Wow, you look amazing,” she said, looking me over. “But won’t it be a little dressy for tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said a little sadly.

She was right; I didn’t really have an occasion for the dress. Still, it felt so right. I didn’t want to take it off.

I decided to make the purchase anyway and worry about where to wear it later.

We left, Annie chatting about the fall fling our school had every year as we entered the parking lot.

“That’s where I’ll wear it,” I said, interrupting her.

“Wear what?” Annie asked, already forgetting my dress.

“The dress,” I reminded her.

“Oh yeah, I guess so…” she replied a little doubtfully, thinking, I was sure, of the older cut of the gown. I’d never been too trendy anyway, so it didn’t bother me. And Ben probably wouldn’t even notice. He always told me I looked great. It was a definite plus having him around.

“It should be okay…” she started slowly, “except that you aren’t supposed to wear white after Labor Day.”

“Oh, come on. You really are the fashion police,” I said, rolling my eyes at her.

“I’m just saying…”

“Well, it’s ivory, anyway,” I compromised. “That’s off-white, right?”

We both looked at each other and started laughing. I felt normal for the first time since having the dream.

****

I decided against telling Aunt Jo that I’d almost drowned. It would only worry her, and I really just wanted to forget it. I’d just wear jeans for a few days while my bruises healed.

It was almost time for Ben to arrive, and I wondered where we were going. It wasn’t like him to be late. I had to get a move on.

I wished I could have worn my new dress or even one of the old dresses I’d made over a year ago, but they didn’t fit anymore. I’d definitely grown taller over the last year, something I was thankful for. I was only about five-foot-four—not exactly short, but not exactly tall either, especially when I stood beside Ben.

Though I loved my new dress, I knew that, unless we were going to a costume ball, it wasn’t exactly right for whatever Ben had planned. I decided instead to wear the only other dress that fit, fortunately a long black one that I knew he liked. They hid my legs fairly well, though there were still visible marks around my ankles, as though someone really had grabbed at them in the pool.

I had dismissed the whole notion of someone pulling me down. Someone would have seen something, right? It was totally ridiculous, a mind trick just before unconsciousness hits. I’d been thinking about my dream all that morning, so it was only natural that I’d conjure the scary woman from the deep, right? And I couldn’t remember whether or not I’d hit anything on my way in or out of the pool. I thought it most likely that Ben and Zack had accidently done it when they pulled me out. I told myself that it all made good rational sense. So why didn’t I believe it?

As I dressed, I heard the doorbell. I asked Aunt Jo to finish zipping me, careful not to let her see my legs, and quickly went to answer the door, my black heels—a legacy from Mom—still in my hand.

His smile told me everything I needed to know.

“Hello, Gorgeous,” he said, presenting me with pink roses, my favorite flowers because of my mother, who’d also loved roses.

I could feel the blush starting on my face, but Aunt Jo saved me.

“You kids have fun. Not too late, Em,” she reminded me, taking the flowers to put them in the only vase we had. Aunt Jo pulled it out for special occasions. I wondered if she and Ben were cohorts. She had that vase a little too handy when the doorbell rang.

“Don’t worry, Miss Jo. I’ll have Emily home before eleven,” Ben assured her.

He opened the front door for me and winked at my Aunt, who shook her head. Like me, Aunt Jo had liked his cheerfulness from first sight.

When I saw that he’d dressed up, I wondered what he had in mind.

He grinned at me.

“It’s a surprise,” he answered as if reading my mind.

I looked sideways at him as we drove along. I loved the light at dusk, the way it bathed his features in the soft early evening glow. He turned to smile at me, reaching for my hand. The feeling of security our relationship gave me had been a mainstay in my life, especially since I’d lost Mom, and I knew Annie was right in more ways than one when she said I was the luckiest girl in school.

We turned into his parents’ drive, which was empty.

“So where are your Mom and Dad tonight?” I asked.

“They’re visiting Jake for parents’ weekend,” he replied, parking the pick-up in front of the garage. We’d often laughed about that. The garage was mainly filled with overflow junk from the attic, mostly fishing and camping gear. They had to park their cars out in front. The Harmons were definitely not neat freaks.

Jake played football at the University of Florida, and though Ben and his family were very proud of him, I knew Ben missed his brother.

“I’ve got the house all to myself this weekend,” he said.

Some parents couldn’t trust their kids to stay at home alone for a few hours, let alone an entire weekend, but Ben’s parents felt the way my Aunt Jo did about me. They trusted Ben.

He jumped out of the pick-up, came around, and opened the door for me.

“After you,” he said, gallantly helping me down.

The outside of his parents’ house had the definite look of a house built in the 1970’s, but the inside had an art deco feel, with bold colors and stark lines. Tonight, however, I wasn’t paying much attention to the décor.

Ben had spread the front entry way with more rose petals, which made a little path from the front door to the sliding glass leading to the back deck.

“Did you buy out the florist?” I teased.

He smiled, gesturing that I should follow the path he’d made with the petals.

We went out to the deck, where Ben had arranged a bouquet of another two dozen pink roses on a candlelit table set up for two. He reached to pull the chair out for me and then went back inside.

As I waited for him to return, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The entire deck was strewn with lights, and as dusk turned to evening, the candles gave off a romantic glow. So that was the “fishing” he’d done this afternoon. I felt guilty at ever doubting him this morning with Angela.

Ben returned with two plates, which he set in front of us.

“What, no wine?” I teased.

“Well, actually, I think Mom put some in the fridge earlier today before they left,” he said.

“I was just kidding. Iced tea is fine,” I said, surprised that he’d taken me seriously.

I looked around and smiled, still amazed that he had taken all this trouble for me.

“Ben, this is wonderful. I can’t believe how much time it must have taken for you to set this up. I mean, don’t think I’m not grateful, because I am, but what’s the special occasion? Our anniversary isn’t for another six months,” I said.

He hesitated for a moment, and I thought, no, he’s not popping the question. We were, after all, only sixteen.

“I know, but I thought that this week might be difficult for you,” he answered quietly.

And suddenly I remembered. This time last year I was in a hospital room with Mom. The anniversary of her death was almost here. I couldn’t believe that I’d almost forgotten it. I really was out of it, and I felt even guiltier than I had before. Granted, I’d had a near-death experience. But could one nightmare really disorient me that much?

Ben must have seen the conflicting emotions working on my face.

“I’m sorry, Emily…I just thought you might not want to be alone. I wanted you to know I’ll always be there for you,” he said quietly, reaching for my hand.

“No, Ben, you’re totally right,” I said, wanting to cry, not just because I missed Mom so much but also because I was happy to have Ben. I was the luckiest person in the world, I thought, thinking of how much both of these people had loved me.

“What would I do without you?” I asked, coming over to kiss him.

“That’s the idea,” he said, laughing to lighten the moment as he threaded his fingers through mine.

What would I do without him? He’d been there nearly all my life, a firm shoulder to cry on, a confidant, maybe even a husband one day.

Ben and I had been around each other long enough for our silences to be comfortable, not awkward, so we ate our meal quietly, the only sounds coming from a small fountain in his parents’ backyard.

When we’d finished eating, we went back to the living room to watch a movie I’d wanted to see for awhile: Tristan and Isolde. I felt a strange sensation come over me as we watched the story unfold about two medieval lovers tragically kept apart. My heart began to race, and I could feel myself beginning to hyperventilate. Flashes of memories—no, not memories, that couldn’t be, it had to be visions—appeared before my eyes. His face mixed with hers, the dark of their eyes comingling, the one soft and tender, the other fierce with hatred. An older man I had never seen yet knew as well as myself seemed to stand over me, horrified by his own act of betrayal. I tried to tell myself it was the movie, but the faces didn’t match the actors. I knew them.

Ben looked in my direction and saw me shaking uncontrollably. I could see him call out my name, but a loud rush roared in my ears and prevented me from hearing or answering his questions. The faces before me collided, then merged, and everything became black.

I awoke sometime later on the couch, Ben’s concerned face above me.

“Emily?”

“Ben,” I said, relieved to see a face I could put a name to.

He had a washcloth and was wiping my face. He slowed helped me to sit up. I had a fierce headache.

“What happened?” I asked, holding my head in my hands.

“I think you passed out. Emily, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what? We were having a great evening until I fainted.”

“It was too much for you all in one day, you know, with this morning and all,” he said. I could tell that he hadn’t wanted to bring it up again, probably because he knew it would embarrass me. I could feel my face flushing.

“I suppose so, yes,” I said slowly, not actually believing that it had anything to do with that. “How long was I out?”

“Maybe fifteen seconds? I was afraid you might slip off the couch, so I put your feet up, called 911, and got a washcloth.”

“So the paramedics are coming?”

He looked sheepishly at me and shrugged.

“You just passed out for no reason, Em. I was scared.”

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “I would’ve done the same.”

We heard the sirens, and Ben went to answer the door and assure them that everything was alright. What else would happen to me all in one day?

The paramedics talked to me for some time and tried to urge me to see someone—sixteen-year-olds don’t normally just faint dead away for no reason—but Ben explained what had happened to me that morning. Somewhat satisfied, they left a few minutes later.

Ben sat down beside me on the couch and gave me hug.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said, laying my head on his shoulder.

“Maybe it’s just the stress of the last year,” Ben said quietly.

I nodded, somehow knowing it didn’t have anything to do with Mom. As much as I missed her, this didn’t seem anything like grief. I knew what that felt like. This was an overwhelming fear of death strangely mixed with desire for some unknown knight. Maybe Ben was right, maybe it was the stress that had addled my brain.

We left a short time later and had a quiet trip back, each with our own thoughts about what had happened. When we pulled into the drive, I could see that Aunt Jo was in the living room about to watch the eleven o’clock news.

Ben got out and walked me to the door, but before I turned the knob, he stopped me.“Emily, I wanted to give this to you earlier, but it didn’t seem right with everything that happened,” he began, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet bag, the kind that looked like it was from an expensive jewelry store.

My heart almost literally stopped. He placed the bag in my hands and then kissed me on the cheek, turning to go.

“Aren’t you going to wait for me to open it?” I asked him, confused. Ben usually came in to say goodnight to Aunt Jo if she hadn’t already gone to bed.

“No, open it after I’m gone. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, smiling. He bent down, kissed me again, and was gone.

I stood watching Ben as he drove away, intrigued by the mystery gift and anxious to open it.

Opening the front door instead, I was immediately greeted by the Duchess, who waited for me. What’s with you? I thought, wondering why she’d taken so much interest in me lately—ever since the dream, I remembered, quickly putting that thought out of my mind. I didn’t want to faint again at the front door, have to face the paramedics all over again that night, or worry Aunt Jo.

The Duchess purred a greeting, and I rubbed her head. Curiously protective of me in the last few days, she followed me around the house and stayed in my room while I did homework or fell asleep.

I called out a “hello” to Aunt Jo and took the stairs two at a time. I couldn’t wait to open Ben’s gift, glad for an exciting distraction.

I plopped down on the bed and opened the bag, which revealed an emerald and twenty-four carat gold ring set in a Celtic knot. On the inside, there was an inscription that read Timeless. It was the most beautiful and unusual ring I’d ever seen, and I wondered where Ben got it.

I knew, without a doubt, why Ben had not wanted to be with me when I opened it. He didn’t trust himself not to kiss me, really kiss me, and he wanted to respect the memory of my mother tonight while also letting me know he’d always be there.

Aunt Jo knocked on the door and poked her head in.

“How was it?” she asked, her long hair combed out with two purple ribbons tying back the sides. Aunt Jo always looked like a young girl in the evenings. She had waited for me before going to bed. I wondered if she already knew about my ring.

I had tears in my eyes, and she looked concerned, coming in and sitting beside me on the bed.

“Emily,” she began, “what is it?”

“No, it’s fine. Really,” I said through sniffles.

“Everything doesn’t look fine,” she replied.

“It’s Ben,” I finally said, more than a little teary-eyed but not wanting to go into the stranger details of the day or night.

“What about him?” Aunt Jo asked. And then she saw the ring.

“Now young lady, you’re too young to be getting engaged. I hope that’s not what this is about,” she began sternly. So she didn’t already know, I thought. It must have been a surprise from everyone because Annie couldn’t keep a secret, and Zack told everything to Annie, who would’ve at least dropped a hint to me.

I laughed through the tears.

“No,” I assured her, “he just gave me a present to let me know how much he still loves me. You know, with everything that’s happened in the last year,” I finished.

Aunt Jo nodded her head. She understood, and neither of us wished to bring up the painful memories of the past year. Aunt Jo missed Mom too, I knew.

“Why don’t you try and get some sleep. It’s been a big day,” she said, giving me a hug.

I sniffed, gave her a hug, and lay down on the bed, not bothering to change. I didn’t want the night to end even though I was tired. I drifted off sometime later and dreamed of a strong, handsome face. It wasn’t Ben’s.

Chapter Three

"The Quest"

And what you do not know is the only thing you know…

T. S. Eliot, “East Coker”

Mr. Dean’s history class was not the most riveting place to be, but after my strange dream and frightening encounters, I became more interested in the Middle Ages and started paying more attention in class, to the amusement of Annie and Ben, both of whom had fifth period with me.

“And so, as you can see, the Black Death wiped out as many as a third of England’s population during the fourteenth century,” Mr. Dean finished, looking excitedly around. His fervor diminished by the bored or sleeping faces in front of him until he saw me. His face lit up.

“Ms. St. Clair,” he said.

I hated being called on in class.

“Yes?” I said, tentatively, feeling the blush creep up my neck.

“I’d like us to review what we covered last week for our upcoming test on the thirteenth century. Can you tell me which king signed the Magna Carta?” he asked.

I thought for a few minutes and then knew.

“King John,” I answered.

“Excellent. Now, for extra credit—can you tell me what year?”

Automatically, I answered, “1215.”

“Impressive. Place?”

“Runnymede, England.”

Annie and Ben both turned to look at me, and even I was surprised. I hadn’t bothered to read the assignment last week, and I didn’t usually pay that much attention in class. Annie and I typically passed notes, while Ben and Zack popped us with rubber bands.

“It seems that Ms. St. Clair has been doing her homework,” he said. “Good job, Emily.”

Mike, who sat in front of me, turned and laughed, while his neighbor, Jamie rolled her eyes, muttering “teacher’s pet” in a loud whisper.

By this time, my cheeks were on fire.

I couldn’t understand how I knew these things. It was as though I remembered them, not from a textbook but from memory.

The bell rang, and Mr. Dean was coming to my row. This was only getting better.

“Yes, sir?” I asked, hoping he didn’t want to quiz me further.

“Nice work today, Emily. I didn’t know you had such an interest in history,” he said, smiling.

“I don’t,” I said hastily until I saw his disappointed face.

“I mean, I don’t usually,” I backtracked. “But I’m really interested in medieval England.”

I didn’t know where that came from, but I knew all of a sudden that it was entirely true. I was interested in history.

“You know, I’m in charge of the trip to Europe in the spring,” he began. “You should really consider going. The school is having several fundraisers to pay for it. I’m also getting us a discounted rate for airfare and the hotels from a travel agent I know. We’re hoping to raise enough to cover the cost of visiting several countries, including England.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. Where do I sign up?” I asked.

“With me. I’ll put your name down. I can get you more detailed information and a permission slip to take to your Aunt.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, glad now I’d spoken up in class. The urge to find the place in my dream was still strong. I’d had a few vague, similar dreams to the first one, though none of them had left me as paralyzed with fear as that first nightmare or my two strange experiences, one of which almost left me dead, had. I didn’t see crazy faces in the water or the bathroom mirror—that is, if you didn’t count mine, I thought, grinning just a little to myself. I was glad I could find it even somewhat funny.

Ben was waiting for me outside by the lockers.

“So you’re really going to Europe?” he asked.

“Yeah, it looks like I am…Why don’t you come too?” I asked, wanting to make amends for the last time we’d talked about it. Since then, we hadn’t discussed the trip. Though I had hesitated at first, I couldn’t really imagine taking it without him. I still wasn’t entirely convinced that all of this wasn’t some figment of my vivid imagination, the product of some film I’d seen long ago that must have made a huge impression in my mind.

“Why not? It might be fun,” he said. “But I’ll have to talk to my parents first. I’ll tell Mr. Dean tomorrow. I never realized you were so interested in history,” he finished, laughing as he put my books in the locker beside his.

“Me either,” I answered, laughing too.

We held hands as we walked to sixth period. Ben had Spanish, while Annie and I had French down the hall.

“See you after,” I said, turning to go inside.

Before I could, though, Ben pulled me around, turning my head and finding my lips.

Mrs. Anderson had hall duty and cleared her throat. “Mr. Harmon, Ms. St. Clair,” she warned.

We broke apart, and Ben smiled at me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled to her, not a little surprised by Ben, who usually hated public displays like that.

Everyone in class was staring at me when I entered French class. I was the last one to take my seat.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Emily,” Madame Renalt said, smirking in that oh-so-French way I really hated.

“Bonjour, Madame,” I muttered, looking away from everyone. I knew my face was beet red. I hoped that she’d ignore me instead of making some smart comment in French. She had an unfortunately wicked sense of humor. A small perk, I guess, for being a high school teacher.

“Tu t’amuse?” she asked. As if I was having fun, I thought, now really embarrassed.

Everyone laughed. I could feel my cheeks growing hotter under everyone’s watchful eyes. I wondered if they could spontaneously combust.

I took my seat, opened my book, and looked down at my desk, burying my nose in the book as far as I could. Angela had this class with me, and while I was happy for her to see how much Ben loved me, I didn’t relish the idea of being the center of attention again today. I’d had enough of that recently.

Annie passed me a note: You okay?

I didn’t want to risk getting caught, so I just nodded.

She scribbled on the back of her notebook: Wow!!

I shrugged. Angela was watching me, her eyes shooting daggers at my back. I had the incredible urge to turn around and stick my tongue out at her, but Madame Renalt was looking straight at me. It was going to be a long hour.

****

When I got home that afternoon, I began reading about the history of England from my textbook, and I didn’t stop until Aunt Jo called me down for dinner. I still had the strange feeling that the past was just that—not just something I’d read but something I’d lived. The sections on “everyday life” especially interested me, and I felt a kinship with the women depicted in the segments on “domestic life.” Like me, they had spent much of their time with a needle in their hands.

I was most intrigued by the idea of “courtly love” between a knight and his lady and the “knight’s life,” including his preparations for battle, often to fight in tournaments and the Crusades. A knight trained for years in the household of a noble lord before he was given his knighthood in a special ceremony. They trained for the joust when they were not on the field of battle, and their armor often weighed as much as they did. I could see in my mind the charging horses, the shining armor, the cheers from the spectators. It was as though I knew what it felt like to watch them.

It was not surprising, then, that I had the dream again that night. The details were the same, but this time I knew who my protector was. I called out his name: Damien. It was the last word I screamed before I awoke in the middle of the night, again in a cold sweat. This time, the dream seemed even more vivid, if that was possible. Frightened, I went down the hall to the bathroom, though I didn’t dare to turn on the cold water.

I looked at myself in the mirror, almost afraid of what or who I’d see there. My eyes, which looked wild and distracted, stared back at me. Curiously, my arms had scratches, several of which bled, and small, dark bruises, as though someone had frantically tried to pull me through the woods.

Could I have done that in my sleep? Wouldn’t it have awoken Aunt Jo?

I stumbled back to my bedroom, wishing that it wasn’t three o’clock in the morning. I wanted to talk to someone, to understand what was happening to me. But I didn’t know who could help.

Since I couldn’t sleep, I went to my desk—another antique that had belonged to my great-grandfather—and turned on my laptop. Deciding to see what I could find online, I typed “Damien, 1216,” just to see if anything would appear. If I only knew where we were in my dream, I thought. I felt fairly certain of the date and that we were in England, but I needed more. I sat back in frustration. I wasn’t even sure what I was searching for, only that I needed to find out more about him.

I tried another term, “Sir Damien,” and found a registry of all knights of the realm prior to 1500 AD from the British Museum. My heart began to beat erratically. I had to remind myself that was only a listing, nothing more, and yet I knew it was the one I needed. The date corresponded to the one in my dream. In my excitement, I nearly didn’t see the tiny asterisk by his name. I quickly scrolled down, anxious to see what history had remembered about the knight I was certain was mine.

Sir Damien reputedly grew legendary as the Black Knight of Montavere, defender of the medieval castle held by the Lords of Montavere, a strategic stronghold that came under attack sometime in the 1480s, when the last Lord of Montavere died in the final battle of the Wars of the Roses. The castle was eventually destroyed.

This was it! I could feel it inside. Frantic to know more, I printed the entry and read it several more times. I wanted to find the listing’s author, which took several minutes of wading through the material at the beginning. The Foreword listed no author for the entry; it must have been an anonymous submission. According to the general editor, whoever wrote the entry had done so during the 1730s, and I wondered if anyone living knew anything about the Lords of Montavere, their castle, or the famous knight who had once defended it.

I tried to discover more, using the keywords from the paragraph as my search terms. But I found nothing more. That couldn’t be all, I thought, frustrated that it was the middle of the night. I couldn’t learn anything more on the internet about my Black Knight. I wondered why he’d been called that. I was certain it wasn’t because he had a black character; he’d shielded me in my dream from danger. I decided to try to find out more from Mr. Dean, if I could, about how knights acquired their names.

Frustrated I couldn’t turn up anything new about Damien, I turned my attention to the other, more frightening parts of my dream. I knew that the knights coming for me thought I was a witch, so I decided to search online under the term “witch.” After pages of information I didn’t need about the Salem witch trials, I finally found a page on witches in England during the Middle Ages. Bingo.

I was reasonably suspicious about most of the stuff I found on the web, but this site looked fairly credible. At least it didn’t have cartoon witches flying around on broomsticks.

Someone had linked an article that looked helpful. According to it, witches in England were sometimes called “wise women.” They had extensive knowledge of herbs and sometimes helped as midwives in delivering babies. Often, however, the “wise woman,” intending good, was the scapegoat for unexplained crop failures or disease. She was often treated as an evil witch, who held a “Witch’s Sabbath,” reportedly ate children, and copulated with the devil. Though the “witch hunt” mania didn’t begin until after the Black Death, reaching a peak in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, persecutors accused and tormented suspected witches in the centuries before the mass witch hunts began.

This was getting interesting. Was I actually a “wise woman” in my dream? I scrolled down until I found a section called “The Ordeal.” The “ordeal by water,” a test to see if the accused was a witch, was widespread only during periods after the thirteenth century. Then that couldn’t be it, I thought, frustrated. I was sure I’d identified a link between my fear of water and my dream.

I scrolled down the page and saw a footnote to the article. It noted the likelihood of events happening before recorded history actually documented such cases. So it could have happened, I thought, scrolling back up to finish reading the article. I wanted to know about the ordeal in case it did link to my fear of water.

I read that if the accused woman was suspected of witchcraft, they just threw her into water. If she floated, she was a witch. If she sank, often drowning, she was innocent. I shuddered. Those weren’t such good odds since the poor woman would likely end up dead either way.

I sat staring at the screen, trying to piece together the fragments of the dream I’d had. I thought I knew why they came for me. They were going to test me through the ordeal. I could feel myself panic, the same response I had when my head was submerged, and I began to shiver, as though I was actually beneath the water. I couldn’t breathe for several seconds. When I felt my hands starting to shake, I focused on the photograph by the computer of me with Mom when I was younger, remembering a happier memory of us at the park to combat the anxiety that threatened to overtake me.

Calm down, I told myself. It’s just a dream. You’re freaking out for nothing. It worked. I quickly shut off the computer and climbed back into bed, but sleep eluded me.

****

The next day was Saturday. I helped Aunt Jo finish painting the dining room in the morning. Having the afternoon free, I decided to do a little research in the library. Just as I suspected, there was nothing there about Damien, Montavere Castle, or the Black Knight; I thought it more likely that I’d have to go to England for that.

I considered researching witches, but part of me didn’t want to know anymore about what they’d done to them long ago. It somehow seemed too real for me. I asked the librarian to direct me to the section on psychology. I had decided to look up dreams and their meanings. If I couldn’t understand what I was dreaming about, perhaps I could try to find out why I had these nightmares. I also considered that, if I could unlock my mind, I could discover more about the people in my dreams. It was frustrating to think that everything I wanted to know was already buried somewhere in my mind, if only I could access it.

The first book I found explained the history of dreams, using terms from Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud that were interesting but not exactly what I was looking for. I didn’t think my dreams were about a traumatic childhood experience, but I did think that my subconscious was definitely playing a large role in what I saw. I scanned the shelves, letting my hand trail the book bindings until I came across one title, Paranormal Hypnosis: Uncovering Your Past Life. I stopped there.

Intrigued, I pulled the book from the shelf, not entirely sure if this was what I wanted. I didn’t think it could hurt just to see what it said.

I flipped through the chapters and finally turned to look through the index in the back. I let my finger trace the topics until I saw it: “Dreams and Past Life Experiences,” pages 200-238. Okay, this looked interesting. Maybe I’d been reincarnated from some former life. It was creative, at least.

The chapter opened by explaining that the patient under hypnosis often remembers his or her past life through dreams. I read one intriguing paragraph twice.

****

Patients become more agitated and easily distracted by their recurrent dreams, which intensify until the patient seeks help, often through hypnosis, when they remember their past life. Through hypnosis, patients can resolve conflicting events or emotions from their past or redress wrongs. They can access loved ones, even from hundreds of years ago. Because their past life hinders their present one, they must settle whatever happened to progress in their present lives.

****

I was intent on reading the rest of the chapter when I heard my name being called.

Through the space between the stacks, I could see Zack and Annie with two students from our history class.

“Hi,” I whispered, waving to them. Annie was getting up to come over, and I hastily shoved the book back on the shelf, a little self-conscious.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

“Oh, not too much, just doing a little research for our history project,” I answered, not looking in the direction of the book I’d been reading.

My answer was not entirely false. We did have a history project coming up, and I was considering doing one on the Middle Ages, realizing as I said this that I wasn’t looking at history books. I wasn’t even in the history section.Fortunately, no one was paying attention that closely.

“Didn’t sound like you needed to do too much research in class,” I heard Zack say through the stacks.

I blushed.

“Just ignore him,” Annie said, rolling her eyes.

“Seriously though, why don’t you come sit with us?”she offered.

“What are you guys up to?” I asked.

“The usual. Zack’s pretending to study. Jessica’s copying Eric’s homework, and I’m trying to decide whether to stay or get a burger,” she answered, sounding bored. “I’m leaning pretty heavily towards the burger,” she said, yawning. “Wanna come?” she asked.

I decided to take her up on the offer. I was tired of keeping this to myself. I knew I’d sound crazy, but I wanted to talk to somebody. And Annie believed most anything.

Annie happened to glance down and noticed my hand.

“Hey, nice ring! Did I miss your birthday or something?”

I hadn’t worn the emerald Ben gave me to school yet precisely because I didn’t want to answer these questions. But Annie was my best friend.

“Ben gave it to me,” I whispered, not wanting the others to overhear.

“Emily!” Annie squealed out, assuming, I think, that it was some sort of engagement ring.

“Shhh!” we heard. The librarian looked sternly at us from behind her large, red-rimmed glasses.

“Let’s get out of here. There’s something I want to ask you, anyway,” I whispered.

“Okay, let me just get my things,” she said, hastily gathering her bag and books.

I decided against checking out the book on past lives. It was probably a stupid idea anyway.

A few minutes later, we arrived to a small diner nearby and ordered. Once the waitress left our table, Annie leaned over, saying in her most confidential voice: “Okay, tell me everything.”

Even though I had dismissed the idea about hypnosis in the library, I couldn’t seem to shake the idea that maybe my dream was connected somehow to a past life.

“Do you remember that dream I had a little while ago?” I began.

The waitress interrupted us to bring our food. That was quick, I thought, and then realized we were almost the only people in the restaurant.

“Um, yeah,” she answered, munching on fries. “Wait, this isn’t about Ben?” she asked, pausing mid-fry.

“No,” I replied, shaking my head.

“Oh,” she said, her face falling. Of course, she’d thought I had a great story to tell about the ring.

“So anyway, like I was saying. I’ve been having these dreams,” I said, trying to turn the conversation back on course.

“Yeah, about the hot guy, the knight,” she said through a mouthful of burger. She was definitely more interested now.

“Shh! Not so loud. Do you want the whole restaurant to hear?” I asked nervously.

She looked around and gave me a questioning look.

“There’s nobody here but that old man in the corner, and he can’t hear anyway,” she said, confused.

That was true. The man looked about ninety and sat quietly doing a crossword in a corner booth drinking coffee. I could see he had hearing aids, and I knew that I was being paranoid.

I gave her a very rough outline of the dream but hesitated to tell her my speculations about witches and past lives.

“Is there more?” she prodded.

I decided to take the plunge.

“Do you think it’s possible to experience a past life?” I asked.

“Like reincarnation?”

“Something like that.”

I told her about the book I’d found on past lives in the library.

She sat back, thoughtful as she munched.

“A past life. Hmmm. Maybe,” she finished.

“You think I’m crazy. I can see it in your eyes. I should see a shrink. Or at least Mrs. Anderson,” I said a little despairingly. Maybe I was crazy.

“I think it might be a little beyond the school guidance counselor,” she said, laughing as she polished off the last of the fries. Annie could eat anything and still remain impossibly skinny.

“What would you do?” I asked.

“Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“Go see one of the para-whatever hypnosis people that you read about in the library,” she said, shrugging.

To her, it was simple—if you have an issue, take care of it. But I wasn’t so sure.

“Where would I even find one?” I asked.

“Where else? The yellow pages,” she said.

Annie stood up, went to the bar, and asked the waitress for a phone book. But what were the chances of a paranormal hypnotist living in DeLand?

She flipped through the “P” section while I voiced my concern on the remote possibility of finding anyone who was a paranormal hypnotist.

“You never know. Florida attracts all kinds of crazies,” Annie replied.

I laughed. She was right. Even here, we had our fair share of freaks. I stopped laughing when I realized I was in definite danger of becoming one of them.

“Here it is!” Annie said enthusiastically. I knew then why I’d told her. Not only was she my best friend, she was easily excitable. I guessed then that what I’d really wanted was someone to tell me to go for it all along, to see some kook who could unravel what was becoming an all-consuming mystery to me.

“Ramona Reynaldo, Psychic and Paranormal Hypnotist,” Annie read out in triumph, copying the address on a napkin.

“It says that walk-ins are welcome,” Annie said, pointing to the ad. Why hadn’t I ever heard of her?

“You have got to be kidding,” I said, “Let me see.”

Annie handed the phone book over to me.

There she was, only a few blocks away. I looked at my watch. Two p.m. Her ad said she was open until three on Saturdays. I didn’t have much time.

Annie looked at me, a grin on her face.

“What are we waiting for?” she asked.

Chapter Four

"Darkness Falls"

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,

The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed. With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,

And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama

And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—

T. S. Eliot, “East Coker”

The sign out front had the picture of an open palm and read: Ramona Reynaldo, Psychic and Paranormal Hypnotist. The neon red “open” sign flashed at us as we walked in, and I nearly turned around to leave the moment we crossed the threshold. She had crystals of every sort hanging from the ceiling, what looked like strange witch costumes tacked to the walls, and books with titles like Finding Your Inner Demon on display shelves.

The woman I took to be Ramona came out through a beaded doorway when we entered the store. She had long, dark hair, a black, low-cut dress, and a massive amount of eyeliner. Altogether, not exactly the picture of a professional, but then, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting.

I looked over at Annie, who picked up a crystal and held it in the light.

“That’s the earth spirit, Arian, whose vibrant spirit finds release in the prism of shining light,” Ramona said, coming forward.

Annie stifled a laugh.

That was it. I turned to leave, despite a strange sensation that had come over me.

Ramona stopped me with an intent look on her face.

“I can help you,” she told me quietly.

I really looked at her then. Behind the black eye makeup and all that hair, I believed her. She had a kind face, and while I’d never given any credence to psychics, I felt drawn to her, the same way I was lured to the white dress we’d found in the mall.

She had penetrating blue eyes that seemed to see into my soul. I looked at my sneakers, hoping to avoid her intense gaze.

“Come back without your friend,” she told me in a low voice so that Annie wouldn’t overhear.

I nodded my head and turned to walk out, Annie following me.

“Did you see that?” Annie began, laughing.

“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about it. I’d felt the strangest tingling when I saw Ramona—not danger or fear, precisely, but definitely something.

Annie poked fun at her in the car, but I wasn’t really listening. Before I dropped her off at Zack’s, I asked her not to tell anyone about our visit this afternoon. She looked at me, laughing.

“Chill out, Em. You’re so uptight lately. Who cares if we went to see some crazy person anyway? We should’ve stayed to have our fortunes told,” she said, examining her nails. I laughed in spite of the weird feeling that I belonged in that store, that it would be the key to unlocking whatever mystery lay behind my dream.

Zack greeted us at the front door of his parents’ small bungalow on the outskirts of town, his seven small brothers and sisters yelling loudly behind him.

“Are you ready for the intense experience of Zombie Zoo?” he said, sounding like a sports announcer telling us to prepare for the match of the century. Dylan, his one-year-old brother, came to the door and pelted us with a mix of pureed carrots and oatmeal.

Annie rolled her eyes.

“I should have brought my homework,” she complained.

“And some wipes,” I added, laughing as I scraped the mashed food off my shoes. But my mind was back in Ramona’s store.

I didn’t linger to watch the movie with them. I was anxious to find out more about Ramona’s offer and, truthfully, too eager to see if she really could tell me what was becoming an all-consuming mystery. Maybe she could settle the past life question once and for all.

I made my way back to town, but by the time I returned to the store, her “open” sign was no longer blinking at me. I took a chance and tried the front door.

Ramona was standing in exactly the same spot as she had been when I left.

“I knew you’d return,” she began.

Of course. She was psychic.

“Let’s get started,” she said, waving her hand for me to follow her.

“But you don’t know why I’m here,” I said.

She raised a painted eyebrow and gave me a look that said need you ask?

I followed her through the multi-hued, psychedelic beads hanging from the door that led to the back of the store. She directed me into a sitting room that looked remarkably clinical. It had only a small settee and chair, with none of the crystals or other junk that decorated the front room.

“Please have a seat,” she said politely, indicating the chair opposite to her.

She sat across from me, her intense eyes staring into mine. I became uncomfortable again. It was as if she stared straight into my soul.

“Now tell me,” she began, breaking the silence.

“I thought you already knew,” I retorted, cringing inwardly at the sarcasm I heard in my voice. Ramona ignored it, focusing instead on reading my face.

“I know generally why people come to seek me, but the details are often not, shall we say, crystal clear,” she finished, breaking out into laughter at her own joke.

I stared at her, not knowing where to begin. A few uncomfortable moments passed.

“I’ve been having these dreams,” I finally began.

“What kinds of dreams?” she asked, leaning closer to me. I was beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable and inched back.

But I knew it was now or never. I took a deep breath and began, soon finding a rhythm. I told her everything I could remember, not just the brief sketch I’d told Annie but also my suspicions about a past life. It was actually a huge relief to tell someone about my fears. I had told Annie a basic outline of my dream, but not the way it affected me. With Ramona, I held nothing back.

When I’d finished, she continued to stare at me, not saying anything.

After another few uncomfortable minutes, I cleared my throat.

“Um. I don’t exactly know the protocol here, but…”

“I’m just trying to read you,” she interrupted.

“Read me?” I asked.

“Yes. It’s always easier if I can read your future.”

“No, wait. I’m not here for a psychic session or whatever. I want to understand my dreams, which seem to be about the past,” I explained.

She smiled then, an eerie, half smile.

“The past, the present, the future—they’re all connected. By seeing your future, I may be able to help you solve the riddle of your past.”

I hadn’t thought of that.

“Do you need my palm or anything?” I asked. Who knew what kind of etiquette was required with psychics?

She laughed loudly at this.

“I don’t play games, and I’m not just a reader of palms. Besides, your eyes show your future, not your hands.”

“So what do you see?” I said, a little breathlessly.

“Two paths are open to you. One is distinct, happy, a very clear future.”

That sounded promising. Despite my not having come in to have my fortune told, I was intrigued nonetheless.

“What else do you see?” I asked her.

“A handsome man who will become your husband, children, a nice, respectable life here. A large white house. Definitely a cat.”

My future was looking brighter and brighter. I assumed she meant Ben, and I smiled.

“You said you saw two paths. What’s the other one?”

“That’s what I’m trying to uncover. For most people, they have very clear futures. They have choices, yes, and that can alter their future. But generally, I can read their paths clearly, even taking free will into consideration. For you, I see one vision, but the other…” She let her sentence trail.

I had the impression she could see something but was reluctant to tell me.

I laughed nervously.

“No ax murderers, I hope.”

“No, no ax murderers,” she said quietly, giving me the idea that she saw something or someone equally dangerous.

“What then?” I whispered.

“I do see evil, but I’m sorry; it’s very unclear.”

I gulped. What did it mean? Would I die the way I had in my dream?

“Okay, well, thanks for your time,” I said abruptly. I felt the need for fresh air.

I stood up to leave, disturbed by her fortune-telling and wanting to get away from the odd feeling that she gave me.

“Wait!” She stopped me, grabbing my arm and almost forcing me back into my seat. “We are only at the beginning,” she continued.

“What do you mean?”

“I can read your future, however unclearly, but the answer you seek will emerge from your past.”

Was I supposed to understand these cryptic remarks?

Again Ramona gave me that mysterious half-smile.

“Relax,” she said. “I want us to try hypnosis.” This sounded a little more plausible, at least, like what I’d read in the library.

She asked me to lie down on a nearby couch, to rest and clear my mind. There was something soothing about her voice, which calmed me, and I felt my breathing become more even.

“Emily, I’m going to start counting. Then you’ll tell me who you were and where you come from.”

She began counting backwards, and my breathing fell into a regular pattern, as though she could control my physical reaction as much as my psychological one.

By the time she got to one, I knew that I’d left behind Emily St. Clair for a different person entirely.

I heard Ramona’s voice as if from a distance.

“Tell me who you are,” she directed.

In a strange voice I didn’t recognize as my own, I answered her, “Lady Emmeline de Vere.”

“Lady Emmeline, what year is it?” she asked, as if from a distance.

“1216,” I automatically replied.

“Where do you live?” she asked, but her voice was growing fainter.

“Montavere,” I heard myself reply.

“And where is that?”

“Sarum. Near the stones.”

“Now, Lady Emmeline, I want you to describe everything you see, everyone you meet. What does it feel like, sound like, look like…every detail is important.” Her voice continued to drift and a buzzing replaced it so that I could no longer hear her.

I could feel myself falling, the darkness closing in as I left one world and entered another one.

Emmeline

And what the dead had no speech for, when living,

They can tell you, being dead: the communication

Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

Chapter Five

"Dream Kingdom"

Time past and time future

Allow but a little consciousness.

To be conscious is not to be in time

T. S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton”

The sun beat down on us. I could feel the sweat beading on my brow despite the chill in the air. My headdress felt heavy, and my hands shook. I closed my eyes, not bearing to look at the combatants below us. Their galloping hooves thundered, signaling that the joust had begun.

The tension mounted as the horses’ breathing grew more frenzied. Their sounds grew closer, then indistinguishable. The moment had come. A great cacophonous clash resounded, and I could bear it no longer. I forced one eye to open, then another. Relief poured through me as a cheer went up. He was safe.

The feeling was short-lived. His opponent had yet to rise, and the loud, deafeningly cheers had all but ceased when one minute stretched to two and then three. Had he killed him?

The Black Knight dismounted, handing his lance and shield to his squire, and lifting his visor. His black warhorse gave a fearful snort, anxious to ride again. He had not yet realized that this round, at least, was over.

The narrow slit didn’t afford the Black Knight a full view, so he removed his helmet. The sun glinted off his short, curling dark hair and made a sunburst wherever it touched his shining armor. He bent over, removing his opponent’s helmet carefully and checking for signs of life. The joust, a preparative for war, had claimed many knights, maiming or killing them. The lance could find an eye or worse. It often found a deadlier home.

We sat above them at a distance, awaiting knowledge about whether or he still breathed. My father, the Lord of Montavere, arose from his place of honor above the field of combatants. The crowd grew quiet, the joust temporarily suspended as a life hung in the balance.

“How fares he, Sir Damien?” my father shouted below.

The Black Knight stood, wiping his brow, and smiled at us. My heart quickened. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.

Sir Justin must have opened his eyes, for the Black Knight reached out his hand, pulling up his fallen comrade.

The spectators cheered, their voices ringing throughout the field. Knights often took fatal falls during tournaments; it added to the danger and, unfortunately, the excitement for many. Though Sir Damien had received his knighthood only a short time ago, he’d become the champion in several tournaments in the south of England. Already, people knew him as the Black Knight of Montavere, for he had shining dark hair and eyes, deep pools of intensity that compelled admiration. His prowess with a sword grew along with the rumors of his strength and courage. He could ride any horse, including Brutus, the wildest in my father’s stables.

Despite the nearly legendary status that had grown around him, I always worried that another knight, anxious to dethrone a champion, would unseat and kill him. My fears seemed unfounded, however, as Damien remained the only undefeated knight at Montavere. I knew the others now dreaded him in the field, even in practice.

“We have our champion,” Lady Lamia, my father’s beautiful wife, declared, rising beside my father and startling me. She seemed to sense my surprise, turning to look at me, her eyes narrowing to slits.

“Sir Damien, come forward,” my father said. Damien slowly proceeded to the platform where we sat. Though he had engaged seven knights already, unseating all of them, he did not look the least bit winded. He glanced sideways at me, but only I perceived his momentary search. He would not let Lamia or my father catch him. He tapped his breast, letting me know that he carried my colors, white and gold, next to his heart as he bowed. Officially, he wore Lamia’s red scarf, which she had tied around his arm before the tournament began.

“My champion,” she cried when he approached, clapping her hands together as she regarded him with cunning, lascivious eyes.

“Sir Damien, this day you have proven yourself the best knight in the castle—a great honor for one so young. You may request anything of your lord,” my father magnanimously offered.

My breath caught. Would he do it? Would he ask for my hand? We had not discussed it before, but now might be the only real chance he would have. It all depended on my father. Would he give his only daughter to his best knight? Had Damien proven himself worthy enough for such a huge prize?

Damien looked at me directly, and I could see that he weighed the odds of success and failure in his mind. If my father turned him down, he likely would show his wrath to Damien, forever ending any chance of our marrying.

I could feel Lamia turning her head towards me, and I looked hastily away, a signal to Damien that the time was not right.

“Merely to serve as my liege lord’s champion is enough for me,” Damien answered, understanding my downward gaze.

Another cheer rose up from the crowd. Damien had become their favorite knight; he embodied all the ideals of the chivalric code—courtesy, honor, humility, loyalty, fidelity. They could not get enough of him.

My father smiled radiantly at him, his aged features briefly cast into a look of youth as he basked in the glow of a beloved knight, whom he regarded almost as a son. It was this affection that I hoped would win my father over to Damien’s suit.

“A worthy knight! We salute you!” he exclaimed, taking Lamia’s hand into his.

The unwounded knights raised their swords in admiration of one so young and brave. My heart swelled with adoration, and I felt pride growing inside of me.

My face, ever a register of my feelings, grew warm with love.

Lamia grasped my arm with her free hand and squeezed tightly.

“And why does a maiden blush so?” she said angrily, her words drowning in the cheers around us.

“Let me go!” I said, trying to wrench my arm away from her grip.

“To the hall!” My father called out, not seeing Lamia’s hold over me. She had the remarkable knack of grasping me in public without anyone’s noticing. I often had bruises or scratch marks for days afterwards.

She abruptly released me, leaving the tell-tale marks that would turn black and blue by the next morning. My father had started down, thankfully leading Lamia away from me. I hung back from them, hoping to see Damien one last time before we both had to return our separate ways to the castle.

The tournament had ended for the day. I watched Damien mount his horse, but not before he gave me a meaningful look. I knew we’d find each other later.

Lamia looked back and followed the line of my gaze.

“This isn’t over,” she hissed through clenched teeth as she turned back to my father, her scarlet mouth turned down and her black eyes blazing rage.

Happily, I escaped her, if only temporarily. I knew I couldn’t go immediately to Damien. I would have to wait for tonight when we could find a moment to leave the hall undiscovered. Each tournament was followed in the evenings by a banquet in the castle. At least two hundred people would fill the benches in the hall, and I could easily slip out with so many milling about.

We’d taken separate caravans from the castle to the tournament. I would have preferred to ride my mare, but Lamia had insisted that I accompany her and my father, though I could do so in a separate caravan, with Millicent, my maid, following.

I knew Damien would not be able to find me without attracting notice, and I focused instead on biding my time, waiting until later to elude Lamia’s penetrating eye. Lately, she’d begun to keep a closer eye on me, and I wondered what her plans might entail. They could not bode well.

The mist cleared, and the castle rose up before us, the outer stone walls towering over the small, strategic peak that the first Lord of Montavere had chosen as his castle site in 1102, over a century before. He’d defeated another less powerful noble, overtaking the weaker Norman stronghold, a more defenseless structure easily breached during an attack, and replacing it with the impenetrable defenses of Montavere Castle. It had taken the last 100 years to build, with a thousand masons all working together, some generations following their forefathers, to complete the massive outer walls with four tactically advantageous towers. Guards manned the walls at all times, ready should intruders approach to attack.

The last of the masons had only recently completed the finer work, including the multiple gargoyles Lamia had ordered built when she married my father. She required them to work at a nearly impossible rate of speed and with impeccable precision. They adorned every arch and entrance, perpetually poised to leap out and frighten onlookers. Many a scream was heard throughout the day and night by the castle dwellers still unaccustomed to their fearsome gaze.They always caused me to shiver as I approached. I averted my eyes, eager to avoid the daemonic faces leering over us as we entered through the drawbridge, which crossed a large, murky moat.

Glad to be free of Lamia for a time, I hurriedly left before she remembered me, finding my way to my chamber, located far from hers. Damien would likely still be in the field. The celebration had begun and would continue through the evening, when the contestants and castle inhabitants would drink, feast, and dance merrily at the banquet. They would forget for a time the oppressive presence of Lamia, who cast a dark shadow over us all.

The afternoon dragged on interminably. I spent the majority of it sewing, hoping to avoid my stepmother, who, fortunately, did not seek my company. I guessed that she had begun to suspect my feelings for Damien, and I didn’t want to answer her questions. I had no facility for lying and didn’t relish the punishment she might mete out to me.

Millicent, my maid, sat quietly beside me, mending one of my skirts. Since Lamia had arrived, I received no new clothes, and Millicent did her best to alter the ones I did have.

We worked for awhile, our heads bent over together, but I grew impatient and finally stood up. Walking over to the window, I began pacing.

“Wearing the floor out, are we?” Millicent asked, not looking up.

I stopped in front of the window that overlooked the woods below.

“Got something on our mind, do we?” she prodded.

I started at the question, lost in my own thoughts.

“Sorry. What did you say?” I asked.

“Hmph!”she muttered.

Millicent had been with me since birth, and she was more mother to me than maid. I had no secrets from her.

“Sorry. I was just thinking,” I replied, snapping out of my dreamy state.

“This wouldn’t happen to be about a certain knight who won a certain tournament today, would it?” she asked, a smile on her face. I could feel her warm wishes, though I didn’t turn around.

“Mmm,” I murmured.

“No, I think not,” she said, putting down the dress and turning to me with concern.

“I suspect it’s her, isn’t it?” she asked.

She came over and put her large, comforting arms around me, just as she’d done since I was a child. I laid my head on her shoulder, glad to have her with me.

“I hate her,” I said fiercely.

“I know, dear. And she’s going to do everything she can to keep you from him.”

“What are we going to do?” I moaned.

“I don’t know. Maybe you should talk to your father,” she answered kindly.

“Do you think he would listen? He’s bewitched by her!”

“Shhhh! Don’t say it,” Millicent whispered, looking over her shoulder as she crossed herself.

“Well it’s true,” I said, though I lowered my voice.

“Oh, my dear,” she said, stroking my long red hair. There was always comfort to be found with Millicent, though we both knew that this problem was larger than both of us.

“Try not to worry. It will work itself out. I always say so, and it always does,” Millicent said in a soothing tone.

Not this time, I thought, sighing. This time, it’s too big for you.

****

That evening, the great hall filled as we prepared to feast the champion. Finally, I would get to see him, I thought, wishing he wouldn’t be the center of so much attention.

“Emmeline,” my father called to me from the dais, raising his glass. I smiled at him, but his kindly light gray eyes had moved from my face to sweep the hall, searching, I knew, for Lamia.

“Come give us a kiss, sweetheart,” he said, though I wondered whether or not he meant me. For the first time, I wondered whether his affection was merely a show for others.

I stepped up beside him, and I could feel Lamia’s eyes following me. She was jealous as always of any display of my father’s love for me. These were the times that I missed my mother the most.

My father had married Lamia last summer, waiting an indecent time after my mother’s untimely death in childbirth. Mother should have been long past her childbearing years, and yet, happily she thought at the time, she would give my father his long-awaited heir.

Lamia, a distant cousin of my mother’s—nobody knew from where— had arrived to help with the birth. She and my mother had grown up together, and my mother had had strange fancies near her confinement. She wanted someone from her past to stay with her during the birth of her son.

And so Lamia arrived, a beautiful, golden-haired woman who seemed ageless, looking much as my mother had remembered her from years before. When she’d first arrived, I’d regarded her with fondness—she seemed to take such good care of my mother, and she spared a kind word or smile for me as well, despite the coldness I saw in her dark eyes.

When the time came for the birth, we’d stood together, helping my mother through the throes of an agonizing labor. It had ended, finally, three days later, my mother suffering before the child, dead inside her, had been ripped from her womb, killing her. At that instant, Lamia withdrew from me completely, a knowing smile on her lips. She immediately went to comfort my father, whose grief at my mother’s passing knew no bounds. He had wed my mother twenty years before, and they’d lived a happy life together before the unfortunate birth of the brother I would never meet.

Lamia arranged for the burial the next day—an unheard of, rushed event that gave the mourners no time to grieve or prepare the body. It was customary at Montavere Castle, our ancestral home near to the town of Sarum, to spend several nights praying for the soul of the deceased.

But my father would not hear of it. Though I cried, pleaded, and begged, he turned a deaf ear, relying on Lamia, who, some maliciously said, had bewitched him. Knowing the depth of my father’s love for my mother, I could not believe he could so disrespect her in death.

But time would prove me wrong. Less than three months after she died, Lamia had become the lady of the castle, and rumors of the dark power she wielded over my father had been silenced. Everyone feared her.

Once she became my father’s wife, she dropped all pretence of affection for me. She took a heavy hand to the servants and would not have my mother’s name mentioned in her hearing. It was as though she wanted to erase all memory of her childhood friend and relative.

A dark cloud settled over the castle, a sense of foreboding filling our hearts with dread. Behind her back they called her la belle dame sans merci, the lady without mercy.

My sorrow increased tenfold when she began to turn my father away from me. Though she commanded him and all the castle inhabitants, she could not efface his love for me entirely. I suspected that she practiced the dark arts, but even I dared not accuse her. She exercised such power that I shuddered to think what could happen if I defied her.

If it had not been for Damien, the truest and best of my father’s knights, I could not have born her tyranny over us.

I rushed to embrace my father, my heart gladdened at the memory of our once happy home, and I missed my mother. My eyes found Damien’s, and he smiled at me, knowing, of course, my every thought.

Though my father had thrown the banquet ostensibly to honor the champion, he clearly meant for all eyes to turn to the champion’s chosen lady that night, Lamia. An uncustomary pall fell over the castle, normally jovial to the point of riotousness at tournament celebrations that lasted well into the night.

Gladdened by the lack of attention Damien received, I looked for an opportunity to meet him secretly as we did often. It was the only joy left to me after my mother’s passing. To my knowledge, neither Lamia nor my father knew of my feelings for Damien, whom my father had trained as his squire from the time he’d brought Damien home thirteen years before.

No one knew where Damien came from, including Damien, who had no memory before his life with us at the castle. My father had found him at the local town fair, wandering alone as a small boy. He brought him to the castle as his own, and I knew, from the first time I saw his dark, captivating eyes, that he belonged to me. We had played together as children, running and laughing outside of the castle walls.

By his twelfth birthday, Damien had shown signs of strength and talent as a knight. My father trained him from that time, and though Damien was young, he’d already fought in several tournaments, easily winning against even more experienced knights.

I waited for my father and Lamia to become distracted before I slipped out of the hall. Neither of them gave much thought to me anymore, and my place at the dais had long been supplanted by my stepmother, who would not allow me to sit with them. I’d been resigned to sitting at the table below them, glad for the reprieve. Though I missed my father, I felt relief at being able to escape Lamia’s prying eyes.

The hall was long and dark, with torches attached to the walls and a roaring fire at the opposite end offering light for the great chamber, filled with visiting lords and ladies, knights, squires, and servants. Damien, I saw, had already slipped out unnoticed by all but me.

It was easy to escape with so many milling about. Most averted their eyes, trying to avoid Lamia’s piercing stare.

I stepped back into the shadows of the hall, knowing he would be there, somewhere. I didn’t have long to wait.

“Dearest,” he whispered in my ear, catching me by my waist and easily sliding me farther into an alcove at the far end of the long hall where no one, not even the discerning eyes of my stepmother, could see us.

I gazed longingly into his dark eyes and almost believed Millicent, who thought such beauty was only to be found in the tales troubadours told. He was indeed as finely made with as pure a heart as the knights who defeated fearsome dragons for their lady loves.

Though tall for a woman, I was much smaller than Damien, who rose well over a foot above me. His arms, long attuned to sword fighting and practice on the field, reached around my waist.

“Emmeline, I’ve waited all day for you,” he breathed into my hair, kissing my eyes, cheeks, and forehead before settling on my lips.

I smiled, burying my fingers in his hair as I wrapped my arms around his neck to pull him closer.

“Not here. She might see us,” he cautioned.

I almost didn’t care. Almost.

Reluctantly, I pulled away, not wanting to break our embrace. Most of our moments together now were stolen in dark corners, and I had no longing to part from him.

The haunting melody from the harp and flute trickled down from the gallery above, following us as we slipped out to the courtyard outside.

Relieved to have escaped Lamia’s notice, we ran across the yard to the stables and began saddling Brutus, which my father had given to him on the occasion of his knighthood along with a sapphire-and-gold cross that he always wore around his neck. Brutus could support us both and had become accustomed to these evening jaunts.

I knew we wouldn’t be missed for a couple of hours yet, and Damien and I had frequently met in secret in an abandoned church in the woods, not too far outside the castle walls.

Damien quieted my horse, Mairin, a skittish mare in the stall beside Brutus, and helped me up his large warhorse before mounting behind me.

The last obstacle was to get past the guard at the front gate, a hurdle Damien had already foreseen. He’d given me a dark, hooded cloak he had hidden earlier in Mairin’s stall. It covered my red hair—my most recognizable feature since no one else in the castle had it. Having ensured that the cloak covered every tell-tale strand, Damien led us to the gate and spoke to the guard on night duty.

“Good evening, Richard,” he began.

The guard eyed me suspiciously.

“Who is this, and where would you be going, Sir Damien?” he asked warily.

“Just out to enjoy the evening with a friend,” Damien replied casually.

The guard’s face broke out in a gap-toothed smile, comprehension dawning on his old, craggy features as he thought I was a servant, perhaps, whom Damien fancied. It was entirely plausible, as he was champion of today’s tourney, but it worried me, as I thought he’d be missed soon by Lamia and the others, even if I wasn’t.

Richard slowly lowered the drawbridge for us, watching me carefully to discern my identity.

“On ye go, then. But keep an eye out for witches, aye?” he cautioned, suddenly sober. Lore had it that witches rode out at night, stealing the souls of the unwary. A shiver ran through my spine, as there was a full moon. Everyone knew that witches held their Sabbaths then.

We all crossed ourselves, and Damien murmured, “God save us all.”

“Amen,” we each responded automatically.

Damien picked our way through the shadows, a well-worn path to us by now, and led us through the moonlight into the forest and towards a small clearing in front of the church. The castle itself was on a small hill, and we wended our way down to the woods, the dark closing in on us as we made our way through the trees.

We dismounted, and Damien tied Brutus to a nearby tree. Even in the moonlight, I could see him smile down at me.

“Emmeline,” he began, “the final tourney tomorrow…”

“Shhh…” I put my finger to his lips.

He took my hand into his.

“You know I will have to wear her color. It’s the tradition since your father no longer jousts.”

“Yes,” I breathed, not caring.

“But I want to wear your colors next to my heart,” he said, suddenly unsheathing his dagger. He bent down and cut a swathe of cloth from the white underskirt of my gown. Though he already possessed a favor I’d made for him—an embroidered ribbon with gold thread and white flowers—he wanted something more personal, something I’d worn.

“The purest lily,” he whispered, kissing the cloth.

As much as I loved Damien, I knew we needed to discuss the more pressing question of marriage.

“When can we approach my father?” I asked. I had begun to urge Damien to ask my father for my hand. Having already long passed my thirteenth birthday, I knew that my father would soon turn his attention to finding me a husband. He’d already waited too long, I knew, because of my mother’s death and his remarriage to Lamia, who seemed to have him in thrall. I could not bear to be parted from Damien or be given in marriage to another.

“Soon,” he replied, kissing away my fears.

Taking me by the hand, he led me into the ruins of the church, lit by the moonlight. Folklore said that the church had been the ancient site of the Druids, those pagan priests. It was a magical place, the crumbling stone walls a haven for us.

Damien knelt before me where I imagined an altar once stood.

“Lady Emmeline,” he began formally, “I plight you my troth.”

My breath caught, and I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. We’d once made our vows out beneath the stars, but the church, even a pagan one, held a sacred solemnity to it. To me, we were already as good as married, priest or no.

“And I you,” I vowed, bending to kiss the top of his head.

He laid his hand upon my waist, his hands easily circling it, then tied our hands together with the material he cut from my skirt, handfasting us.

“I shall speak to Father Philip first,” he told me.

“But we shall still need my father’s blessing,” I said worriedly, thinking that my father could easily invalidate the betrothal.

Both of us knew my father would easily have consented had my mother been alive; there was a time when he cared less about a person’s lineage than their moral worth, but now, I suspected that that would be the greatest obstacle, even though Damien had proven himself as a knight. Lamia’s disapproval and influence was uppermost in both of our minds.

“Emmeline, I wonder, would you be prepared…” he began nervously.

I looked at him, waiting for him to finish.

“Prepared?” I prodded. “For what?”

“To defy your father…to turn your back on all this,” he gestured towards the castle.

“To leave, you mean?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“It won’t come to that, Damien, I know it won’t,” I said firmly.

“But if it did. If your father will not, no, cannot grant us his blessing. Would you be prepared to leave of your own accord?”

I heard the tone of insistence in his voice.

I didn’t immediately know what to say. As much as I disliked Lamia, I was only a thorn in her side, and I said as much. The castle was my entire world, my father the only family I had left. How could I leave him? How could I depart forever from the place where I’d lived my entire life? I’d never been farther than Sarum on a market day and could not imagine living anywhere else.

And yet, as I looked in Damien’s eyes, which seemed to glow in the moonlight, I could see the hurt in them, which I knew my hesitation had caused.

“I…” I said, faltering. It was too weighty a decision to make then; I needed more time.

“Emmeline, I will protect you. You need never fear for your future, your safety,” he said earnestly.

“But I cannot leave my father to that, that…witch!” I burst out.

Damien untied the cloth between us and turned away from me, disappointed, I knew. But what could I say? He was prepared to leave, had obviously begun making plans, while I had had no more than a few minutes to think of an idea that would alter the course of my life forever.

“You don’t really love me at all, do you?” he asked mournfully, twisting the silken cloth in his hands.

“Oh Damien, don’t say that!” I burst out, not bearing to hear the heartbreak in his voice.

He turned away from me. Coldness descended upon my heart.

I ran over and put my arms around him.

“Of course I love you…how could I love anyone else?” I assured him, anxious to show him my devotion.

“Then come away with me,” he urged, “Now. It’s the perfect time. The tournament ends tomorrow, but no one will even know we’re missing until midday. By then, we’ll be far away from here,” he finished.

“How can you want us to leave without even trying to ask my father?” I asked.

“Don’t you understand? We’ll never escape once she knows,” he said, a chilling tone in his voice.

“What is she to us, Damien?” I asked.

I could tell that he struggled, as though deciding whether or not to tell me something.

“Don’t cross her,” he finally said.

“I hadn’t planned on it,” I laughed, faltering only when I read the seriousness in his eyes. “Let’s go back, think about this. In the morning, we’ll ask my father…” I explained.

He interrupted me.

“Emmeline, if we go back, there will be no escape. There is something evil in that castle. She is evil. And she’ll never let me go.”

“Never let you go?” I scoffed. “What do you mean, never let you go?”

“Emmeline, there are things you cannot imagine in your innocence.”

“Has she cast a spell over you too, then?” I asked angrily.

“Not like you mean. But she is a force to be reckoned with, and I don’t know that I can stop her,” he said.

This gave me pause. Damien was the strongest knight in the castle. There was no force he could not overcome, and so assured was I of his love for me, that I could not imagine any spell that Lamia could cast breaking our bond.

I also still felt fairly safe in the assurance of my father’s love. I hoped he could put my happiness ahead of her wishes. Surely she could not break the tie between a father and his daughter?

“We should go back. They’ll miss us soon,” I said, afraid that someone had already noticed our absence. I also needed some time to consider his proposal.

I took him by the hand and led him to Brutus, normally so calm. Tonight he seemed wary and nervous. Damien stroked his mane, speaking to him in a gentle voice only horses understand, soothing him immediately. Damien’s talent to quiet any horse had made him an instant favorite in the castle from his earliest days.

Once he’d settled Brutus, Damien turned to me, an acknowledgement that he understood my fears.

“I think we should still speak with my father. If he refuses his permission, then we’ll speak with Father Philip and make preparations,” I assured him, stroking his cheek. Whatever happened with my father or Lamia, we’d both agreed to have our priest, Father Philip marry us—publicly, we hoped, but secretly if necessary.

Damien nodded his head, not arguing anymore. He knew what he was asking me to give up, and he did not want to force me to choose between him and my father.

The moon cast its melancholy glow over Damien’s face, a picture of despair that I hadn’t seen before. I knew he didn’t want to return to the castle, but he wouldn’t go against my wishes.

“Dearest, don’t worry. ’Twill work out. You’ll see,” I cried, wanting to assuage his concern even as I suspected that he could be right, that our return to the castle might end in disaster. I still trusted my father, however, still believed that some essence of his love for me remained. And besides, my absence would give Lamia complete control over everyone, no longer conflicted in their loyalty to me and their fear of her. That had to give her some satisfaction, if not happiness.

Damien hoisted me in the saddle, maintaining a stoical silence that lasted the entire way back.

We wended our way through the forest and to the castle. Richard had kept a watch for us and lowered the drawbridge. We entered through the gate. Damien helped me to dismount, and I took off my cloak, giving it to him. I slipped across the courtyard and back inside the hall while Damien settled Brutus for the evening in the stables. I knew we wouldn’t be able to re-enter together.

I could see that no one had missed us—the dancing had become rigorous, the drink having its effect on the revelers, more careless now of Lamia’s presence than they had been.

My father cast enamored eyes on my stepmother, who spotted me and beckoned with her finger.

I walked up to the dais, glancing behind me to see if Damien had returned to the hall. He’d already taken his seat by two of the knights playing chess together in a corner, choosing a spot not directly in Lamia’s line of sight.

“Yes, stepmother?” I said when I reached her, bowing my head to hide the revulsion from my eyes. Lamia knew I resented her.

“We have important tidings for you, stepdaughter,” she began, eyeing me smugly.

She almost never called me Emmeline, preferring ‘stepdaughter’ instead.

I looked at her askance.

She regarded me in triumph and then stood, taking me by the hand. It took a moment for the revelers to quiet down, but when she wanted it, Lamia could easily command the attention of the entire room merely by her domineering presence.

“We have found a husband for Emmeline,” she said victoriously, knowing that I would resist the idea.

I began to shiver with apprehension and could almost feel Damien tense from across the room.

Before I could ask, however, she answered the question in my eyes: “Sir Roger Beauchamp.”

I closed my eyes in pain, opening them to look at my father.

“Tell me it isn’t true, Father, please!” I cried, more horrified than I could have imagined. At fifty, Sir Roger was nearly as old as my father was.

Damien must have surmised something like this all along. Oh, why hadn’t I listened to him? We could already be gone!

My father refused to look at me, and I knew this idea originated with Lamia. How long had she plotted? Had she planned it the moment she arrived?

I turned to my stepmother, wrenching my hand from hers.

“Do you hate me so much? Do I remind you of my mother so much that you must marry me to a man over twice my age?” I burst out.

She hissed, but it was under her breath, so that only I heard her. She wiped the smile from her face and regarded me with cold, inhuman eyes.

“It’s time you wed, Emmeline,” she began, more quietly now. “You’re far too old as it is to still be a maiden roaming the castle. Sir Roger is a knight we can trust. His loyalty has ever been to your father. You’ll make him a lovely bride.”

She laughed, showing her small, white teeth, bared now in a snarl.

I moaned as if in pain. Sir Roger was an uncouth knight with decaying teeth and stale breath. She could not have chosen a more loathly husband for me.

I looked to Damien in my panic. With terrible, sudden clarity, I knew he’d been more right than I could have ever believed. We had had the means to get away; we should have taken the opportunity when we had it.

The hall became quiet, and I looked over to my father, who averted his eyes from me. How could he have betrayed me this way?

Lady Lamia had already begun her speech about the wedding preparations—which were to begin following the last day of the tournament tomorrow. So it was to be soon, I thought, nearly hysterical in my rage and frustration.

As if reading my thoughts, Lamia again grasped my arm, making sure I didn’t run. Surprised by her adamantine grip, I missed her first few words to me, which sounded only like a hiss. I wondered if she’d sprung directly from the serpent, the great tempter who’d caused our first parents to fall.

I felt faint, and the room began to swim in front of me. But Lamia’s grip on me kept me from falling in a dead faint.

Damien locked eyes with me. I knew with a dreadful certainty that he would defend me, even if it meant his death. He’d somehow foreseen this, knew what returning to the castle would mean. If only I’d just listened, I thought, too overcome to comprehend the magnitude of what had just happened.

Damien stood up suddenly, drawing attention away from Lamia and me. His chair clattered to the ground, the chess pieces scattering in a heap on the flagstones below.

“The Lady Emmeline has plighted her troth already. She has agreed to be my wife, and she is bound to the oath,” he announced, daring Lamia or my father to defy him.

Confusion reigned throughout the hall at his announcement, but then a rousing cheer went up, drowning Lamia’s furious scream. Her grip tightened on my arm, and she looked at me, asking in a contemptuous voice, “What have you done?”

Damien knew that Lamia likely had more in store for me. He made his way to the dais, his height towering over those extending congratulating hands, which eagerly clapped him on the back, slowing his progress.

Only my father’s voice stopped him.

“Silence!” he ordered everyone.

The hall instantly quieted, and I read bafflement on the faces below us.

My father stood slowly, eyeing Damien, who’d almost reached us.

“Stand back!” he ordered him.

I’d never heard my father, normally so gentle, regard Damien with such coldness or speak so fiercely.

“Who are you to marry my daughter without my permission? You, a guttersnipe I found on the streets, cowering beneath the skirts of a wise woman selling herbs—you think to marry my daughter?” he spat out.

Damien’s face never wavered, his eyes locking steadfastly on my father’s face, the face he’d seen a thousand times look at him kindly, treating him as a beloved son.

Shock and silence greeted my father’s speech, and Lamia’s grip lessened somewhat on my arm, the smile twisting her features into a cruel and leering grin. Never had my father spoken a hard word even to the least of his servants. Never had he raised his voice or hand to any of them. I knew, without a doubt, that she had bewitched him.

“Father,” I began, tears in my eyes.

“Quiet, Emmeline, I’ll deal with you later,” he said unfeelingly. He turned his cold eyes briefly on me, and a strange glow seemed to have taken hold of him. I knew that the man I saw before me was not my father.

Tears filled my eyes as I looked helplessly to Damien. Lamia jerked her head towards me, looking into my eyes with hatred.

“I’ll see you locked in the North Tower until you’re more amenable, stepdaughter,” she spat out, nodding to a group of armed knights that seemed to appear from nowhere. They headed in Damien’s direction.

Chaos broke out, as chairs were overturned and voices were raised.

The knights muscled their way to Damien, knocking over anyone in their path. Once they reached him, they tried to take him by the arms to bind him, but he was too strong. It finally took all of them to overpower him, forcing him first to his knees before they dragged him through the melee below me. I could only watch in horror, as Lamia had me in a death grip.

She turned her vicious gaze to me once she saw that Damien had been subdued. Strengthening her hold, she began to half-drag me behind her out of the hall.

“Damien!” I screamed, unable to break through.

I looked helplessly at him across the hall. We were being pulled in opposite directions.

I will find you, I thought he mouthed to me.

There wasn’t much space between the dais and the inner door leading to the North Tower, which we quickly reached. Lamia nearly broke it down in her fury. She seemed to have superhuman strength, confirming my fears of her dark powers. She half-carried me up the winding stairs, barely wide enough to fit both of us.

Upon reaching the uppermost chamber, she threw me inside, slapping me for good measure and slamming the door behind her.

I reeled from the blow, which left me insensible for a time.

I must have lost consciousness, for I awoke much later in the dark, alone, hungry, frightened, and cold. I shivered, wondering what she had in store for me. Trying the door, I banged loudly, hoping someone would take pity on me. No one did.

I waited, but she never came back. The hours dragged on, and the cold began to creep into my bones. I knelt on the unyielding stone floor, clutching the rosary I kept in the inner folds of my gown as I prayed for deliverance.

If He could just help me to see my way out…please, I repeated over and over again, too traumatized even to speak coherently. All the prayers I’d repeated since my girlhood fled in my terror, as I imagined all kinds of terrible fates she had in store for Damien.

Slowly, my sobbing subsided, and silence filled the night. I waited for dawn to break, and when it did, the key turned in the lock.

“Emmeline,” I heard someone whisper. Millicent! And she had brought food with her.

Relief washed over me, and I sent a prayer of thanksgiving above, falling into her large, comforting arms.

But she wasn’t alone.

“Damien!” I exclaimed, all but screaming his name in the joy of seeing him behind her.

“Shhh! We’ve got to be quick,” he whispered, reaching his hand out for me and warming it between his large hands.

“B-but how d-did you…” I began, faltering. I could barely get my question out, so much did I shiver.

He put his hand on my lips.

“Later,” he whispered, taking my hand into his to lead me out. I quickly stuffed the bread in my mouth, quaffing the wine Millicent had brought almost in one gulp. There was no time for explanations now.

I hugged Millicent, urging her to hurry to my chamber for fear that Lamia would become suspicious if she wasn’t in the women’s quarters of the castle.

I could see tears in her eyes. We both knew that this was the last time we’d see each other.

“Emmeline, we must go now!” Damien urged, pressing me to leave. I could see that Millicent struggled not to cry, but I was adamant that she leave quickly, hoping no one would discover her in the wrong part of the castle. It wouldn’t take much effort to know why she was in the North Tower.

We crept down the narrow winding stairs of the tower. I knew that we had little time before Lamia discovered my escape. She likely wouldn’t let me rot there, I thought. She was too diabolical; I knew she had something worse planned than just to leave me alone to my fate.

Like me, Damien had grown up in the castle and knew every part of it, including a secret passage built in the dungeon, which led out through the woods not too far from where we’d met the night before.

We reached the door leading to the hall. I cringed at the thought of opening it.

“I’ll go first,” Millicent offered, fearlessly opening the door and creeping out into the darkness. I knew she’d have to make her way in the shadows of the hall in an opposite direction from us to get to our chamber. I prayed for her safe passage.

We waited five minutes, not hearing anything so much as the swish of her skirts. I hoped it was a good sign that no one had seen Millicent.

“It’s dawn, so they’ll all be in the field preparing for the tournament,” Damien whispered in my ear. Breakfast would come later in the hall, so we had a small window of time to escape.

“I’ve already led the horses out; they’re tethered by the chapel. Father Philip has agreed to help us. He’s gathered food from the kitchens since I would have looked too suspicious, and he’s going to marry us, Emmeline,” Damien finished triumphantly. The excitement was evident in his voice, despite the danger.

“But how did you get away from her? How did you get the horses without raising an alarm?” I asked.

“Let’s just say that Millicent isn’t the only person on our side,” he said, patting the keys in his pocket. Peter, I thought, remembering Damien’s faithful squire. He must have waited for the right time when no one was watching, found Millicent, who had somehow gotten the keys that Lamia kept around her waist at all times, and then let Damien out.

I wondered how Millicent did it but then remembered that she’d been forced to launder Lamia’s clothes as well as mine.Lamia wore the keys on a girdle, and Millicent must have waited for her to undress before retiring. I didn’t think Lamia wore the keys to bed, keeping them instead by a small table in a shared chamber with my father. I imagined that Millicent must have crept into the chamber last night while they slept, ostensibly to collect Lamia’s clothes, something she would naturally do without suspicion. Millicent must have seen the keys and stolen them, meeting up with Peter to free us. They must have let Damien out and then come for me. I prayed that Lamia wouldn’t suspect her when she couldn’t find her keys.

But that only explained the key to the North Tower and probably the chambers off from the stables where they’d likely taken Damien. I thought it unlikely they’d used the dungeon; no one ventured there, and I’d only discovered it accidently as a small child. I had no idea where that key would be. Peter must have good eyes and ears, I thought, if he’d discovered and stolen it for Damien.

Peter hated Lamia almost as much as I did. She constantly belittled him in front of others, for Peter walked with a slight limp, having once fallen from a horse as a small boy. Damien had deliberately chosen him as his squire to save him from the brunt of others’ ridicule and to keep him out of Lamia’s presence as much as possible. I hoped we could take him with us wherever we were going. But I considered that Damien would have already thought of that.

I silently prayed that Lamia didn’t know the secret passage. There was only one way in and out, and if she caught us, we’d be trapped.

Damien started taking off his shoes and directing me to do the same. It was a comfort to see that he had his sword with him. Peter had thought of everything we might need.

“I’ll go first and see if anyone is there,” he whispered.

Millicent had left the door cracked for us when she slipped out, and Damien slowly opened just enough for us to get by while I hid in the shadows behind him. He described the scene before him without turning his head.

“Two old women clearing the trenchers from last night. I don’t think they’ll notice us if we move quickly,” he whispered.

He grabbed my hand, and we ran for it, expecting every moment for an alarm to be raised at our escape.

We passed behind the dais, racing for a low arch directly opposite to us that provided the cover of darkness. We were halfway there when I heard my stepmother.

“And change these rushes! If I feel another flea, it will be your hides that I come after!” she yelled to the poor women responsible for clearing the leftovers of last night’s banquet.

Neither woman commented, nodding and bowing their heads. Everyone knew that Lamia was dangerous when she was on the warpath.

She must have discovered the missing keys by now, I thought, but then saw them dangling from her girdle. I remembered then that there was a second set kept in the castle chapel in case of danger or attack. Only I, my father, and Father Philip would know where they were. Millicent wouldn’t have known about this set, and I thought Peter wouldn’t either. It had to be Father Philip. He must have given the keys to Peter, who gave them to Damien. Perhaps Millicent hadn’t had to steal them from Lamia after all. I was relieved, knowing that Lamia could wreak a terrible vengeance when someone thwarted her desires.

I could feel her eyes on us in the dark. We’d crept to an alcove in her direct line of sight, but the shadows hid us well. Damien squeezed my hand, and when Lamia turned her back to chastise the servants again, we dashed for the open door leading down into the lowest region of the castle: the dungeon.

Once we were inside, we both paused for a second to catch our breath.

Giving me a quick kiss, Damien reached for my hand.

“Let’s go,” he said, not wanting to pause even for a moment. We both knew that time was critical.

We took the second door down on the right, but not before lifting one of the torches from the wall to light our way down to the steps below. No one ever came close to this part of the castle if they could help it, turning instead in the other direction, which led to the kitchens. This was to our advantage. Only a few people actually knew about the secret passage—my father, myself, and Damien. I’d told him once when we played hide and seek together as children and sworn him to secrecy. I hoped that my father had not mentioned it to Lamia, though I held out little hope that they kept secrets from each other. Our best chance was that he’d forgotten all about it.

We crept down the stairs, which became narrower as we descended. Finally reaching the bottom, we encountered the iron gate, now rusted over from disuse; it led directly to the inner chambers of the dungeon that contained the secret passage, built originally as an escape route in case anyone laid siege to the castle, only a remote possibility now. I looked up, nearly screaming as four fearsome gargoyles greeted us, their tongues of flame darting out. I buried my face in Damien’s shoulder, unwilling to look them in the face again. It seemed that Lamia did know this place, or someone did. I was glad to see, at least, that no one had been down here lately. Damien rustled around his pocket, found the set of keys someone had stolen for us, and tried a few, without success. We were down to the last key, and I said a few prayers, keeping my eyes closed against the evil carvings, a reminder of the danger we faced.

It worked. We entered the dungeon a few moments later. I passed several cells that must have once held some unfortunate miscreants. I shuddered, feeling empathy for the poor souls who’d departed this life from here. It was a dark place that reeked of human misery.

We stopped at the fourth cell and looked for the stones that would give way to the secret passage. We pushed for awhile. After several unsuccessful tries, we looked hopelessly at each other.

I paused, counting. It was five stones from the bottom, I was sure. Perhaps they were stuck?

Both Damien and I pushed together, and one of them budged, but just barely.

We looked at each other, a little panicked. This was going to take forever, and Lamia could be on her way to the tower at any moment. We needed to find a way to move the stones now.

Damien searched the cell and found what looked like a hammer lying beneath some old, tattered cloth. Who knew what method of torture it had been used for? Or, for that matter, whose cloth it was. I shuddered when I saw the deep stains on both, but I knew it was our only chance.

Damien took off his sword, handed me the torch, and took the first swing. We both jumped, startled at the sound of the metal hitting the stones.

“Stand back,” he ordered.

I took two steps back, and he began hammering in earnest. I kept a lookout for anyone who might have heard the racket, but no one came. When I looked back, Damien had created a small opening, just enough for us to crawl through to the other side, where I hoped we could stand up. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to crawl the entire way on my hands and knees.

Before going through, Damien tried taking the hammer with him along with his sword, making it awkward for him to maneuver at first in the small aperture in the wall.

“We may need them both,” he said with a grimace as I handed both through the space he’d created for us.

Once we were on the other side, which thankfully gave us more room, we began lifting the heavy stones and putting them back in place, hoping they wouldn’t appear amiss to anyone coming down there to search for us.

“There, last one,” Damien said. His words echoed in the tunnel that formed the secret passage.

We began the mile-long trek through the dark. I tried not to think about what I was stepping on; I was convinced I felt rats underneath my feet.

Damien took my hand in his, still holding the torch ahead of us.

“Don’t look. Just close your eyes; I’ll lead you,” he said, threading his fingers through mine. I was glad not be alone.

I decided to take his advice and not look down. In any case, it was dark, the flame not giving off much light, so I wouldn’t have seen anything except shadows cast by the torch light. We walked on in silence for awhile, and I tried to remember that I would be a married woman soon and far away from danger. As happy as that thought made me, I knew I’d never see my father again, never hear his voice or feel his arms about me. Lamia had done this, had taken him away from me forever, and he was as dead to me as my mother was.

Damien seemed to read my mood and the direction of my thoughts.

“Don’t think about it, Emmeline. Just remember how much I love you,” he said, the words “love you” echoing around us.

“I love you too,” I replied, merging my words with his and smiling at him. I’d forgotten for a moment that he couldn’t see me. He seemed to sense it because he turned around to kiss me, despite our seemingly dire circumstances.

“So what’s the plan?” I inquired a few minutes later.

“Peter is sending word to Father Philip, who is at the chapel, and he’s there waiting with food and the horses. We’ll soon be married in the chapel, and then we’ll be far away from here, long before the tournament begins this afternoon. I wanted to leave during the night to give us better cover, but we can’t afford to hide and wait it out first,” he finished.

I thought about the incredible risk Damien was taking and my father’s angry reaction last night to his declaration. I swallowed. Hard.

“Do you think maybe it’s a bad idea to get married now?” I asked, thinking that Lamia might be well on her way to finding us.

He stopped short, causing me to collide into his back.

“I mean, wouldn’t it be better to wait until we were safe first?” I suggested tentatively.

He stared down at me, the torch casting his features into a half shadow. The planes of his face looked hard and chiseled, as if carved from stone.

“Emmeline, do you agree with your father?” he asked quietly.

“What?” How could he ask me such a question?

“I cannot offer you castles or wealth. Do you want someone noble?” he asked.

I saw the pain written in his eyes, even in the dim light cast by the torch. My father’s words had hurt him more than I could have imagined. Damien had always been sensitive about the disparity between our stations, but we’d both relied on my father’s love to see us through.

“Of course not!” I replied indignantly.

“Then why don’t you want to marry me?” he asked. His voice rang hollow in the tunnel.

"I do want to marry you,” I assured him. “I just want us to be safe, that’s all. Now, come on. Let’s go!”

I took his hand, now leading him. I was anxious to be away. We were almost running now and nearly rammed into the door. We’d finally made it to the other side!

I turned and gave Damien a long, hard kiss.

He smiled radiantly, the torch light illuminating his features even in the shadowy tunnel. All shall be well, I thought, as long I have him. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Chapter Six

"Reckoning"

Also pray for those who were in ships, and

Ended their voyage on the sand, in the sea's lips

Or in the dark throat which will not reject them

Or wherever cannot reach them the sound of the sea bell's Perpetual angelus.

T. S. Eliot, “The Dry Salvages”

We were both glad to draw breath in the clean, fresh air. The tunnel had oppressed us with his damp, rank odor. We didn’t tarry, however, but ran through the woods, not bothering to look behind us. The tree branches hit our faces, and though it morning dawned through the mist, the woods enclosed us in darkness, becoming thicker the farther in we ran.

I eventually had to stop and catch my breath, my longs skirts an encumbrance that slowed my progress.

Damien looked around, searching for someone or something. I heard the horses then, and my heart sank.

“Peter?” I asked hopefully, knowing inside that it wasn’t him. I fervently prayed that he or Father Philip had been able to get away. Before Damien could answer, however, his face told me something was terribly wrong. We continued to run through the woods, my long skirts catching in the branches, which hit my face and arms, scratching me and drawing rivulets of blood down the side of my face. We ducked left into the church ruins where we’d pledged our love the night before, hoping, perhaps, that we’d eluded whoever was following us. But both of us knew better. Damien drew his sword and let his lips tell me again how much he loved me. There was no chance to respond. We’d run out of time.

They came, chanting, “Burn the witch!” It was the armed guards who’d taken Damien from the hall. They surrounded us, and four of them approached all at once. Damien began to engage them in combat, easily overcoming two, then four. I watched in amazement at the speed and agility with which he worked, quickly parrying, thrusting, and finding a fatal home for his sword in his opponents, much slower to react, though they outnumbered him.

All of a sudden, however, they had multiplied despite their losses, fanning out in all directions, perhaps as many as twenty or more. Where had they come from? I knew they weren’t part of the castle. I didn’t recognize any of their faces.

The mist cleared, and Lamia appeared before us, a strangely luminescent figure that looked like some pagan goddess of war.

“Emmeline,” she began in that low, husky voice I’d grown to hate.

I expected anger from her, but she evinced total assurance, a calm superiority born of supreme victory. She had won, and she knew it. I looked around for my father, but I didn’t see him anywhere.

Without taking her black eyes off of me, she ordered the guards: “Take him.”

“NO!” I screamed as they rushed for Damien, who valiantly fought off the first wave, defeating five of them before the rest came at him at once. They quickly bound him, shoving him forward. He struggled against them in vain.

“Where are you taking him?” I screamed, trying to pull the closest ones off of him. “Why, where else would we take a knight who’d kidnapped the beloved daughter of the lord of the castle? To the dungeon, of course!” Lamia said, laughing. She came forward and caught up my wrists in one hand, recalling to me the iron grip I’d felt last night. Her skin glowed, and her touch burned my arm, as though I’d put my skin to the flame. I desperately sought to escape her, but her hands felt like impenetrable chains, binding me.

With her other hand, she hit me harder, even, than she had the night before. It felt like a metal club, but the sheer force of my will kept me from falling. I knew not where I found the reservoir of strength to preserve me, but I resolved not to falter for Damien’s sake.

I spit in her face.

“You witch!” I flung at her, losing nothing now by my charge.

Her eyes grew large and luminous.

“What did you say?” she hissed in a low voice.

I had nothing now to bind my tongue. I knew she’d never let me see Damien again.

“You heard me. You’ve cast a spell over my father, and everyone knows you’re a witch!” I spat at her.

“How interesting, Emmeline, that you mention witches. We’ve just been in your chamber and have turned up several interesting items,” she replied coldly.

I could feel the blood drain from my face. She wouldn’t. She could not be so evil.

“It seems, stepdaughter, that you have a curious fascination for the dark arts,” she said in a deep voice, almost an octave lower than her normal one. It didn’t sound masculine or feminine, only earthy and dangerous.

Of course. Who knew better than Lamia what suspicion could do, what the mere rumor of witchcraft could incite in the castle? By sundown, they’d want blood—my blood.

I shuddered, for I knew what they did to suspected witches. First there would be the ordeal. If I survived that, it would only prove my “guilt.” Then there would be the stake, where they’d burn me alive. Either way, I was dead, for almost no one survived the ordeal.

“And were you the one who conducted this search?” I questioned, frantically searching for Damien from the corner of my eye. They were taking him from the ruins and heading towards the woods. They’d bound, blindfolded, and gagged him. Even so, he fought them, nearly succeeding a few heart-wrenching times. I kept one eye on him as I spoke with Lamia, hoping I could think of a plan quickly before they took him completely out of sight.

“No, Emmeline, why, I had nothing to do with it,” she said, the picture of a Madonna with the dawn streaming around her long hair to make a halo of false innocence. Only her blood-red lips belied the false holiness of her unearthly pallor.

“Then who did?” I asked her belligerently. I refused to succumb without a fight.

A shadowy figure stepped out from behind one of the chapel’s ruined walls.

“I did,” the figure said quietly.

It was my father.

“I never would have believed it of you, Emmeline. And your mother was so sweet, so kind. Why? Why, Emmeline?” he questioned, tears in his eyes.

“Why do you believe her, Father, over me? She has tricked you, bewitched you! She is the real witch, not me,” I pleaded, trying to reach my father, to call him back from whatever spell she’d cast over him.

But he shook his head in disgust.

“How can I protect you when you lie to me?” he asked plaintively, a mournful, hollow tone causing his voice to shake slightly.

The disappointment in his eyes shook me almost as much as seeing Damien bound and taken from me to await an unknown fate.

If I could awaken my father from this evil spell, I could save Damien. I begin to think frantically.

“Father, listen to me. This woman wants to destroy me. She’ll destroy you too! She’s already wiped away the memory of my mother,” I cried, desperate to convince him.

Silence greeted my outburst. I’d have to try a different track.

“At least let Damien go. You know he didn’t kidnap me,” I finished, beginning to lose hope.

“Damien will receive all the justice he deserves,” my father replied grimly. His tone sounded ominous.

“What did you mean, Father, when you said you could not protect me?” I asked, biding my time.

I needed to know if there was anything of my real father left. Lamia answered for him.

“Emmeline, we’ve found wax figures, pins, strange herbs, and a graven image of a horned figure your room. We can only assume…” She left her sentence unfinished.

“This is preposterous. Father, you cannot believe her lies,” I said, addressing him. I refused to look Lamia in the face or answer her accusations directly.

But my efforts were in vain. I had made no impression on him, and he turned away from me, refusing to meet my eyes.

“For goodness sake, I attend mass every morning! Ask Father Philip!” I cried, desperate to convince him of my innocence.

I suddenly realized that Father Philip, Millicent, and Peter were implicated in this as well.

“What have you done to them?” I whispered.

“Never you mind,” Lamia said as if reading my thoughts. She’d begun to sound bored now that her triumph seemed assured. “They are the least of your worries,” she continued.

The armed guards had by this time taken Damien out of my sight completely, and I despaired. My father spoke to me for the last time, keeping his eyes carefully averted from mine.

“God help you, Emmeline, for I cannot,” he said sadly, turning away from me.

In his voice, I could hear the remnant of the father I knew, the man who had played with me as a child and loved me everyday until my mother had died. Lamia had him now, and there was nothing I could do. He was lost to me forever.

The last remaining guard stepped forward, as if to bind me in the same way that they had taken Damien.

“What is the meaning of this?” I began.

No one answered my question. Between Lamia and the guard, they had begun dragging me in the direction of the woods.

I knew she meant to kill me then; she wouldn’t wait to turn the castle against me. It all began to make sense, all the accusations she’d hurled at me the last ten minutes. She wasn’t after him. She was after me.

I remembered what they did to poor, crazy Agnes, who lived well beyond the protection of the castle walls in a small cottage on the fringe of Sarum. Everyone went to her for herbs, healing, and advice. That is, until Lamia, who’d accused her of witchcraft. She’d had Agnes thrown into the small but deep pond not too far from the clearing where we’d stood near the chapel. Agnes hadn’t floated, but she hadn’t surfaced, either. Her “innocence” was proven, much good it did her.

I panicked, nearly becoming hysterical. Like most people in the castle, I could not swim, and though drowning would prove my innocence to them, I would still be dead. Several of the knights, including Damien, had learned to swim as an unusual part of their training for the Crusades, where no one really knew what dangers a knight could face. Many went and never came back to tell the tale.

But none of them could help me now. They had taken Damien, and no one else knew where we were; they were likely having breakfast before going to the tournament fields to ready the horses. There was only my father, and he seemed determined to follow whatever dire plan Lamia had in store for me.

I made one last attempt to elicit his help.

“Father!” I cried. But he gave a signal to the guard.

We drew closer to the pond, and I realized that I would soon die.

“Father!” I screamed one last time.

He suddenly turned to me, hearing something, I supposed, in my voice that compelled him.

“I love you,” I finished, watching the shock fill his eyes as they threw me in.

The cloth-of-gold sunk like a dead weight. A great whirling rush consumed me, burying courage and with it hope.

Set me as a seal upon your heart….

Only the brilliant light of Lamia’s strangely shining presence penetrated the deep.

Jealousy is cruel as the grave.

But

Love is Strong as Death…

Emily

Time past and time future

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

T. S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton”

Chapter Seven

"Discovery"

For most of us, there is only the unattended

Moment, the moment in and out of time

The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,

The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning

Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply

That it is not heard at all, but you are the music

While the music lasts.

T. S. Eliot, “The Dry Salvages”

My first impression grew from an intense light, a flashing sensation across my line of vision.

“Emily…Emily…” I could hear my name being called. My eyes slowly focused, and I saw Ramona standing over me, concerned.

“What happened?” I asked, feeling a little groggy.

“You reached the end, Emily,” she said quietly.

“You mean…I died?”

It was too much to take in.

“I think so,” she said, with sympathetic eyes.

“What about Damien? Where did she take him?” I asked frantically. Part of me still felt like I was there.

I was shaky and a little breathless. I also had a terrible headache. I still had the same feeling, though, as I did right before I remembered being thrown into the cold water. The fear, dread, and pain had not dissipated.

“I don’t know. You died before we could discover his fate,” Ramona answered.

“She killed him! She must have!” I said, sobbing and putting my head in my hands, wet with tears.

I couldn’t think. My head clouded with images from the past, and my vision blurred.

Ramona left me for a few minutes and returned, holding a small, blue porcelain cup.

“Here, drink this,” she said, offering it to me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Herbal tea. It will help with your headache.”

“How did you know?” I began and then remembered. “Oh, right. I forgot. You’re psychic.”

The tea tasted good, but I couldn’t place it—perhaps chamomile?

“A special blend of my own,” she answered, reading the unasked question in my mind.

“Oh,” I mumbled.

I sipped it slowly. She was right; my head felt almost instantly better.

“What am I going to do?” I moaned.

Ramona sat down beside me and looked contemplative.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” she said.

“And?”

“And I don’t see a way it can be done.”

“What? What can’t be done?”

She looked for a moment as if debating whether or not to tell me.

“Ramona, please, if you can help me find him, save him, you have to! Otherwise, what’s been the point of all this?” I pleaded.

“I don’t know. Usually someone from the past wants you to do something, to resolve something from your past life. That’s why your dream affected you so strongly. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe you’re in some kind of danger.”

“So I’m warning myself?” I didn’t understand.

“No, I don’t think so…but Damien, he might be trying to warn you.”

“But didn’t the worst happen? I died. And besides, maybe he wants me to save him.”

I realized the idiocy of that statement. He’d already died hundreds of years ago, even if Lamia hadn’t killed him.

“Perhaps,” Ramona answered cryptically.

“Ramona, if you have something that could help me, please say it. I can’t read minds…I’m not psychic, remember?”

“Okay, Emily. Calm Down.”

Calm Down? How could I calm down? I’d just died!

“I’m just trying to think of a safe way to do this. Is it even possible? It’s never been done before. Yet, I wonder…,” she said, tapping her forehead while she thought.

“Out with it, now,” I demanded. I was getting more than a little frustrated by her reticence.

“Emily, in your past life, you were accused of being a witch.”

“Right.”

“But you didn’t practice witchcraft.”

“No.”

I was unsure where this was headed.

“But what if you had been?”

“Had been what? A witch?”

“Yes—of sorts. Or a wise woman, if you prefer.”

“I’m not following.”

“Emily, you’ve had these dreams, and everyone doesn’t have them. Only certain people dream about their past lives, and those people usually have powers.”

“Well, I can assure you, I have no magical powers,” I said, starting to feel a little hopeless.

“No, I didn’t say that, though it’s possible. You’re what, sixteen?”

“Yes.”

“That’s just about the time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time for you to begin to know.”

“Sorry, I’m still not following.”

“Emily, I think you’re a witch,” she said bluntly.

“Excuse me? I didn’t float, remember? How can I be a witch when I drowned?”

“That’s of no consequence. The ordeal doesn’t signify anything; it was just a way to get rid of troublesome women and create fear as a tool to control others. It’s entirely possible that you’re a witch, and I think you’ve come from a long line of wise women—the good witches, for lack of a better word.”

“But none of the things Lamia found belonged to me.”

“True, but that’s not the kind of craft you would have practiced. Likely you didn’t even know you were a wise woman then. You’d have been very young. But Lamia obviously saw something in you and feared it. You were one of the pure ones, a wise woman who helped others…or would have done, had she left you alive.”

“So how did she know?”

“Because she was a witch too.”

“Let me guess—the evil kind.”

“Right. You’re catching on,” she said, laughing. “You would eventually have discovered yourself and would have known that she was a witch too.”

“Yes, but everyone suspected that she was a witch.”

“But you would have known it.”

“How?”

“Call it a wise woman’s intuition.”

“How do you know so much about it?”

“Because I’m a wise woman too,” she said quietly.

“You’ve known about me all along!” I accused.

“No, I didn’t, Emily, honestly. I suspected as much, but I couldn’t feel you at first. You have to know it within yourself to create your aura. I still can’t feel you; I might be wrong.”

But I knew she was right. She might not be able to get a clear read on me just yet, but I’d definitely felt her when I first walked into the store.

“What do you mean ‘feel’ me?” I asked.

I wanted to make sure that I hadn’t mistaken the chills I’d felt for an overzealous ceiling fan.

“There’s a tingling sensation you feel in the presence of another witch—it’s her aura,” she said.

“Aura?” I asked hesitantly. It all sounded bizarre.

“It’s indescribable. The fact that I don’t feel it from you indicates that maybe I’m wrong. On the other hand, it takes some time to develop, to grow. Not everyone has it right away from their birth.”

I fell silent for a moment. I knew inside that she was right. The feeling was indescribable, and I’d even felt it in my dream whenever I came near Lamia. I just couldn’t put a name to it then. But what did it all mean? How was it going to help me resolve my past? As intriguing as my newfound identity was, what was really the point? I had no interest in occult practices or exploring my inner witch.

“How is this going to help me save Damien?” I asked, still frustrated.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Ramona, how does a witch’s power work exactly?” I asked, suddenly curious about the nature of this aura.

“Probably not the way you think. All that hocus pocus stuff is just in the movies.”

“Then what’s with all the stuff out there?” I asked, jerking my thumb over my shoulder to indicate the front of the store.

“Oh that,” she answered, looking sheepishly at the crystal rings on her fingers. “It sells well with tourists.”

“Then what do witches do?”

“It depends on the witch. Some are more powerful than others. Some, like me, have the power to see the future. We can cast spells, of a sort. It’s more related to our power of concentration. If you think hard enough, you can change an event or person. But every witch’s power is unique. You’ll have your own unique aura to discover in time.”

“So I could change someone I don’t like into a toad?” I asked jokingly, thinking of Angela Rossi. It was easier to swallow this if I could take it lightly.

“Emily, you’re not taking this seriously. If you’re powerful enough, you could drain their life force and kill them,” she said sternly.

My eyes must have gotten bigger because she softened, putting her arms around me.

“Don’t worry. Only evil witches use their power for harm, and they can’t kill another witch like that,” she assured me.

Of course, if that had been the case, Lamia would have killed me on the spot, not bothering to go through the ruse of throwing me in the water.

“That still doesn’t answer my question. How can we help Damien?” I asked, wanting to return to the more pressing question at hand.

“I’ve only known one witch who did it, and she was very experienced,” Ramona replied distractedly.

“Do what?” I asked, exasperated.

“Time travel.”

I forgot to breathe for a moment.

“You can do that?”

“I’ve only seen it done once and that was by a very powerful witch.”

“Well, let’s go,” I said, setting down my cup on the table with a bang and rising.

She looked at me, puzzled.

“Go where?” she asked.

“To find this woman.”

“No. You don’t understand. She traveled through time and pulled someone from her past life. If it’s to be done, it will have to be you.”

“Oh,” I said, deflated.

I sat down again and felt despair wash over me. I had no idea how to pull anyone from a past life.

“You see,” she explained, “for our powers to work, we have to concentrate on the person we’re trying to affect. It’s through our minds that we change people or events.”

“So I could change the past.”

“And the future.”

I was getting excited again.

“I can bring him here? To the present?”

“I’m just not sure. But even if you could, it would be very dangerous.”

“How? Could he be killed?”

“No, not unless you wanted it.”

I felt a small chill creep down my spine. Did I have the power of life and death over others?

“Then what’s the catch?” I asked.

“If Lamia thought you were a witch, she also likely knew that killing you wouldn’t be the end.”

“Why not?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but…”

“If you can pull Damien through before she gets to him, then you might be able to save him,” she interrupted.

“Not to mention that we can finally be together,” I mused. “What could Lamia do?” I wondered aloud.

“If she put a curse on him or you before you died, then that could potentially follow him.”

“It’s a risk I’d be willing to take. After all, I’m not going to pull her through too.”

“Likely not. But remember, curses are powerful; and there’s no guarantee that she wouldn’t be able to come through along with him.”

“Do curses work on other witches?”

“Yes and no. If you’re prepared for it, you can block your mind. Otherwise, you leave yourself open for an attack.”

“So this is all a mental game.”

“Yes, but it has far-reaching consequences outside the mind, as you saw in your dream.”

“I can handle her or whatever she placed on Damien,” I said determinedly.

“I hope so. Just know that she’s evil and likely very powerful if she bewitched your father.”

“But isn’t she dead now?”

“She won’t be if you open up the past.”

“Haven’t I already opened it? Isn’t Damien trying to get in touch with me?”

“I think so, but the past cannot touch you unless you want it to be part of your present or future.”

“So tell me. How can I bring him forward?”

“It will require concentration.”

“Okay, what else?”

“What time of year did you die? Do you remember?”

“Well, it was cold, but not bitterly so. It must have been warm enough for a tournament. March, maybe?”

“How do you know?”

“Just a feeling I have.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yes. This all depends on your relying on your intuition. Try not to think. Clear your mind of rational thought. Let the impressions sweep over you, and try to channel them. Focus on Damien’s face, on your connection to him. The magic will work more strongly if you can go to a place where you were together.”

“The church ruins?”

“Yes, or the castle.”

“But how will I find it? The chapel was in ruins in the thirteenth century. Who knows what kind of condition it’s in now or if I’ll be able to find the spot. I’ll bet the ruins are long gone by now.”

“What about the castle?”

“Yes, that’s a possibility, but I feel more strongly that I can bring him here through the chapel. That’s where we sealed our love and then became separated. And besides, I read that the castle was destroyed, so it’s likely just ruins too.”

“It would help if you had something of his.”

“But I don’t. How could I?”

“If you could remember something that he held and then find it—not the thing itself, precisely, but something that would help to channel your aura as you cast the spell,” she said.

I thought back to what I’d experienced and tried to recreate everything he wore or carried in my mind. Besides the sword and hammer, I couldn’t think of anything.

And then I did.

“He carried a small rosary of red, glass beads,” I said excitedly.

“That’s perfect. Find one of those, and carry it in your hand as you concentrate.”

“Should I say anything special?”

“Call his name in your mind. It’s as simple as telling him what you want him to do. You’ll also be able to give him what he needs when you bring him forward. The hardest part is the concentration.”

“What do you mean ‘what he needs’?”

“He won’t be speaking the exact same language as you,” she answered.

That was true. Most of what we said was in Middle English, translated in my mind, I guessed, to modern English. But that was under hypnosis, when I was Emmeline. My knowledge of Middle English in this life extended to having memorized the opening lines of The Canterbury Tales last year in my English class. I was only able to understand my dream, I thought, because I’d lived it. But that was the least of my worries.

“What if I’m too late? What if she’s already killed him? What am I talking about…we know he’s already dead!” I could feel another sob rise up.

“Maybe not. If you can remember the day you died, you might be able to channel him then, before she had a chance to harm him. Keep yourself focused on his face and that day.”

“My class is going to Europe this March. Perhaps I could try it then. But I’ll have to get a bus or train from London,” I said, already making plans in my mind.

“I hope you’ll be strong enough,” Ramona said worriedly, taking my hand in hers and squeezing it for reassurance.

“Can’t you see it?” I asked.

“Remember, I said that I saw two futures for you. One holds danger, the other happiness. I thought that seeing your past would help me to peer into your future, but it’s still hazy. Much depends on what you decide.”

I thanked her, promised to call again if I needed help and then left, climbing into the Saratoga. The small clock I’d duct-taped to the dash said seven o’clock.

“Oh no!” I cried. I’d totally forgotten Ben.

I cranked the car, hoping that today wasn’t the day when it she’d decided to die on me. I felt relieved when it started. I shook my head to clear it before putting it into reverse. I still felt disoriented. Ramona came out of her store, and I rolled the window down.
“Why don’t you let me drive you home? You can pick up your car tomorrow,” she said.

I started to decline but thought better of it.

“Alright,” I agreed, holding my head in my hands.

I shut the Saratoga off, and Ramona brought her pink Cadillac from around back. I looked at her, surprised.

“I sell Mary Kay too. On the side,” she said sheepishly.

I laughed, amused despite my headache.

“Oh, just get in, Emily,” she said impatiently. I climbed into the passenger’s side, disbelieving that this psychic-hypnotist-witch helping me to save Damien was also a Mary Kay lady—and a very successful one by the looks of it.

“Where do you live?” she asked.

“Not too far. Actually, I can walk and get the Saratoga tomorrow,” I said, starting to get out. I’d troubled her enough today.

She caught me by the arm.

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Your vision may still be blurry tonight, and it’s unsafe,” she explained.

“Can’t you predict it?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “I see you getting home just fine because I drove you,” she said, starting the car.

I gave her directions to Aunt Jo’s house, feeling a little ridiculous that she’d driven me since we lived just a few blocks away. I could have walked, but admittedly, I did still feel strange.

We arrived in less than five minutes.

Aunt Jo was at the door, and it looked like Ben was with her.

“Remember, Emily. I’m here if you need me,” Ramona said before I opened the passenger’s side.

“Yeah, I’ll remember,” I said, climbing out and shutting the door.

Ben was already coming down the front steps.

“Hey, Em. Where were you? And who was that?” he asked when Ramona had driven off.

“Nobody. Just a friend,” I said evasively. My head throbbed.

“Which is it?”

“What? Oh, sorry,” I mumbled.

He stood waiting for an explanation.

How could I tell him I’d dreamed of my past life and a medieval lover who was trying to get in touch with me? Hi Ben, how was your Saturday? Mine was filled with hypnosis, in which I’ve discovered that I drowned in a former life. I’m going to England to try and bring back my true love. Oh, and by the way, I’m a witch.

Instead, I settled for, “Ben, it’s been a long afternoon of researching the past. I’m pretty tired.”

That was the truth, sort of. I felt horrible and wished I’d asked Ramona for more of her soothing tea before I left.

“Wait a minute. I thought we were going out,” he protested, catching my arm as I went by him.

“I have a splitting headache. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

He looked hurt, and I felt bad.

“Okay. I was just worried, that’s all. I hope you feel better,” he said and turned to go.

I watched him get into his truck and then looked down at the emerald ring he’d given me. The tears began to form in my eyes.

I slowly climbed the steps, and Aunt Jo waited for me at the top.

“Everything okay, Em?” she asked.

“Yeah. I just have a headache.”

“Annie called.”

“Oh yeah? What time?”

“About thirty minutes ago. Where have you been? And who was that?”

“The lady who owns that weird shop a few blocks from here,” I said, not wanting to explain. I was too drained for this. I couldn’t tell anyone what I’d seen that afternoon. They would’ve thought I was crazy. Even I wasn’t totally convinced that what I’d experienced was real.

“How about some dinner?” she asked gently. I loved that Aunt Jo didn’t ask too many questions. She knew I’d talk when I was ready.

“Not tonight, Aunt Jo. I think I’m just going to go to bed.”

The Duchess eyed me suspiciously, as if she’d known what I’d been up to. She followed me up the stairs and into the bathroom—odd behavior for her. Like me, she didn’t much like water and usually avoided this room altogether.

I decided to take a hot shower before going to bed, despite having drowned that day. I felt too drained even to feel much fear of water, for the worst had, after all, already happened.

My thoughts circled round in a tailspin. How was I going to know where to find Damien? What if I couldn’t concentrate enough for it to work? And the scariest question: what if it did work? What would I do with Damien once he was here?

I mentally shook my head. Part of me knew that this was completely ridiculous. I stroked the Duchess’s back, and she purred. What do you think? I asked her without speaking.

As if reading my thoughts, she nudged my jeans, which I’d taken off and thrown to the floor, with her paw. What? I asked her.

She put her head into my jean pocket and pulled out the permission slip I’d gotten from Mr. Dean after school on Friday.

She knows, I thought, shaking my head.

What if I can’t do it? I wondered.

She dropped the slip at my feet and pranced away, but before she slipped around the door, she looked at me one last time as if to say, I’m not a scared-y cat!

Chapter Eight

"Torn"

Who then devised the torment? Love.

Love is the unfamiliar Name

Behind the hands that wove

The intolerable shirt of flame

Which human power cannot remove.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

Damien and I ran, holding hands, but this time, we didn’t try to escape from Lamia. We laughed together, wearing different, more modern clothes. I recognized the place, the clearing just in front of the chapel ruins, where the woods opened to allow sunlight to filter. But the place held no danger for us. We stopped and stood facing each other; he bent down to kiss me and then started to lick my face, his furry face nuzzling mine.

“Ewww! Duchess! Get off of me!” I protested, waking up.

I heard the alarm then. I must have been sleeping deeply. I reached over to shut it off and realized I was going to be late for school. Ben was supposed to pick me up in ten minutes.

Ben.

What was I going to do about him? It wasn’t as though I didn’t love him anymore. What I felt for him was real, but it wasn’t as intense as my love for Damien was. I got up and reached for the photo Aunt Jo had taken of Ben and me about to ride a roller coaster. It was just before Mom got sick. We looked so happy together.

What would I tell him? What could I tell him? I’m in love with a knight who died almost eight hundred years ago. And then it hit me. Damien had died. The feeling of loss welled up in me, as though I’d just lost him, which of course I had. The overwhelming sense of despair and grief tore at me, and I began to sob.

Aunt Jo knocked on the door, and when I didn’t answer, she came in.

“What’s wrong?” she exclaimed, running over to put her arms around me.

“Nothing,” I choked out, wiping my face in my nightgown.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I can’t talk about it,” I said through sniffles. And I couldn’t.

“Is it Ben?” she asked, intuitively going to the heart of one problem.

I thought for a moment. It was going to come. I couldn’t be with him and still love Damien, even if he was dead. That wasn’t fair to Ben.

“Yes,” I said, nodding. It wasn’t a lie. Even though we hadn’t yet broken up, it would have to be soon. I couldn’t hide this from Ben much longer.

Aunt Jo knew better than to ask questions. She let me have my personal life, lending an ear when I needed it. Otherwise, she stayed out of my business. She continued to hold me, and I cried on her shoulder until I heard Ben’s pick-up out front.

“What’s he doing here?” Aunt Jo asked. She assumed it had already happened.

“He doesn’t know yet,” I said.

I could see the confusion in her eyes.

“I’ll tell him you’re not well and that I’m taking you to school,” she offered, getting up.

I shot her a grateful look. I could always count on Aunt Jo.

A few minutes later, I heard Ben start up the engine again, and by the time Aunt Jo came back inside, I felt and looked more composed.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“Oh, not too much. He just looked a little surprised and offered to come up. I told him I thought it was girl stuff,” she said.

“Aunt Jo!”

But I was grateful, nonetheless.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

I did want to tell her. But I had no idea where to begin.

She started for me.

“Why are you breaking up with Ben, Emily? He’s a nice boy, and you’ve been inseparable for as long as you’ve lived here.”

“I know,” I said miserably.

I could feel myself starting to cry again and fought back the tears.

“Did Ben do something to hurt you?” she asked kindly.

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

I hesitated then plunged in.

“Aunt Jo, I’ve been having these dreams.”

“What kinds of dreams?”

And then I tried telling her. I could see that she wanted to understand, but of course she didn’t know how this was connected to Ben.

I decided to take a slight detour.

“Do you remember the lady who took me home on Saturday?”

“Yes. And when I went to pick up the Saratoga yesterday, she looked even stranger in the daylight.”

I felt guilty. I’d totally forgotten the car. This wasn’t going well.

“Emily, you’ve been under a lot of stress lately with school, and I know it’s been a difficult year,” Aunt Jo said slowly, thinking, perhaps, that I was suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress because of Mom. I wondered what she’d think if I told her I’d just experienced a past life.

I didn’t answer. I knew she wanted to help. And I was trying to explain it, but how could I? I didn’t even understand it myself. I decided to change the conversation. I probably needed to assure her I wasn’t going crazy.

“I was thinking…would you let me go on the spring break trip to Europe?” I asked suddenly.

Her face lit up.

“Emily, I think that’s a wonderful idea!”

She grabbed the tissue box from the dresser and began telling me about her own experiences abroad as a young woman, but I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t tell her I was a witch. I wasn’t even sure if I was a witch. And if I hadn’t actually experienced the past for myself, I never would have believed anyone else claiming to have special powers. It was hopeless. I had to keep it to myself, and that was that.

I looked up and saw that Aunt Jo had asked me a question.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, do you want some breakfast?”

“No thanks. I better get going.”

“I promised to take you to school.”

“That’s okay. I’ll try taking the Saratoga. Can you write me a note?”

“Sure. But if you want to stay home today, it will be okay with me.”

I thought about it, but then remembered that today was the deadline for getting Mr. Dean the permission slip for the trip.

“That’s okay. I just need you to sign something for me. I’ll have to put down a deposit by next month for the airline ticket,” I said, searching for the slip among the clutter on the floor.

“Alright. But you’d better be good with that paintbrush. We still have three rooms left,” she said, glad I no longer looked upset.

We both laughed, and I felt some better. But I knew I’d have to face Ben at some point.

Wearily, I got up and dressed, not caring much how I looked. How could I explain to anyone that I felt the deepest grief a person could feel, especially when it was for someone nobody, including me, had ever met?

Even Annie, who knew some of this, wouldn’t understand.

****

I arrived to school later than I thought, missing first period entirely. I couldn’t say I was sorry. It was calculus, after all. I liked second period and my English teacher, Ms. May, much better than math class.

I presented her the hastily written note by Aunt Jo and took my seat in the back beside Ben. We had several classes together, and this was one of them.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

I couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Yeah,” I replied, concentrating on the book in front of me, Things Fall Apart.

Things do fall apart, I thought sadly. Even though I regretted having to break up with Ben, I had no choice.

“Ben, I need to see you after school,” I whispered near the end of class.

He smiled at me, full of confidence until he saw my face. His face filled with concern.

“Okay, sure. I was going to wait for you anyway,” he said slowly.

“Excuse me, is there something you two want to share with the class?” Ms. May said, turning her short blond head towards us.
She had caught us talking instead of paying attention to the board. I could sense everyone’s eyes on us and felt my face turning red.

“No,” we both answered together. I didn’t meet Ben’s eye for the rest of class.

After third period, I had a study break, then lunch, which would be the hardest. I knew I couldn’t force any false chattiness with everyone, especially Ben. I just couldn’t fake it. So I thought I’d slip out the back and go around to one of the tables that faced the parking lot. I hoped that Annie or Ben or one of the people sitting at our lunch table wouldn’t see me.

I carried my tray, heading in the opposite direction of my normal table. So far, no one seemed to notice. I found the picnic tables and sat down, but I couldn’t eat. Opening my bag, I took out my history book instead and started to read to distract myself.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” I heard.

Ben had found me.

“Oh, just studying for the history exam we have coming up,” I answered, not looking up.

“But that isn’t for another week,” he protested, laughing.

“I know. I thought I’d get a head start.”

He looked puzzled. I liked reading stories, but I wasn’t exactly the studious type.

He took a seat beside me, straddling the bench so that he faced me. Coward that I was, I still couldn’t look at him. I could already feel the blush starting.

“What’s up with you lately, Em?” he asked more gently.
Should I do it now? Later? I’d never broken up with anyone before. Should I tell him I still loved him but that I loved someone else more?

“Ben, I…” I began.

The bell rang. Lunch was over, and I was never more relieved.

Ben started to gather my books to carry.

“No, I got it,” I said, trying to take the books from him.

“Emily, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I wish you’d snap out of it,” he said, irritated.

He placed my books on the table and walked away.

I knew that I deserved much worse than that. I slowly stacked my books and put them back into my bag. I really wanted to leave, to get into the Saratoga and just go. But I’d have to face Ben at some point, and he deserved better than this. I wished I could tell him what was going on—we had shared everything since childhood. But how? How could I tell him this?

****

The rest of the day passed quickly. Ben didn’t walk with me to my classes, and we didn’t look at each other in history class.

We both turned in our permission slips to Mr. Dean, and I caught up with Ben after class by the lockers.

“Ben,” I called, adrenaline pumping through my veins. “I’ll see you outside. Meet me by the Saratoga,” I said nervously.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked carefully. I could tell he was tense.

I nodded. What did it matter if it wasn’t the entire truth?

The last class ended, and the final bell rang. The time had come. I detoured into the bathroom before heading out, biding my time. I didn’t want an audience for what I was about to do.

I knew I’d stalled long enough—literally—and made my way out to the parking lot. Ben leaned against Aunt Jo’s car, a little perturbed, I could tell, that I was so late.

“Where were you? I thought you weren’t going to show,” he said.

“Yeah, sorry,” I muttered, looking at my feet. I noticed two holes in my shoes.

I didn’t know how to begin.

“Emily, you know I love you, but you have got to start talking to me,” Ben began, taking my hand.

That hurt. How was I going to do this?

“Ben, I love you too,” I started, regretting that I’d begun that way when I saw his face light up.

“But…” I continued.

“But?” he asked, surprised.

“But I want to break up,” I said abruptly, dropping his hand.

There, it was out.

“What?” He sounded like he hadn’t heard correctly.

All I could do was look at him helplessly.

“Emily, why?” he asked. I heard the anguish in his voice.

“I’m sorry, I can’t explain it,” I said, turning away from the pain I saw reflected in his eyes.

“Well, you better start trying,” he answered, starting to become really angry now.

I wanted to tell him, but it was much harder than trying to tell Aunt Jo.

“I love somebody else,” I said, immediately wishing I could take it back as soon as I said it. The look in his eyes was enough to break my heart.

“Who is he?” he asked quietly.

“Nobody you know,” I said. That was true, at least.

“I want to know,” he persisted.

I was silent.

“Emily,” he growled.

“His name is Damien,” I finally said.

“What kind of stupid name is that? Who is this guy? Where did you meet him?” he fired off.

I couldn’t answer any of his questions. I might not tell him everything, but I couldn’t lie to him.

I felt the tears on my face and could see that Ben fought them as well.

“How did this happen?” he wondered, almost to himself.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to him, wanting to offer some comfort without knowing how.

I reached out for him, but he flinched as though my hand burned.

It had been a mistake to break up with him like this. I couldn’t just drive off and leave him, but I needed to get away. The Duchess was right; I was a coward.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this. It’s like you just changed overnight. I know you’ve been acting strange lately, but come on, Emily, what did I do?” he asked, starting to cry for real now. I’d never seen Ben in tears before.

“You didn’t do anything,” I said, hoping to reassure him.

I was about to add the old line, it’s me, not you, but then remembered how cliché that sounded. But it was true. He hadn’t changed. I’d just discovered a past life.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” he said bitterly.

“I don’t know myself.”

“Is this about your mom?”

“What?”

Is this one of those stages of grief?”

Ben was thinking much as Aunt Jo had this morning. It was such an easy out. I wanted to tell him, yes, I’m messed up because Mom died. But I didn’t want to disrespect him or her memory by lying.

“No. This has nothing to do with her. This is all me. I’m sorry; I wish I could be different. But I can’t,” I finished.

“Emily, have you been cheating on me?” he asked in a low voice.

When Ben got angry, he twitched the fingers of his right hand. I saw him doing that now.

Had I been cheating on him? Did dreaming count? I decided that my past life didn’t because I couldn’t control it—quite the opposite. It seemed to control me.

I needed to tell Ben something. His looked furious.

“No, Ben, I do love you, but I love him more,” I answered, taking off the ring he’d given me and handing it back.

He looked at me and then the ring, not taking it.

“You say you love me? You don’t even know what love is,” he said, almost spitting the words out at me.

He turned and got into his pick-up, slamming the door and driving off. I didn’t think he’d believed the part about me not cheating on him. Maybe it was better that way. If he thought the worst of me, maybe he could heal more quickly.

I hated hurting him, but the sense of loss I felt for our broken relationship could not compare with the grief I’d felt this morning when I realized I might never see Damien again.

I stared after Ben’s disappearing truck, alone with my thoughts.

My past life had just erased all the years I had with Ben. Could a person survive losing two great loves in the space of a week?

****

When I got home, I had twenty messages waiting for me on the answering machine, ten of them from Annie. I hit “delete all” and then unplugged the phone. There was absolutely no one in this life I wanted to talk to just now.

Aunt Jo and I didn’t say much over dinner, but she’d fixed pizza and macaroni and cheese, my two favorite foods, and let me drink all the soda I wanted. Usually, I only got one can when I got home, then it was milk at dinner, a tradition Mom had started when I was a kid. I could’ve protested—I was sixteen, after all—but it made me feel connected to her.

For dessert, we had chocolate cake, cookies, and apple pie. Aunt Jo had followed the recipes for all my favorites. She must have baked all day.

I gave a few hearty tries, but I couldn’t eat. I felt too miserable.

Aunt Jo made no comment about Ben. She knows how bad it is, I thought. The Duchess was extra kind too, rubbing herself against my legs and parking herself on my feet while we ate. She stayed with me all through dinner.

Aunt Jo offered to braid my hair and give me a facial—something we had done together with Mom when I was a little girl—but I wasn’t in the mood.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, clearing the table, “but I think I’m going straight to bed,” I said, loading the dishwasher, one of the only modern conveniences we had in the house.

For once, I actually wanted to have the dream, even if it was a nightmare. I thought that at least I’d see him then. I desperately needed to know that this was real, that I hadn’t just destroyed everything good with Ben for nothing.

Sleep eluded me. The Duchess kept me company, purring softly at moments when I couldn’t hold back the tears.

Oh Duchess, I thought, what will I do?

She got up and pranced over to the armoire, which I’d left open before going to bed. Climbing inside, she lifted one paw to point at the ivory dress hanging up.

I hope you’re right, I told her silently.

****

The next morning, everyone had gathered in the parking lot before the bell rang for first period. I parked the Saratoga beside Annie’s Honda, but I didn’t see her outside. I looked around for Ben, but I didn’t see him either.

Angela Rossi stood with the rest of the cheerleaders. They stared at me, a herd of dumb cows with large, stupid eyes. I walked by, catching only part of the conversation. It was not hard to guess who it was about.

“So then, I heard that Ben told her to get lost. I mean, we all kind of expected it. She’s a total loser,” Angela said loudly, hoping, I was sure, that I would hear. Word had gotten round, and Angela had taken sides, concocting an entirely new story.

I didn’t wait around to deny or defend myself. Who cared what they thought?

I sat down beside Annie in first period, grateful for once that it was math, not English. I wasn’t up to seeing Ben just yet.

We had some time before class started.

“I heard about you and Ben,” she began.

“Yeah,” I answered, looking down to avoid meeting her eyes.

“Why didn’t you call me?” she asked.

I could hear the hurt in her voice.

“I just didn’t feel like talking,” I said. It was the truth.

“Zack told me that you told Ben that you loved some other guy,” she said.

I looked up briefly and then down again to my desk. I couldn’t meet Annie’s eyes. I felt too much guilt. I should’ve stayed home today.

“Well? Who is he?” she prodded.

Annie was closer to the truth than anyone, having gone with me initially to see Ramona. But I couldn’t talk about it now.

“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t feel like talking about it. Maybe later,” I finished.

“Okay, but I think you should know that Angela is already spreading rumors that Ben dumped you,” she warned.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yes. Tell everyone that.”

“But that isn’t what happened, is it?”

“No, but it’s the least I can do for Ben.”

“Well, okay, if you say so…”

She gave me a questioning look.

We fell silent for a moment and then Annie looked nervously at me and bit her lip, a clear indication that she wanted to ask something risky.

“Have you been cheating on Ben?” she asked, barely above a whisper. Ben must have told Zack about our conversation.

In a way, I had been cheating on him. Every kiss that Damien had given me, every look, sigh, or caress was a betrayal of Ben. The fact that I couldn’t help it or that I hadn’t experienced it in this life didn’t change my feelings. At least I’d broken up with Ben once I’d realized how I felt.

I shot Annie a look.

“Okay, okay, I get it. You don’t want to talk,” she said, exasperated.

“Thank you,” I said, glad for the reprieve. Was the entire day going to be this way?

Our teacher, Mr. Winters walked in the door and started class. For once, I was glad for the distraction that math could provide, even if I had a hard time actually concentrating. Normally the minutes ticked by slowly, but today they seemed to fly. I dreaded second period, not wanting to see Ben or have everyone watch our first encounter after the break up.

I didn’t know if he would show up for second period, but he did. I knew it was going to be a tough class for both of us.

I took my seat beside him and saw the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. He looked as though he hated me.

We didn’t speak throughout the entire class, and Ben got up to leave first. I knew I’d see him again for chemistry and then history, but at least the initial encounter was over.

Chemistry was harder. We had a lab to do, and Ben was usually my partner. Before taking my seat, I asked Mr. Clayton if he’d let me change seats and partner with Annie. I knew it might hurt Ben, who couldn’t help but overhear my request, but I thought it might be easier for him than having to work with me. Mr. Clayton looked surprised but easily traded my seat with Zack’s. I guessed that perhaps even he’d heard about the break up as well. He looked at me with sympathy. I sincerely hoped that Angela’s version of the story was the one people believed. I owed Ben that, at least.

I took my place by Annie three rows away from Ben, but I could feel his eyes on me. I hoped that history class would be easier. We didn’t have assigned seating, so it would be easier to sit away from him.

When the bell rang to change classes, I waited for the room to clear before I left. I didn’t want to risk bumping into Ben on the way out.

I was the last to enter Mr. Dean’s class and the only student to take a front row seat. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look back. Fortunately, I didn’t get called on. The bell rang, and I knew the next part would be tricky. Everyone was bringing up their insurance forms for the trip, and I wanted to be the last to turn mine in.

Ben didn’t look at me as he submitted his, and I realized only after he left that I’d been holding my breath.

Eventually, I got up and turned my forms in to Mr. Dean. On my way down the hall, I decided to visit Mrs. Anderson’s office. It could only help.

I knocked on the door, already partially open.

She looked at me with raised eyebrows. I hoped she wasn’t too busy.

“Um, I was wondering,” I began after she indicated that I could take a seat.

“Yes?” she inquired politely.

“Could I possibly have a different locker? Maybe one of those near the gym?”

“But they’re for freshman, Emily. You’re a junior.”

“I know.”

She looked at me kindly.

“Is this about Ben?” she asked.

Are you kidding me? Did everyone know?

“Yes,” I said, deciding that it was better just to face it.

“Why don’t you shut my door, and we’ll talk about it,” she offered. Clearly she wanted to explore my emotions, while I just wanted a new locker, one away from Ben.

“Never mind,” I muttered, rising. I really didn’t need a locker anyway. I’d just carry my books to every class.

I got up and left her office in such a hurry that I almost ran headlong into Ben, obviously hanging around in the hall outside her office.

“Oh! Excuse me. I didn’t see you there,” I said stupidly. I could feel myself blushing.

He looked down at me.

"You must really, really hate me,” he said sadly.

“No, I don’t, Ben, honest. I…” I faltered.

What could I say?

“I just don’t want to make things painful for you, that’s all,” I finished, knowing all the time that I was hurting him.

“I get it. You don’t want to see or speak to me. Ever,” he said in a sad voice.

We stared at each other in silence, and then Ben took me by the shoulders, looking into my face.

“I want to meet him,” he growled.

I began to cry, and when he saw it, he abruptly released me. I took off, mentally chastising myself that I didn’t have the guts to face Ben after I’d broken his heart.

****

A month passed and then another. My birthday was in early November—I had just turned seventeen—but I didn’t celebrate much. Normally, we would’ve had a cake and balloons. Ben, Annie, and Zack would’ve come over, and Ben would’ve taken me out. But not this year. I told Aunt Jo that I didn’t want anything special. She still bought me a membership to a yoga class as a gift, trying, I knew, to think of something to distract me. But I doubted I would ever use it. Zack and Annie gave me some silver earrings, and I didn’t, of course, hear anything from Ben.

We had avoided each other since the break up, and I traded seats with someone on the front row of every class we had together. No teacher had an objection to this and neither did the students already sitting there. They counted themselves lucky that I wanted to swap.

The weekend before Thanksgiving approached for the fall fling, and two boys had already asked me, knowing I wouldn’t be going with Ben. I’d turned down both of them, making the excuse that I was going out of town early for Thanksgiving. In a way, it was true. Aunt Jo and I had talked about driving to Daytona Beach. Neither of us wanted to spend the holiday alone in the house without Mom.

Everyday dragged. I didn’t want to wait for March, but Ramona thought that might be my best shot at bringing Damien to the present. It was going to take time for me to prepare, in any case.

I’d searched online for more information about witches, but most of what I found was unhelpful. I’d tried the library again, but the only books I found about witches were Witches and Puritan America, Witchy and Loving It, and Witches, Warlocks, and other Psychopaths. I thought only the first one might be helpful, but it only detailed the effect of “witch mania” on the residents of Salem, Massachusetts during the trials. I suspected that none of those unlucky victims actually were witches.

I tried looking also under the heading of “wise woman” but turned up nothing remotely related to time travel. Ramona was my best source for information, and I visited her shop regularly to learn all I could.

She was now more convinced than ever that I was a wise woman, or a “good witch,” if such a creature exists.

“What are our powers?” I’d asked the last time I saw Ramona.

“It just depends,” she replied. “As you know, mine is seeing across time and into minds.”

“How do you know what yours is?” I asked. So far as I knew, I had no power.

“You’ll feel it. And once you do, you have a choice. You can use your power for good or evil. I once knew a wise woman who could heal others emotionally. All she had to do was concentrate on the pain of another person, and she could take it away.”

I thought of Ben. I wished I could take away his pain.

“I did find some information about witches coming from a long line. I don’t remember my mother having any special powers,” I said.

“Sometimes it can skip a generation, or come through the father’s line. Women can also choose to ignore their power, preferring to live as normal humans. It depends on the strength of the power within them,” she explained.

“Do you suppose that my power may have something to do with my dreams?”

“That’s a possibility. All of us share a common bond. We can, if we concentrate, mentally picture some person or event and then change what will happen.”

“But we can’t all shape the feelings of others?”

“No. That would be a special gift.”

And not mine. I’d already tried three times, holding the ring Ben had given me and trying to make his pain go away through sheer mental effort. Since we didn’t speak to each other, I didn’t know how much progress I’d made, but he looked unhappy when I saw him and very thin. Zack told me he’d quit the swim team, and I knew his grades had fallen. I’d seen his parents with his teachers in the principal’s office and felt guilty when I saw them there. Ben had been an A+ student.

“Ramona, could you try to see into my immediate future—just until March? Perhaps if you could see my efforts at concentrating, you could uncover my power.”

She looked at me thoughtfully.

“Yes, it’s a good idea. We can always try.”

We went back into the room where she’d put me under hypnosis, and I tried to concentrate again on Damien, whose face I still saw in my dreams. Though I hadn’t had the dream where Lamia and her knights chased us through the woods again, I did still dream about Damien.

Ramona stared at me intently, and I had to look away to keep myself focused. She began muttering some sort of repetitive phrase I couldn’t make out, but rather than stop her and ask, I tried to concentrate on helping her.

After about five minutes, she stopped speaking and laid back in the chair, her eyes closed.

“What did you see?” I asked.

“The usual. Holidays with your Aunt Jo. Shopping in Daytona. A colder January than you might expect.”

“Come on, Ramona, you know what I mean.”

She smiled.

“Yes, I know what you mean.”

She leaned in.

“I see that you have the ability to change the circumstances surrounding people, not the people themselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“Up to now, you’ve been concentrating on the individuals themselves, not the events around them. If you think hard enough, you can change events to fit what you have in mind. So, let’s say, for example, that you wanted to miss gym on Thursday. You’re outside playing soccer, right?”

I laughed; she’d certainly found her gift.

“Yes,” I answered, confirming what she already knew.

“There are a number of possibilities here. Let’s say you make it rain so that you don’t have to play outside.”

I became thoughtful.

“You can’t change a mind, but you can change an event.”

“So I could have saved myself in my past life?”

“More than likely. But you didn’t know how to concentrate, did you? You didn’t know that you could have affected events that way. And you felt a great hopelessness when your father rejected you and Damien was taken.”

“Would I even have had the same powers then?”

“Oh yes. Those always carry over from one life to the next, often becoming stronger the more life cycles you experience. And sometimes, you can acquire new ones as well.”

“Have you seen others like me who’ve experienced a past life?”

“Yes, several times. And always their powers are the same, if not greater.”

I went home shortly after that, anxious to experiment. I decided to try first with Aunt Jo.

At four o’clock, her favorite soap opera came on, and I knew she’d be watching. I looked at the TV and started to concentrate, making the picture fuzzy in my mind. A few seconds later, and the TV matched the mental image in my mind.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Aunt Jo muttered, getting up and banging on the set.

“Unbelievable!” I whispered, excited. It had actually worked! I quickly re-imagined a properly working TV. That had taken little effort. Ramona was right; once you discovered your power, you could do anything. It was just a matter of concentration.

I greeted Aunt Jo and then went upstairs to my room. I wondered…if I held Ben’s ring in my hand, could I shape the events close to his life too? What if I could make something wonderful happen for him so that he would forget me? I was suddenly stung by that. I didn’t want Ben to forget me. It was selfish, I knew, but I did still love him. And I missed him, missed us. What I felt for Damien was stronger than love, more intense, as though he were part of me. But somehow it didn’t detract from what I felt for Ben. My past life couldn’t erase the bonds of my current one.

I opened the mahogany jewelry box that had belonged to mother and took out the ring Ben had given me. I read the inscription again: Timeless. I could feel the tears starting, but I quickly pushed them back, knowing I would need all of my energy to concentrate.

I slipped the ring on the third finger of my right hand and began to think of Ben intently. I knew what I’d do first. I would arrange for a college scout to call and offer him an athletic scholarship to the University of Florida for swimming. That should get him to rejoin the swim team, and he’d be able to attend school with his older brother, who could look after him. But I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I also decided he needed to earn better grades; that would be easy. Each test would receive the right answers, no matter what he marked. His parents would be grateful for that, at least.

Finally, I went to work on his relationships. This was harder. I couldn’t change people’s hearts, but I could change what happened to them. Sighing, I regretfully imagined Angela’s face. I knew she and Ben tutored together after school in the student mentoring center on Thursday afternoons. I looked at my watch. It was 4:45, just about the time when the last student should have left. I took a chance and called from the phone in Aunt Jo’s room, hoping that Angela would pick up. She did.

“Mentoring Center. Angela speaking,” she said in a bored voice.

“Um, yeah...Hello. Could you tell me who is there?” I asked, trying to disguise my voice.

“Just Ben and…. wait a minute…is this Emily?” she asked accusingly. I heard several clicks and thought she’d hung up on me. I wasn’t so lucky. Ben had taken the phone from her.

“Emily?” he said, his voice nearly breaking.

This wasn’t going to work if I talked to him. Guiltily, I hung up. I reminded myself that it was for a good cause.

I concentrated on locking the door from the outside. I could unlock it in a couple of hours. In the meantime, Ben could pour out his heart to Angela. I knew she’d had a crush on him all through high school and was just waiting for us to break up. I cringed at the thought. Now was her big chance.

I do love you, Ben, I thought. I just want you to be happy.

****

The next day at school, I pulled into the parking lot beside Annie, who had been waiting for me.

“You’ll never guess,” she began.

“What?” I asked, dread filling me.

"Angela and Ben,” she said.

It was harder to hear than I’d imagined. I couldn’t believe it had happened that quickly. Maybe Ben liked her better than I thought. I remembered the morning of the swim meet when she’d flirted outrageously with him in front of me. I’d only hoped to get the ball rolling, never imagining that they’d already be a couple, less than twenty-four hours later.

“Are you okay?” Annie asked, looked worried about me.

“Sure,” I answered, forcing normalcy into my voice. But it was a lie. Even though I wanted Ben to be happy, it was going to be agonizing to see him with her.

“You know, Zack said that Max is really into you. He’s kinda cute,” Annie offered, trying to lessen the blow. I knew what she was thinking. I could tell that Annie couldn’t understand why I’d break up with Ben. She was trying to cheer me, though.

“No, it’s okay. I just want to be alone right now anyway,” I said, not meeting her concerned eyes.

“Well, if you change your mind, I can get Zack to tell Max,” she offered.

“Thanks, I’ll let you know.”

Later that day, I saw Ben and Angela together holding hands. Though it hit me like a fist, it still couldn’t compare with the grief I felt inside over Damien. I reminded myself that I’d created this situation and that I had to sacrifice Ben to save Damien in March.

Ben caught me looking at him and narrowed his eyes. He’s showing me he doesn’t need me anymore, I thought. That’s fine. I knew this would come. I gave him my best smile and looked forward to a new day.

****

By the end of the week, everyone was talking about Ben’s offer. Ben was, after all, only a junior. The University of Florida had guaranteed him a spot on their swim team because he’d been a star athlete before quitting the team. Just as I predicted, he began swimming again. According to Annie, who received regular updates from Zack, his grades had already begun to improve by the third week, and I felt sure by Christmas that I’d been able to turn his life around. That, at least, lessened my guilt somewhat.

I didn’t try to experiment anymore with my power. It was enough to know that I could do it. I was glad I could use it to make Ben happy, and when he finally spoke to me for the first time since we’d broken up, I felt almost cheerful. It was near Christmas, and we were all about to go home for the break when he came over to me in the parking lot after school.

“Emily, I just wanted you to know…I hope you have a great Christmas,” he said, smiling at me.

He looked like he meant it.

“You too, Ben,” I said, genuinely glad to see him looking so much better.

“I hope you’re happy,” he said quietly.

“I am,” I replied, eager to show him that I felt more normal than I actually was. I still felt the loss of Damien, but I was hopeful for March.

“So how is Damien?” he asked casually.

“I don’t know,” I replied. What should I say? Oh, he’s dead, but I’m hoping to bring him alive soon?

“You mean you guys didn’t get together?” he asked, amazed. I knew what he was thinking—why put him through all that for nothing? I hoped he wasn’t right.

His voice sounded cautious, but there was a note of hope there that I couldn’t help but feel drawn to despite my desire to see him happy with someone else.

“I’m not seeing him again until March,” I answered.

He looked at me, confused.

“I knew he didn’t live around here because I would have known him, but come on, March? Where does this guy live?” he asked.

I didn’t know what to say. The more I told, the more difficult it became to explain.

I looked down, not answering.

“Oh, right, sorry. I guess I’m not allowed to ask those questions…Well, anyway, I hope he’s making you happy, wherever he is. Merry Christmas,” he finished and turned to walk away.

“Merry Christmas, Ben,” I said to his retreating figure.

I thought that by changing the events around his life I could actually change his life. And I could, to a point. But I couldn’t change his heart. I wasn’t even sure I really wanted to.

I sighed and turned the key in the ignition. A few sputtering sounds greeted my efforts. The engine felt like it was about to go. Great. Right when I needed her the most, the Saratoga wouldn’t start. I tried turning it again. This time, nothing happened. I tried several more times, thinking that I would have to use my power, when I heard the knock on my window. It was Ben.

I rolled down the window.

“Looks like she’s finally giving out. Do you want me to take a look? Or give you a lift home?” he offered helpfully.

Ben reached inside to try the ignition. I accidently brushed my hand against his and cringed. I knew he felt his ring on my finger, hidden behind the steering wheel. I’d tried to keep it from him, but I wasn’t sure what would happen if I removed it. Since I’d used the ring to concentrate on reshaping the events around his life, I didn’t want to take it off, afraid I might unravel all my good work.

He grabbed my hand. A look of disbelief crossed his face.

“Emily,” he began. I knew where this was headed. It was written all over his face.

“Don’t say it,” I said quickly.

“For God’s sake, Emily, you’re wearing my ring!” he exclaimed in confusion and happiness.

He had a point.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, withdrawing my hand from his.

“What’s wrong with you? Do you have a terminal illness you’re keeping from me or something? I mean, you aren’t even with this Damien guy. Did you just make him up?” he asked, exasperated.

Had I just made him up?

He didn’t wait for a response.

“Emily, whatever you’ve done or said, I forgive you. I just want this to be over. I haven’t been without you for longer than a week’s vacation, let alone months. I don’t want to lose you forever. Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. Can’t we just get past this?” he asked, the anguish in his voice tearing me to shreds.

Now he was apologizing to me. I really was the lowest creature on earth.

I had only one thought then. I had to get the Saratoga started. I looked down, closed my eyes and started thinking hard. The old girl finally came to life, and I looked one last time at Ben, tears in my eyes.

“Ben, this can’t go on. You have Angela now, and maybe one day we can be friends. But I’m sorry. I just can’t right now. I hope you understand,” I said on a sob.

But how could he? I couldn’t tell him that I loved a medieval knight whom I was either going to bring back from the past or grieve over for the rest of my life. Even I didn’t understand it.

I didn’t look at him as I drove away. I knew that I was hurting him again, and coward that I was, I felt relief to get away. I thought I could help him, could change his life, but it was killing me. I wondered if I could concentrate hard enough to produce enough cash to enroll in a private school until graduation.

****

When I got home, I had four messages, three of them from Annie and one from Ramona. I returned the call to Ramona first, making sure that Aunt Jo was upstairs taking a nap with the door closed.

“Hello, Emily,” Ramona answered instantly. This always freaked me out a little.

“I got your message,” I said.

“I’ve just gotten back into town from a conference,” she said.

“Oh yeah? Did you have a nice time?”

“Yes, I wish you could have joined me. I met some interesting people.”

I’ll bet she did.

“And before you ask, yes, they were all witches. I learned a few things that might be helpful to you in March. And I bought you a present from an antiques dealer who also happens to be a witch.”

“Do you want me to come down to the shop?” I asked.

“Yes, can you come now?”

“Sure. I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

I wrote Aunt Jo a note telling her I went to see a friend and then headed over to Ramona’s store. I needed to stop by the mechanic’s anyway to ask about bringing in the Saratoga for Aunt Jo. Since I primarily drove it, the least I could do was help to maintain it.

I stopped short, laughing. I didn’t need to have it repaired by a mechanic. I could fix it myself with my power. I’d still need to take it in, though, to get it diagnosed, so to speak. I couldn’t imagine how to fix it if I didn’t know what to concentrate on.

I made it to Ramona’s store a few minutes after making an appointment with Bill, the only mechanic in town who knew how to repair the Saratoga. I suddenly thought of Ben, who was very good with cars, even old ones like Aunt Jo’s. I mentally shook my head. That’s over, I told myself for the hundredth time.

Ramona was waiting for me when I entered.

“Sorry I’m a few minutes late,” I said.

“That’s okay. I hope the Saratoga’s feeling better,” she said.

“What? Oh, right. I keep forgetting.”

I followed her to the back room, but this time we went into another sitting room with two large couches and a small stove and fridge.

“Tea?” she asked.

“Sure.”

While she was making the tea, she told me about her trip.

“You meet all sorts at these kinds of events,’’ she said as she stirred the dark brew.

I chuckled, looking at her outrageous, skin-tight green and black outfit. All sorts indeed, I thought.

“One woman had the power to control animals,” she continued. “I’ve never seen the like!”

“Ramona, I’ve been wondering…” I interrupted.

“Yes?”

“Will you let me ask first?”

“Were you going to ask me if you could change Damien once he comes over?”

“Yes,” I said. If he comes over, I thought.

“Now you want to know why.”

I hadn’t even thought that far ahead yet.

“Well, yes, actually. I don’t want to change him per se. I just want him…”

“Modernized,” she finished.

Modernized? I wasn’t so sure about that.

“To be able to communicate with you, to understand your life here when he crosses over,” she finished, reading my thoughts.

This was starting to get on my nerves.

“Yes, something like that,” I replied.

“Remember I told you before that you could do that,” she continued.

“But I still don’t see how. My power is to shape events, not people.”

“But you will be bringing him from the past. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I met two other witches who’ve done this. Timing, they said, was everything. It must be the exact same time of year for it to work.”

“But I’m not sure of the date. I don’t think they even had calendars then like we do now, or if they did, I don’t remember it. I think we marked time with candles,” I finished, trying to remember.

“That’s okay. You’ll be able to intuit it. Both of them said they just knew when it felt like the right time.”

“Did they bring people from their past lives?”

“Yes. And get this: I met them! One was from ancient Greece.”

I was catching Ramona’s enthusiasm and really starting to believe that it could work.

“Could she talk with him normally?” I asked.

“Yes, but she said she had to imagine being able to converse with him when she brought him over. That was essential. I spoke with the other woman, who didn’t do that, and it didn’t work out so well.”

“What do you mean?”

“She brought him over from medieval Italy—Siena—just before the plague. He’d died during an outbreak that wiped out most of the city.”

“What happened?”

“Fortunately, she speaks Italian, but, unfortunately, she didn’t think about the language differences between fourteenth-century and twenty-first century Italian.”

“Oh no! What did she do?” I asked. This was my biggest fear. How could we be together if we couldn’t even speak to each other?

“What else? She’s teaching him modern Italian. She couldn’t exactly enroll him in the local college,” Ramona said, laughing.

“Oh, right,” I said, thinking that I’d never be able to accomplish that.I wouldn’t know where to begin and thought regretfully that I hadn’t ever paid much attention to my language teachers in school.

By this time, Ramona had made the tea, and as I began to sip the strong brew, she handed me a large, rectangular box.

I felt pretty certain I knew what it contained. Sure enough, when I opened it, I found small rosary beads attached to a cross.

“Thanks, Ramona,” I said, enthusiastic for the first time in months.

“They’re authentic. I checked,” she said smugly.

“You mean…” It couldn’t be.

“Yes, early thirteenth century.”

“But you must have paid a fortune for this! Where did you get it?”

“Actually, they were a gift. I just happened to tell some of the others about you, and voila, one of them volunteered this to help you! She’d been a time traveler herself. They aren’t from England, but that shouldn’t make a big difference.”

“No kidding. Thanks. I owe you.”

She laughed.

“Don’t worry; I’ll come to collect some day,” she said cryptically, taking out another bag from one of the overhead cabinets.

“What’s this?” I asked, curious.

“I told you I bought you something,” Ramona said, handing it to me.

I could read Mary Kay on the side.

“Open it,” she said.

I removed the tissue paper and found a complete make-up set, with brushes, glosses, and eye-shadows.

I raised an eyebrow. I never wore makeup.

“I thought you said you bought me something? Don’t you sell this stuff?” I asked.

She looked a little sheepish.

“I do. But the conference was a Mary Kay event,” she explained.

“I thought you said it was for witches?” I asked, confused.

“It is. We like to look good too, you know,” she said, laughing. “I bought it from the woman who gave me that rosary,” she explained, shrugging her shoulders. “Even though I sell the exact same product, it was the least I could do,” she continued, laughing.

“Besides,” she explained, “you want to look good for Damien when he comes over!”

She cackled, truly looking like a witch then, and I couldn’t help but smile, wondering if I’d ever meet more of our kind. I realized then that I’d begun to embrace who and what I was. I guess I had to, not having much choice if I wanted to bring Damien from the past.

I thanked Ramona for the gift and left shortly after that, tucking the box with the rosary safely inside my pocket. I felt surer about what I was going to do than ever. All I had to do was wait. And hope I was strong enough.

Chapter Nine

"Limbo"

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith

But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.

The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,

The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy

Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony

Of death and birth.

T. S. Eliot, “East Coker”

January is the longest month of the year. I looked out of my window at the drizzle and sighed. Two more months to go. The wait seemed interminable.

Christmas passed by quietly. In past years, Ben had come over for dinner or I’d gone over to see his folks. Since we weren’t together anymore, Aunt Jo and I had spent a lonely day watching several old home movies with my mother in them. Aunt Jo even had a really old one of my father playing with me as a toddler on a swing set in our backyard in Colorado. I think she wanted to cheer me, but it just made me more depressed, reminding me of other loved ones no longer with me.

I couldn’t wait to try my spell in March. The vision I’d had under hypnosis seemed very far away, and even though I still dreamed of Damien’s face, the dreams weren’t as frequent or as real to me. I began to have doubts again that this would work, but the more skeptical I was, the more I knew that I needed it to work.

It didn’t help that Ben had tried calling me several times since that last day in the parking lot. Despite what I’d told him, he’d seen me wearing his ring, and I knew that meant more than any words. He still went out with Angela—Annie gave me regular updates—but I felt fairly sure that he wanted to get back together with me.

I didn’t know what I would do if I couldn’t bring Damien to the present. Try again? Give up? Seek a more powerful witch, perhaps one of those who’d already done it before? It was frustrating at best, maddening at worst.

Could I live without him? I heard a resounding no to that question. But I’d lived without him all my life, I argued to myself.

No, you didn’t, I reasoned. He’s always been with you, not just in this life but throughout time.

As much as I still cared for Ben, I didn’t think I could go back to him even if I wasn’t strong enough to pull Damien to the present. Maybe I could find some happiness with him, just as Ramona had predicted, but that wasn’t fair to him. And I knew I’d never love him the way I did Damien.

Annie had tried asking me several times about how I felt about Ben, but I put her off as best I could. I knew that she didn’t believe Damien was real, and who could blame her? He had yet to appear, and I hadn’t told anyone but Ramona about what I was doing in March. Instead, I just explained to anyone who asked me that I met him on a vacation last summer. I told Annie that I must have dreamed about him as a knight, dismissing the whole notion of a past life. I knew how crazy I sounded. Maybe I was crazy. It felt like it some days.

I sighed, getting my books together for school. Annie was picking me up today. I didn’t want to be in the parking lot alone again and run into Ben. I heard her honking the horn, and I ran outside, climbing in the passenger’s side.

“So, how was your weekend?” she began.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” I replied, glad for once that she didn’t bring up Ben and Angela.

“When are you going to come out with us again, Emily? I know it’s awkward with Zack and Ben and everything, but I miss you,” she said, sounding a little hurt.

“Annie, you know I can’t. It would feel too weird, you know, with them.”

I wished I could escape them for one day.

“We should do something. And I think Zack misses you too. We all do,” she finished quietly.

“I know,” I said, not looking at her.

I felt guilty. I’d avoided everyone because of Ben.

“Well, let’s go somewhere on Friday, okay?” she asked.

I still hesitated.

“It can just be us, a girl’s night out,” she offered.

“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly, though I did miss Annie. And I knew there was no way she’d invite Angela.

We arrived at school, and I saw Ben holding Angela’s hand. They were sitting outside on the picnic tables—right in the spot where I usually ate lunch now.

I saw them before they saw me. Angela turned around, shooting me a nasty look.

I looked away, hoping Ben wouldn’t look up. If he did, he didn’t call out my name. I’d still have to see him in English class, anyway, so what did it matter?

By now, we sat almost an entire classroom away from each other in every period. He’d moved closer to Angela in every class we had together, and I’d seen him kissing her several times in the parking lot. I thought about what Annie had told me about Angela the day Ben had given me the ring, but I stopped before I could let that thought progress. There were limits even to my tolerance for self-inflicted pain.

Even though it still hurt to see Ben with someone new, it had definitely gotten better, the pain lessening every day as I drew closer to finding Damien. I was, by this time, so focused on what I had to do in two months that I really didn’t think about them all that often. And I had indirectly set them up, after all. I couldn’t expect Ben to stay miserable, and if he was happy, I was grateful to Angela. But that didn’t mean I had to like her or want to see them together.

I arrived to English before Ben. For once, everyone pored over their books. We had begun studying poetry. Ms. May required us to memorize a love poem and recite it in front of the class that day. I had chosen Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116, thinking of Damien when I read it. I had to believe that nothing could ever stand in our way.

When class began, I volunteered first, wanting to get the recital over as soon as possible. Careful not to look in Ben’s direction, I focused instead on Damien’s face, which gave me courage. I closed my eyes, clearing my voice and trying to force out the trembling before I started. I could feel myself blushing, but couldn’t help it. I took a deep breath and began.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

I thought of Damien as I said those lines. Yes, I thought our love would bear out all things, and we had already faced the edge of doom. A feeling of intense happiness filled me. I smiled, feeling the blush creep into my face for a different reason as I considered the possibility that I would see him again in person.

“Thank you, Emily,” Ms. May said, snapping me out of my daydream. I realized I was still standing in front of everyone with my eyes closed.

As I returned to my seat, I heard Ben drop his pencil, causing me instinctively to look up. He stared at me intently, the first time I could remember since he’d started seeing Angela.

Ben raised his hand to volunteer next. So he wanted to get it over with too.

As he began, I consciously avoided his gaze, but I could feel the force of his love as he said lines that seemed to speak directly to our past. He’d chosen Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet XLIII, a poem we’d read aloud together many times before.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

He said the lines with such passion, and his gaze never wavered, compelling me finally to look at him. There could be no question that he meant me when he said those lines. I knew what it meant to love someone after death. Did Ben feel about me the way I felt about Damien? A terrible dread filled me. Was there no end to this pain?

I felt the unbidden tear roll down my face. Where would this end? Where could it? I realized that I still loved Ben despite the inescapable drawing from the past. And yet, it lacked something now, something I needed. Love itself had altered, and I could not return to the young girl I had been. What was comfortable, familiar to me could no longer satisfy my soul. The first time I saw Damien in my dreams, I felt something beyond myself, almost beyond the capacity for human experience, an ecstasy of our speaking souls communicating across time. A coup de foudre, a sudden, overwhelming love.

My love for Ben felt real but ultimately sublunary, not a sublime force of nature. Damien had had the power to call me from across the grave. A normal human relationship—even as good as the one I’d had with Ben—just couldn’t compare. Damien and I existed on some other, ethereal plane where we needed no corporeal form to express our love. It transcended the body.

My hands shook, and I knew I would cry in earnest in a few moments. I couldn’t help it, but others had begun to notice, including Ben. I needed desperately to get away. I decided to use my power, concentrating hard and finally hearing my wish come true. The fire alarm went off.

I started to collect my books, meaning to leave the room last, when I heard his voice.

“You don’t get your things during a fire drill,” Ben said, standing in front of my desk.

“There’s no fire,” I said, not looking at him to hide my tears.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“I just do, okay?” I snapped at him, sobbing and running out of the classroom.

I heard Ben call out to me, but I didn’t look back. I felt the keys in my pocket, and I headed for the parking lot. I knew I’d get detention for skipping the rest of the day, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t take this agony anymore.

I realized when I got outside that I hadn’t driven to school that day. I was stuck. The school was several miles away from Aunt Jo’s house. If I left now, I’d have to walk. I started for the road home, which ran parallel to the gym. Storm clouds had gathered, and an ominous thunder clap threatened rain. I didn’t have long to wait. The skies opened to a torrent of water, pelting my face, already wet with tears.

“Emily,” I heard a voice shout behind me.

Ben had followed me, catching me by the arms to stop me before I could escape the parking lot.

For one moment, I wanted to give in to the temptation of running into his arms. It would be so easy, so right, wouldn’t it?

As it was, I had little choice. I stood there, sobbing in the rain, and I didn’t know who the tears were for. I’d shed them every night for two months when I knew I’d lost Damien, but I knew that I cried for Ben too.

He put his arms around me in front of the entire school, which had come out, annoyed at having to stand outside in the rain for what turned out to be a false alarm.

A muffled voice blared over the loudspeaker. They were calling all of us back in, but Ben and I just stood there, him holding me in his strong arms.

I don’t know how long we remained like that—it could have been two minutes or two hours—but he offered to drive me home, and I said yes. I’d worry about how I would get him out of detention later.

When we got into his pick-up, neither of us said anything for several minutes. Ben finally broke the silence.

“Emily, I know you’re not coming back to me, but I just want to know why.”

He didn’t sound angry or bitter, just terribly, terribly sad.

I gulped. I owed him something, even if it was a half-truth.

“You’re right. Why don’t we pull over?” I said nervously. I didn’t want to explain this in front of Aunt Jo.

Ben slowed down, turned off the main road, and then shut off the engine. He looked at me expectantly.

I took a deep breath.

“I met Damien some time ago,” I started, not knowing exactly where this was headed.

“How long ago?” he asked, clearly wanting specifics. This was getting harder.

“When I was a small child,” I equivocated. That was true—it was just in my past life.

“You mean, before you met me?”

“Yes.”

“In Colorado?”

“Um, no.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It was in England.”

“But you’ve never been to England…”

“Yes, actually, I have.”

“You never told me that. When was this?”

“A really long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

How old was I? I thought I remembered being around five when my father—in my past life—had brought Damien to the castle.
“Five.”

Ben eyed me suspiciously.

“Emily, are you lying to me?”

Yes and no.

“Ben, listen to me. It’s a strange story, and you wouldn’t believe it anyway.”

“Try me.”

I stared at him, not wanting to answer him but not able to look away, either. He deserved more than what I’d given him.

Here goes, I thought, not sure yet what I was about to tell him. I took another deep breath.

“Do you remember last fall, when I started having those dreams?”

“Yes, I remember,” he said in a voice letting me know that he would never forget. That was the beginning of the end for us.

I suddenly decided to tell him everything—nothing improvised or made-up. Just the truth. What did I have to lose? He already thought I was crazy, making up Damien just to get away from him. So I told him everything and watched his eyes, which never strayed away from my face. He didn’t say a word until I’d finished.

I finally ended my strange story and fell silent. Ben didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I knew it would take awhile for what I’d told him to register.

“Emily, are you serious?” he finally asked.

“Completely.”

Would he believe me? I could tell he was trying to decide if I was crazy or not.

“Ben, if I showed you what I can do, would you believe me?”

“Maybe,” he said skeptically.

“Choose something—anything. And I’ll be able to change it with my mind,” I said, now anxious to show some proof that I wasn’t completely insane.

“Alright, make it stop raining,” Ben challenged.

I imagined a bright day, not having to think too hard to change it. I didn’t have to work nearly as much as I did even a month ago. The more I used my power, the easier it became. Ramona had explained to me that it was like a muscle.

The rain began to let up, and the sun came out.

He looked at me in amazement.

“You did that?” he asked incredulously.

I nodded and could feel myself blushing.

“No wait. That could have been coincidence,” he said, disbelieving his own eyes. I couldn’t blame him.

“Alright, then pick something else,” I said quietly.

“Do you see that billboard?” he asked, pointing to the large black-and-white canvas, an ad for a local newspaper.

I nodded.

“Can you change that?” he asked.

It took almost no effort at all.

I changed the board to match a Monet painting of lilies, the same poster I had plastered on the wall in my bedroom at home. I knew Ben would recognize it immediately.

I looked over to him. He’d stopped breathing for a minute.

“Emily, you really are a…”

“A witch,” I finished for him. He looked at me with new eyes. I wondered if my telling him the truth would achieve what all my other efforts could not. Would he now reject me because of what I was?

He started the truck again, and we rode in silence the rest of the way home. I noticed that Ben’s hand shook a little as he shifted gears.

When we got home, I saw that the Saratoga was gone and remembered that Aunt Jo decided to go to Daytona to have her hair done for the day. She only went once a year. But I still didn’t think it was a good idea to invite Ben to come in.

He seemed to understand. He sighed audibly and turned to me.

“Emily, it makes no difference to me. If it works out in March for you, fine, but if it doesn’t…” He stopped, but I knew what he meant. He was trying to tell me that he still wanted me even knowing I loved someone else. My voice caught. I did love him, had loved him for years. It just wasn’t strong enough. Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t ignore what I felt for Damien, who called to me across time.

Before I got out, I looked at Ben, really looked at him. He put out his hand, reaching over to smooth back my hair as he had a thousand times before. I didn’t say anything, but I felt all the weight of our past suddenly pushing me forward. I pulled Ben to me, kissing him harder than I ever had before. I tried to let my lips say what my heart could not.

I broke off suddenly. It was too late to turn back.

“Goodbye, Ben,” I said without looking at him. I quickly opened the door to go for the last time. This time, I meant it.

Chapter Ten

"Flight"

If you came this way,

Taking any route, starting from anywhere,

At any time or at any season,

It would always be the same: you would have to put off

Sense and motion…prayer is more

Than an order of words, the conscious occupation

Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

Since the day I’d told Ben who and what I was, he’d left me alone, but a new sadness had come into his eyes. And I didn’t think it had anything to do with Angela Rossi.

Ben didn’t have to wait for rumor to reach Angela. She’d seen us embracing the day of the fire alarm and immediately dumped Ben. Even though I disliked Angela, I still felt terrible. Ben deserved someone, and I’d wrecked their relationship.

I had no real doubt that Ben could get her back, but he didn’t try. And I didn’t use my power this time. Ben likely already suspected I’d locked the door that afternoon in the mentoring center.

Though we’d agreed to be friends, even sitting together again at lunch, Ben and I didn’t talk much. It was too hard for both of us, and I needed to focus on preparing for the upcoming trip.

March approached, and I felt both nervous and more excited than ever before. I couldn’t wait to try my power and bring Damien back from the past.

When the actual morning of the trip arrived, Aunt Jo took me to the airport in Daytona. I’d decided not to meet everyone at school first and ride on the bus. As we drove, she repeated all the safety rules she’d told me the night before.

“Yes, Aunt Jo, I promise not to lose my passport. No, Aunt Jo, I won’t go off alone by myself,” I assured her, hating that I had to lie. If she only knew, I thought.

It was essential that I travel alone by train to find the chapel in the woods, and I’d already planned for this by approaching Mr. Dean and telling him I had family near Salisbury that I wanted to see. He looked at me skeptically, but didn’t say no outright. I thought I could easily elude him for a day. And that was all the time I needed to cast the spell.

I was not yet sure what my story would be once I brought Damien to the present, but I’d worry about that later. Perhaps I could bring him back as a distant relative or friend of a cousin. I’d actually already called the airline and booked him a one-way ticket home with me, hoping that I’d be able to bring him back. Ramona had felt confident, and so did I. The practical details were the least of my worries.

A few days before the trip, Mr. Dean finally told me he had no problem with my detour as long as Aunt Jo approved. This was a bit trickier. Using my power, I produced a note ostensibly written by her. It was much better than a forgery since it actually was her handwriting. I thought he might call Aunt Jo to verify it, and I sat by the phone waiting for his call. But he didn’t, telling me on the morning of the trip that he trusted me since I was such a good student. That shamed me a little, but I knew it couldn’t be helped.

When we arrived at the terminal, I kissed Aunt Jo goodbye and told her not to worry. Everyone was already there, I saw, getting out of the bus just ahead of us. I quickly unloaded my bags and went over to join the others. Ben stood somewhat at a distance.

“There you are!” Annie began.

“I’m not late, am I?” I asked.

“No, but I worried with the Saratoga and all.”

We laughed. For a brief moment, it felt like old times.

After Mr. Dean counted us off, we entered the airport, checking in and then heading through security to wait for the next two hours before boarding the plane.

Zack and Ben went off to find food, while Annie and I sat down.

“So this is kind of weird, you know, with Ben,” she said.

“Not really. I think things are okay now,” I answered, more assured than I felt. They were as okay as they would ever be, I thought.

“Yeah, it seems better. At least he’s not with Angela,” she said, rolling her eyes. I was grateful that Angela had decided not to go on the trip, choosing instead to cruise the Caribbean during break. I thought that she probably wanted to avoid Ben and me, though I still felt guilty about causing their break-up.

“I was sorry to hear about that,” I said.

“Are you serious?” Annie asked me, incredulous.

“Of course. I want Ben to be happy.”

But did I really want to see him with someone else? Ben seemed content enough without her, but I knew that he was still hoping for a reconciliation with me.

Ben and Zack had come back, pizza and coke bottles in hand.

“I got you a slice,” Ben said, handing me a slice. “Pepperoni, mushrooms, and extra cheese, right?”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t so nice, but I had to admit, it felt good to have Ben take care of me as he always had.

Zack and Annie looked at each other knowingly, and I knew they thought we’d get back together during the trip.

We ate our pizza in silence, all of us, I knew, with our own thoughts. Zack was texting; Annie was reading a magazine; Ben was concentrating on one of the guidebooks he’d bought before the trip. I was too excited and nervous to think of anything but the task that lay ahead of me.

“Now boarding…” the announcer called over the loud speaker, interrupting my thoughts.

I stood up, and Ben automatically grabbed my carry-on bag.

“That’s okay, I got it,” I said, taking it from him.

He put his hand on my arm.

“It’s cool, Emily. I’m not going to bother you. I’m just being polite. You know, like friends?”

“Oh, right,” I said, feeling horrible. What was wrong with me?

We boarded in silence. As it happened, my seat was next to his.

“I’ll trade with Zack, so you can sit with Annie,” he offered.

“No, Ben, it’s okay. Really,” I said, thinking that I was glad we’d come this far after the break up.

I didn’t want Ben to think I was completely heartless. And I realized that I did want to sit beside him. I missed Ben and could use some support—as long as it didn’t mean that he believed we were getting back together. I didn’t want to cause him more pain.

He looked at me and smiled, and I knew then that I wanted him in my life, no matter how things turned out with Damien. I missed his friendship too much.

We took our seats, and I stared out of the window, anxious to find the place in my dream. Even though we’d broken up, it felt right to sit next to Ben, as though I was touching both of my futures at once. It was impossible, I knew, but a strong feeling nevertheless.

We sat in silence for the first hour of the flight, neither of us bothering to watch the in-flight movie that had started. Eventually, he put his hand over mine, casually, as though to offer support.

“However this turns out, Emily, remember that I want your happiness,” he said, somehow sensing what I would do. I hadn’t told anyone but Ramona about my plans.

I wanted to tell him how much I loved him for saying that, but I knew it would be too cruel. I couldn’t tell him how I felt without opening the wound all over again.

We sat together for the duration of the flight. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep on his shoulder. I awoke sometime later with a start, waking up Ben in the process. I’d been dreaming of Damien, and we were in the woods again, running from Lamia and her guards. I’d not had this dream in a long time. I reached into my inner pocket for the rosary beads for comfort.

Not having grown up a Catholic, I was unsure what to say, but all of a sudden I felt the need to pray. Aunt Jo and I had attended some church services when I was young, but we hadn’t been back since Mom died over a year ago.

The only formal prayer I remembered was the Lord’s Prayer, so I said that, feeling the beads between my fingers.

“Deliver us from evil…” I murmured, not realizing I’d uttered the words aloud.

“Emily, are you okay?” Ben asked.

I didn’t immediately hear him.

“Emily?” he repeated.

“What? Oh, yes…yes, I’m okay. Just a little tired. Got a crick in my neck, that’s all,” I replied. I rubbed my neck and stretched for emphasis.

Ben called for a flight attendant, ordering us both some water.

“Is it hot in here, or is it me?” I said, reaching in my pocket for a rubber band to pull back my hair. My throat felt dry, and my heart raced.

For once, I was grateful for the water and splashed myself in the face and neck before taking a long drink. It was as though a strange feeling had come over me, a feeling of danger that I remembered from the dream.

“What is it?” Ben asked, knowing it wasn’t a stiff neck or the heat.

“I just got hot sitting here,” I said evasively, not knowing how to explain the feeling I had.

Ben looked at me doubtfully. I couldn’t explain it to myself, let alone to him.

We had a connecting flight in New York, where we waited for passengers to disembark or get on. Then we were on our way for a direct overnight flight to London. I felt as though I’d been sitting on the plane forever. The air felt hot and sticky. Increasingly, I couldn’t breathe and nearly hyperventilated. I excused myself, stood up, and walked down the cabin aisle, glad when the intense feeling of nausea and fear subsided. Several minutes later, I felt calm enough to return to my seat, my heart beat slowing down.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. I drifted in and out of sleep, and I could tell that Ben was watchful, worried about me. I couldn’t shake the feeling of something dangerous looming over me, but neither could I imagine turning back. I’d come too far.

We arrived in London to a cold, wet day. Once we’d gotten our bags, took the train, and found our hotel, I decided to investigate the best available means of transport to Salisbury.

The front desk attendant answered me without looking away from her computer.

“You’ll have to check the train schedule. I think several run out daily, but I’m not sure how often,” she finished matter-of-factly, idly pointed to the hotel computers. There were only two of them, and everyone wanted to check email to let their parents know they’d arrived safely.

That will take forever, I thought, cringing. I needed to know now so I could make my plans.

I saw a phone in the lobby. I asked the attendant to look up the station number and decided to call.

Getting there would be easy, but how long would it take? I called for the schedule and then took out the itinerary that Mr. Dean had distributed on the plane. I decided to have a headache as the first part of my story and would ask Annie to tell Mr. Dean that I’d be in bed for the day tomorrow. Mr. Dean had decided to renege on his promise to let me go visit “relatives” by myself, despite the forged note from my Aunt. I thought at first that he’d called Aunt Jo after all, but she never said a word to me.

It would be difficult to get away, but I wasn’t going to wait for a more opportune time. We were only in London for a few days before moving on to Paris and Rome, where we’d take a flight back. I didn’t have any time to lose.

Annie wanted to come, believing my story about exploring some ruins I’d read about near Stonehenge. She was always up for something adventurous.

“No,” I told her firmly.“It’s something I need to do alone.”

“But you’re just going to explore some old stones,” she complained.

I explained that I had a special historical interest in Stonehenge, which wasn’t too far from the castle in my dreams. I hoped that someone could help me once I was there. I knew it wasn’t the best plan, but how could I ask someone to help me find a place that had been in ruins even in the thirteenth century?

“You’ll just be bored,” I said, which would have been true if I’d been going to Stonehenge. Annie wasn’t all that interested in history.

“Besides,” I continued, “somebody has to cover for me. I’ll do it for you in Paris, okay?”

“Oh, okay. But what’s the fun of an adventure without someone to share it?” she grumbled.

Ben came up to us in the lobby. He’d overheard the last part of our conversation.

“I want to come,” he said firmly.

“No. Absolutely not,” I replied. That’s just what I needed—to bring Damien, my new love, to the present with Ben, my old love.

“Emily, you’ve never been anywhere besides Colorado or Florida in your entire life. I don’t see you going all over England by yourself,” he argued.

“I’m not going all over England. I’m just going to one part of England. And I’m not stupid, thank you very much,” I shot back.

“Emily, you know that’s not what I meant,” he said, exchanging a look with Annie, who shrugged at him.

“Well, forget it,” I said.

“I’ll tell Mr. Dean,” he threatened.

“That’s low, Ben. Give me some credit, okay? I’ve been planning this for months now,” I said, worried that he might actually follow through on his threat.

He looked hurt.

“Alright,” he said, “but I hope you know what you’re doing.”

He turned to go upstairs, and I felt relieved. I had my schedule set for the next day. I could hardly wait.

Chapter Eleven

"Touching Eternity"

Here, the intersection of the timeless moment

Is England and nowhere. Never and always.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

Stonehenge looked mystical, timeless. I’d remembered some of the landscape from the dream, but it appeared like a magical place, with the fog hanging low over the ground, clinging to the large stones that stood mysteriously erect, defying the powers of human explanation to explain their appearance. I had my own theories about them, believing that those ancient pagans were probably witches. I knew how they’d moved the stones.

Sheep dotted the surrounding fields of Salisbury, creating a pastoral scene that looked as if it belonged to a faraway time, which, of course, it did to me. I surveyed the patchwork quilt of earth spread before me in varying shades of green and smiled. I felt close to the past here, and for the first time, I thought I might actually succeed in casting my spell. Nowhere else on earth seem better attuned for it.

Most tourists took the bus to see the city and its famous cathedral, which had the tallest spire in England, or to visit Stonehenge. I definitely knew I needed to go toward the stones. I guessed that the castle—or what was left of it—would not be too far away, and I hoped the bus driver could give me directions before I disembarked. I was not disappointed.

I waited for the tourists to leave and then paused before getting off too.

“Yes?” the drive asked me politely.

“I was wondering,” I began, taking a gamble. “Could you tell me if Montavere Castle is nearby?”

He paused and scratched his head.

“Don’t believe I’ve heard of it,” he replied.

I suppose I had to expect that. It had been almost eight hundred years, and the registry had listed it having been destroyed.

“Oh…” I paused, thinking a moment. “How about any ruins to a castle or a small chapel near this area?” I asked.

He continued to look at me, puzzled. I knew it was a long shot.

“Maybe you have the wrong part of England? We got castles aplenty here, but I can’t say I’ve…no, wait,” he said, suddenly thoughtful.

I looked at him hopefully.

“It’s been years since anyone’s talked about it, but there are ruins not too far from here—it might have once been a castle, but I can’t say for sure.”

“How far away is it?” I asked excitedly.

“Oh, a good ten minutes, at least, by bus,” he answered.

My shoulders slumped. It was farther than I’d originally thought to walk there, likely a good ten miles.

I thanked him, asked about the general direction of where I was heading and got off at the tourist center at Stonehenge. I decided I’d have to use my power if I was going to get anywhere. I was determined that the next bus I saw would take me to the ruins of Montavere Castle.

I sat down to concentrate. It was good practice, I thought, for what was to come.

A few minutes later, a red bus came into view. It carried no passengers. The driver pulled to the stop, and I got on.

The driver sat as if waiting for others who never arrived, and then we were off, passing first a few houses before heading off the main road. He didn’t say a word to me, and I concentrated on the place in my dream, hoping to navigate us mentally.

We took a bumpier road where it looked as if few, if any, regularly traveled. The two people we did meet by the side of the road stopped to stare at the bus, clearly puzzled to see us in this remote area. We’d left any paved roads behind us some time ago.

On our way, we had to stop once for a cow grazing. The driver honked his horn, and she finally ambled over enough for us to get around her.

A few miles further on and the road ended abruptly. I could see woods ahead.

“This is as far as I can take you. The castle is through there,” the driver told me in a faraway voice that sounded just a little too creepy for comfort. Had I conjured him from somewhere? It was a frightening thought what I could do with this power.

He pointed to the woods, indicating that I’d have to travel on foot to get there.

“Thanks,” I said, getting up and seeing a sign that read “Pike’s Woods.”

I paused before getting off the bus.

“Why is it called Pike’s Woods?” I asked. I hadn’t remembered the forest having a name in my dream, but I knew it had been a very long time ago.

“Fellow named Pike went into the woods about fifty years ago. He never came back out,” he answered.

I gulped.

“Oh.”

“You be careful, miss. It’s wild out there,” he warned.

“Thanks. I will.”

I climbed out of the bus and stood facing the woods. I took a few steps and then suddenly turned back. The bus had vanished behind the mist.

I guess I’ll have to go now, I thought, mentally preparing myself to enter the dark forest.

I felt an immediate sensation of having entered my dream. Dread plagued me, and I fought the urge to run away. I walked slowly towards the darkness, climbing over fallen tree trunks and thorny brush as I entered. The nettles caught at my jacket and face, sometimes scraping my skin. I’d had the foresight, at least, to pin up my hair. I’d remembered it catching on low handing branches in my dream.

I had no idea which direction to take, but I felt a strong urge guiding my footsteps. I knew where I needed to go, and I trusted my instincts, remembering what Ramona had told about the other time travelers.

I walked through the forest for some time, an eerie silence pervading the area around me, as though nature had lost its voice—no birds sang, no insects chirped. Just as I thought I’d started going in circles, the woods thinned, and there it stood, looming above me in the mist, Montavere Castle. The ruins sat atop a small hill, all but forgotten by humanity. Nearly eight hundred years was a long time, I reminded myself.

I eagerly climbed the hill, searching around the partially standing exterior wall of the castle for the door—or some clue to the entrance—leading to the secret passage. The wall tapered off to a few stones scattered among the rising grass. Time had forgotten the castle and what it hid below.

I doubled back and climbed through an opening in the walls, picking my way carefully. The sense of apprehension became much stronger the further in I climbed, and I couldn’t help but feel disappointed that so much of what I’d remembered seemed to have vanished.

A winding staircase led upwards, and judging from the angle of the castle, it had to be the North Tower. An internal compass seemed to guide my steps onward. I tried climbing a few steps, but they cracked, nearly breaking off entirely when I shifted my weight on them. I slowly made my way back down and crossed the large space I imagined to be the hall, standing where I felt sure the dais had once stood. I closed my eyes, letting my intuition guide me in the direction that Damien and I had taken when we’d tried to make our escape. Despite my certain knowledge of some rooms, I couldn’t get my exact bearings. Whatever was under this castle would be difficult, if not impossible, to find. And I didn’t want to be trapped beneath the castle, the remains of which looked like they could crumble at any time if I made one wrong step. I thought about using my power, but somehow I didn’t want to disrupt what time had done to the stones. I might be able to recreate the structure totally from memory, but that would also leave me drained. I had to save my energy for the task ahead.

As I passed under an arch, I felt something hit me from behind. Stumbling, I fell headlong onto the stones below, a gash opening from my forehead. Looking around, I saw that a gargoyle had broken off, its evil leer turned in my direction. I quickly turned away, only to face another one staring at me. Visibly shaking, I ran to the opening where I’d entered the castle, the blood streaming. Disoriented and not a little shaken, I felt glad to leave the castle behind. Wiping my head with my shirt, I headed in the direction of the woods, deciding to try the chapel next. I stopped, closing my eyes again to allow my intuitive sense of direction to guide me.

I entered the dark forest from a different angle this time, feeling surer that these woods exactly matched the ones I’d remembered and dreamed about. I felt a sense of fear and urgency draw me onward, and I knew, after a few minutes, that I was close to the clearing that led to the chapel ruins.

I stopped short when I saw a small pond, realizing that I’d begun to hold my breath. The feeling of hysteria rose up in me, and I worked hard to push it down. My fear of water nearly compelled me to run in the opposite direction, but I forced myself to move on. I passed by the pond hastily, knowing the last time I’d seen it was the day I died in 1216.

The chapel should appear just beyond the clearing—the site, at least, must have remained unchanged, even if the ruins hadn’t.

Though it had begun as a cloudy, rainy day, the sun had finally emerged while I’d gone to find the church in the woods, which opened to reveal the clearing. The small pocket of light gladdened my heart. I rushed to stand in the circle, raising my face to the sun and closing my eyes to soak up the warmth from above. It helped to mitigate the sense of danger I’d felt near the water where I’d met my death before. This alone was a place I knew, a place of remembered happiness, of hours in Damien’s arms. It gave me the courage to return to the dark forest and search for the chapel.

What I came across shortly thereafter were not the ruins of the chapel where we’d pledged our love but an actual chapel, obviously rebuilt from stone and standing in the place I remembered.

That’s odd, I thought. I was sure I had the right place. My heart sped up when I saw it, and I felt the strangest sensations as I approached the entrance.

I pushed the heavy wooden door and entered the church, a small stone edifice that reminded me of pictures I’d found of gothic churches built during the thirteenth century. I took a cautious step in, then another.

“Hello?” I called out tentatively.

A man who looked like a priest glanced up. He’d been stacking brochures on the table behind the last row of pews.

“Are you lost? Can I help you?” he asked politely.

“Oh! Hello!” I said, startled.“I was wondering,” I continued, recovering quickly, “could you tell me how old this church is?”

He beamed at me, standing straight up and walking over towards me. He had kind, light blue eyes and looked to be about sixty years old. He indicated that I should take a seat on the last pew, which I did, and he assumed a professorial stance, looking as though he were about to give a lecture on the church’s history.

I was not, I reckoned, the average American tourist, though it was hard to imagine any tourists out here in such a remote place. Nevertheless, he looked eager to tell me more than I wanted to know.

“The edifice around you was built in 1235, or rebuilt, I should say, on the ruins of a much older structure destroyed sometime before then. The records do not indicate when the original foundation was laid. We do know that the church was stripped of its wealth and all but destroyed again by Henry VIII during the dissolution of the monasteries in the 1530s. It was nevertheless not immune from the king’s destructive vendetta against the true church,” he said emphatically, as if these were current issues, not ones from long ago. So it was a Catholic, not an Anglican chapel, I thought, somehow relieved. That might work in my favor when I cast the spell to bring Damien forward.

The priest finished, nodding at me as though he expected me to know all about sixteenth-century politics. I was only dimly aware of the Protestant Reformation in England, having little interest in history after 1216. I smiled politely, wondering how I could extricate myself. I was anxious to begin but also extremely nervous.

He looked as though he might begin a lengthier discussion of monasteries in England, so I quickly thanked him and asked if I could look at the paintings on either side of the altar. I wanted to find the exact spot where Damien and I had stood in our dream, and I needed complete quiet to concentrate.

“Certainly,” he assured me, asking if I wanted to know about the history of the pictures. I almost snapped at him in my impatience to get started but forced myself to decline politely.

“Well then,” he said, disappointed, “I’ll leave you to it.”

He looked meaningfully at the donation jar on the table at back of the church. I reached into my wallet and pulled out five pounds, placing the notes in the jar. I hoped it was enough for him to leave me alone.

“You’re too kind. Please stay as long as you’d like,” he said, again all smiles. I wondered who attended this church, so deep into the woods, and started to ask him. But I really did want to begin my spell.

The priest went back to folding brochures, and I stood up. I wondered what he’d make of Damien when he appeared out of thin air. But then, would he just appear? Would he walk through the door? I was unsure how this was going to happen.

I walked up the center aisle, concentrating on the spot where light poured from the rose window above the altar.

I stopped directly in the small circle of light. Though the church felt cold, a sensation of warmth filled me, just as it had in the clearing outside. I pulled out the rosary from my pocket and closed my eyes, first imagining Damien standing in this spot so long ago. I unpinned my hair, letting it fall to my waist. I wasn’t exactly sure how to cast spells, but Ramona had told me to concentrate—harder than I ever had before—and to make sure I covered everything in the spell. There was no dress rehearsal, no second chances. Either I did it right the first time, or…I didn’t let myself finish this thought.

I looked up at the rose window, feeling the warm colors bathe my face in the red, blue, and green hues. A tingling started in my stomach and then filled me, from the roots of my hair to my toes. I had the sensation of something pulling at me, and I knew I was caught between two worlds, two times. Almost unconsciously, I began to repeat Damien’s name to myself, over and over again, calling to him through the vortex of the years. I could feel the swirling around me, but I concentrated only on his face, his intense, sparkling eyes.

His face had burned itself into my memory. I clutched the rosary Ramona gave me tightly in my hand—so tight that it came apart. I spilled the beads on the stone floor below, breaking my concentration.

“Miss? Miss? Are you quite alright?” I heard, as if from a distance.

I staggered back and opened my eyes to see the priest standing a short distance away, regarding me with concern.

“Yes,” I said, slightly breathless.

“Would you like to sit down?” he inquired politely.

I stumbled backwards into the first pew and then looked around, hoping I’d brought Damien forward. I realized in a panic that I’d forgotten to cast the spell correctly. I hadn’t said anything but his name. And had I actually said it? I knew I’d not mentioned anything about modern language or life. I moaned to myself. Could I cast the spell again? I realized with a dreadful certainty that the moment had passed; the portal—if such existed—had closed. I’d not even uttered so much as his name.

Damien certainly hadn’t appeared beside me, but I still held out some hope that he’d come over. I crossed the roped-off section of the church and peered behind the altar.

“I’m sorry; I can’t allow you to go back there,” the priest warned.

I began to make a search of every pew, but in vain. Damien had not appeared. I knew the priest thought my behavior odd, but I didn’t care. I’d look over every inch of this church before I was through.

I asked to inspect the rest of the church, but the priest told me there were only two other rooms. I could see inside the one to the right of the altar. It looked like they kept candles, vestments, a chalice, and the wine and wafers for communion there. I saw another door leading off from the left side of the altar and made my way there.

“Wait! You can’t go back there!” he protested.
I tried the door. The room contained a few choir robes and a small piano. There was no sign of Damien.

So much for being a witch, I thought sadly. If I couldn’t work magic to save the one person I loved the most then what did it matter?

I apologized to the priest and turned to go. My first thought had been to return to the castle, to try again, but I thought it unlikely he would have come through there. If I couldn’t do it here, where I felt Damien the most, there was not much purpose in getting my hopes up again, only to feel intense disappointment.

It was starting to get dark when I left the church, and I dreaded leaving the clearing and making my way through the forest again. A great lethargy weighed down my limbs and a drowsy numbness overtook me. I still clutched the cross attached to the rosary beads. It had made an imprint in my hand. I sent out a quick prayer for deliverance. It was going to take a much higher power to return.

I stumbled through the woods, trying to ignore the sense of desolation that I felt. Just as before, the trees seemed to close over me, trapping me inside. The perpetual silence drowned my senses. Despair beckoned, and I nearly answered its call when I caught sight again of the pond where I’d drowned again.

I knew Damien had been real, but I wasn’t strong enough to save him, to bring him to me. I’d held back the tears while I wandered in the forest. When I thought I’d begun to walk in circles, the woods finally cleared, revealing the spot where I’d first entered. Though grateful to have found my way out, to leave the darkness behind me, I didn’t want to turn my back on all my hopes.

I found the overgrown path, still marked by the bus’s grooves, and followed its interminable length. Night came upon me, and I stumbled twice, feeling the depression pull at my heart. I didn’t care now whether or not I returned to London. Mr. Dean had tickets for us to see Hamlet at the Globe tonight. How fitting, I thought, feeling a great kinship to the mad, lonely Ophelia, drowning first in her lovelorn despair, then in a fit of madness. He is dead and gone, lady,... And will he not come again?... Her words echoed in my mind. Alone in her torment, she had ended in the place where I began.

It was a seductive thought. Maybe I wouldn’t go back, I thought. Maybe I should return to the pond and relive my past. I was just as separated from Damien as I had been before. But I’d already passed the pond, and the woods closed again behind me, refusing me entrance. I knew I would not find my way again.

Grief finally overtook me. After miles of fruitless steps, I fell beneath a yew tree into a deep and numbing sleep.

I expected to dream about him again and hoped I would. It was the only way to see him now. But I slept heavily, without dreaming, and awoke sometime later to find a large man with a graying beard, about fortyish, towering over me.

Still groggy, exhausted, and disoriented, I wondered if I imagined him. Grief hit me like a fist, almost physically doubling me.

He said something to me. I thought it was my name. But that would be impossible, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t possibly know that.

He offered his hand to me. I took it, and his electric grip literally shocked me. I abruptly released him and stood up, brushing off the dirt from my jeans and pulling leaves from my hair. I couldn’t find my balance. He reached over to steady me, I thought, but his hands seemed to claw at me. I instinctively recoiled, and he immediately became very still. I didn’t want him touching me again, and I felt a strong surge of adrenaline nearly propelling me to run away, despite my weariness.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked in his deep voice. A strange look appeared in his dark eyes, resurrecting the fear and terror I felt yesterday in the woods. He gave me a look I remembered from somewhere. But where?

“Yes,” I replied hesitantly. “I need to get back to London.”

He offered his hand again, but I declined, not quite able to shake the strange feeling he inspired.

He said nothing further but pointed out a path I had not seen before. I’d not remembered it the night before; it seemed to appear from thin air.

“Thank you,” I said hastily, almost running down the path, despite the exhaustion I still felt. Several minutes later, I looked back. He seemed to walk towards me, I thought, though it could have been my imagination. Regardless, I ran on, fearful that the stranger still watched me, a menacing figure looming on the horizon.

****

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I realized later how lucky I was that I hadn’t been raped or killed despite the seeming safety of the English countryside. I thought again about the stranger whose touch had terrified me. I later attributed the feelings to my seriously addled wits, wondering if I’d actually even met a stranger there or just dreamed him.

I finally found my way to civilization, and someone in Salisbury gave me directions to the train station. I saw Ben and Mr. Dean outside talking with a police officer. Ben spotted me first, a look of relief on his face as he ran towards me. He put his arms around me, clutching me to him.

“Emily, your head!” he exclaimed.

I’d forgotten about the wound I received yesterday, but between the scraping branches and falling stone gargoyle, I knew I looked dreadful.

“I fell,” I said meekly.

“Into what? A pack of wolves?”

“Something like that,” I said, taking the Kleenex he offered and wiping my face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, not waiting for my response. “We were worried sick!”

His arms had never felt as good around me as they did then. I broke into sobs, knowing he’d understand. He always did.

After the heaving subsided somewhat, Mr. Dean cleared his throat.

“Emily, where have you been? Did you get lost trying to find your relatives?” he asked.

Ben shot me a puzzled look. He knew I had no relatives here.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you,” I mumbled.

I didn’t have the strength to explain myself. Despite getting some sleep in the woods, I still felt drained.

We entered the station together, and Ben sat down with me at a small side table, while Mr. Dean looked at the train schedule, keeping one eye in my direction to make sure I wouldn’t bolt again. The next train wasn’t for another hour, so we went inside the small station café to find breakfast.

Mr. Dean hadn’t said another word to me, waiting, I could tell, for me to recover before he began firing questions. I must have looked terrible. I could see the concern written on both of their faces. I knew I was lucky the police officer hadn’t lectured me severely. I guessed that student tourists likely went off on adventures all the time.

We ate in silence, waiting for the train to arrive. I finished my croissant and went into the ladies’ room, promising Ben—who looked ready to follow me—and Mr. Dean that I wouldn’t try anything sudden. I splashed my face with some water and took a long look at myself in the mirror. Most of my hair had escaped the rubber band, and leaves and dirt had collected in the frizzy curls. Long scratches crisscrossed my face, and my arms had bruises all over them. I could feel the knot on the back of my head from the gargoyle, and the gash on my forehead looked nasty. Altogether, it was not a pretty sight. I did the best I could with water and paper towels, knowing I’d have to leave my hair for later.

The train arrived shortly thereafter, and all three of us got up to board. Ben didn’t put his arms around me again, but he sat very close, ready, I knew, if I should need him.

After the train pulled out of the station, Mr. Dean cleared his throat.

“I would never have expected this of you, Emily,” he began in a severe tone of rebuke.

“I’m sorry,” I said, ashamed to have caused him so much worry. I should’ve worked harder on a good cover story.

“You know,” he continued, “you could at least have called me. And you didn’t have to lie either. Annie said you were sick until I checked on you myself, and of course I knew where you’d gone, remembering that you had relatives living nearby.”

I blushed, feeling guilty at all my lies.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dean. It won’t happen again,” I said, not meeting his eyes.

“No, it won’t,” he said sternly.

Ben took my hand in his. I knew Mr. Dean would have me under surveillance for the rest of the trip, but I didn’t care. Nothing seemed to matter anymore to me; what I came for had not happened. What did anything matter if I couldn’t be with the person I loved most?

****

The rest of the trip continued uneventfully. Ben tried to raise my spirits, to make me feel excited about seeing the sights in London the next day—the last our class spent in England. But I felt apathetic about them. I would have preferred to stay in the hotel, but Mr. Dean was not, of course, going to allow that.

We traveled to Paris, staying for two days before we took an overnight train to Rome later in the week. I was as uninterested in those places as I had been in London. I knew that, under different circumstances, I would have loved visiting these famous cities and seeing their museums, palaces, and galleries, but my heart literally wasn’t in it without Damien. I wished we’d taken the trip before my dream, when Ben and I had been happy together. What a difference it would have made to me.

I felt angry. It wasn’t fair. My life had been nearly perfect before Mom died. Now I’d lost Ben too. I didn’t want to feel the way I did, to love Damien so much. But then I shook my head. I could never regret what I felt for Damien. I hoped we could at least have one lifetime together someday.

I spent most of the rest of my time abroad following Annie around, listening to her chatter. I tried to fake my enthusiasm for Annie’s sake, but Ben saw right through me.

The interminable trip finally neared its end; we had come to the last night. Our final city, Rome, teemed with romantic side streets and historic places that inspired nothing but grief in me. I longed to share them with Damien, but our love seemed doomed. Great love usually is, I thought, not deriving any comfort from our resemblance to other tragic couples forever separated by death.

Mr. Dean had decided that we would all take a bus ride around the city sites for a last evening tour before leaving the next day for home.

I listlessly boarded the bus, apathetic about where we went or what we did. Ben sat beside me, a comforting, undemanding presence. He seemed to understand that something terrible had happened, but he didn’t ask me what it was, sensing, I supposed, that I wouldn’t talk about it. We both ignored the others, who sat behind us throwing spitballs at the back of our heads and loudly chanting old rock songs.

Zack and Annie sat directly in front of us, rolling their eyes as they joked with Ben. I alone sat quiet, contemplative as I looked out the window at the fading light. I tried to ignore them all, though I envied their merriment, wishing I could feel something. I’d become a hollow shell since I’d failed to bring Damien forward.

When we passed the Coliseum, I remembered that Ramona had told me that we could experience multiple past lives. I wondered if I’d ever had a past life here. We didn’t stop, having visited it the day before, but continued our evening tour by bus.

Mr. Dean instructed the driver to let us off at the ruins of the forum, which we hadn’t had time to visit earlier that day. He pulled over, and we filed out.

Ben took my hand, leading me away from the crowd of students milling about. My feet glided over the ancient stones, joining the footsteps of thousands who’d walked here before me.

Moonlight bathed the area around the forum, and several students had found shadowed places to explore each other rather than the past. I wondered how many lovers had trod these stones over the centuries. I wished desperately to be one of them, to know that, in one lifetime, at least, I had found Damien and spent my life with him.

Ben led me past the others, and I followed, a little teary eyed, wishing it were Damien who had me by the hand. We stopped under the Arch of Severus, and I leaned against an ancient column to gaze at the stars above us. The tears slid down my cheeks as I wondered if Damien looked down at me from above. I hoped so. I traced a pattern on the column with my hand. Two small ants made their way up together, disappearing behind a yellow wildflower that grew unbidden between one of the cracks.

I softly murmured his name to the sky, willing him to hear me across eternity.

“Emmeline,” the wind whispered through the ruins.

“Emily,” I heard, a gentle human voice bringing me back to the present.

I realized that Ben wasn’t looking at the stars or the ruins but at me. I met his eyes, and he drew his fingers across my cheeks, wiping my tears and pulling me closer to him. I didn’t have the will to resist. He found my lips with his, and though I was startled at first, I didn’t push him away. I could feel the tears course down my cheeks, could taste the salt of them, a bitter reminder of my loss.

Suddenly, I didn’t care about the consequences. I put my hands in his hair and kissed him back, allowing his fingers to trail down my back. I could feel his surprise as he pulled me towards him with eagerness. I wrapped my arms around his strong and slender waist, drawing him closer. His heartbeat quickened, thudding against his chest, and his hands warmed my chilled skin. He slid his hands under my jacket when Mr. Dean’s voice announced that it was time to leave. We broke apart, and I looked up into Ben’s eyes. He smoothed back a fallen tendril from my face and kissed me lightly, meaningfully. I could still taste the salt of my tears on his lips.

What have I done?

****

The next morning, Ben grew quiet when I came down for breakfast, uncertain, I knew, about where we stood. I avoided his eyes, guilty that I’d let my grief for Damien cloud my judgment. I knew it wasn’t fair to Ben.

I ate a quick bite of cereal and ran upstairs to brush my teeth and pack my last things. Annie and I gathered our bags, checked out, and shared a taxi to the airport, meeting up with the others, who’d either divided up into taxis or taken the Tube, after we’d arrived. Thankfully, Zack and Ben took a separate taxi from us.

When we arrived, I avoided Ben, who sensed my hesitation at breakfast and left me alone, playing cards with Zack before we left. Annie wanted to shop in the airport for souvenirs. I dreaded the overpowering aroma of airport perfume but knew it was probably better than the awkwardness of sitting with Zack and Ben.

I worried that Annie might have seen Ben and me the night before, but it had been dark. And Annie hadn’t said anything to me when we’d returned.

After browsing through a few shops and finding something to eat, we’d nearly run out of time. Just as the waiter brought our ticket, I heard them call our names over the intercom. It was actually past time to leave, and the announcement was a final boarding call. We hurriedly paid, left the restaurant, and ran through the airport. The flight attendants looked at us in perturbation, and Mr. Dean appeared livid. Fortunately, it was time to buckle up, so I avoided any lectures for the time being. I knew I’d get it when we landed, but hopefully the long flight back would take the edge off of his anger.

Just before we took off, I gazed out over all that we would leave behind. Of course, I only saw the airport, but it was a mental readjustment for me. I hadn’t been able to have what I came for, and leaving made my failure all the more real. I could feel the tears welling inside, but I had none left to shed. The sorrow ran too deep, and I didn’t want Annie or Ben to worry. I felt the cross in my pocket and tried to draw some strength from it. At least I’d known Damien in one of my lives, I thought. Maybe I would find him in my next one.

I spent the majority of the flight trying to sleep. Ben and I hadn’t been assigned seats near each other, and I was grateful, knowing that I couldn’t keep relying on him. It sent him false messages of hope that I shouldn’t encourage. I wondered what had overtaken me the night before. I did still love Ben, but I suspected strongly that it was Damien I felt and imagined as I kissed him.

I knew I’d have to make it clear to Ben when we got back home that it was just a one-time thing. I knew now that he wanted me back and thought he’d made some progress. He knew something had happened, or rather, didn’t happen, and he believed it had created an opening for him.

I wanted to feel differently after I’d failed to bring Damien through time, but my feelings remained unchanged. I couldn’t explain what had provoked me into kissing Ben—whether it was the moonlight, my sense of needing to hang on to something or someone I loved, or just the feeling of history that had surrounded us—but I knew that I needed to steer clear of him from now on. It would be so easy to get back together with him, even knowing that I loved him less than Damien and always would. And that wasn’t fair. I couldn’t give him my whole heart. I still loved Ben too much to give him second best.

The flight seemed interminable. Along the way, I considered the hopefulness I had felt before and compared it to the intense despair I carried with me now. It was almost too much to bear.

We finally arrived home, and Aunt Jo was waiting for me in the Saratoga, a welcome, familiar sight. I was never so glad to see her.

“Emily,” Mr. Dean called before I could reach her.

I turned, wanting only to get home, but knowing I was long overdue for a lecture about my strange behavior.

“Yes?” I said wearily.

“I’m not planning to report you to the principal, although I should. Instead, you’ll need to go to detention after school all of next month,” he said. His tone of voice was sterner than it had been even at the station in Salisbury that morning.

I wasn’t surprised by my punishment. I’d been expecting something like this, if not much worse, and guessed that Mr. Dean didn’t want to ruin the rest of the trip by sentencing me then. What he didn’t know was that it didn’t matter whether I had detention or not. Nothing mattered to me anymore.

“Fine,” I replied, turning to leave.

Aunt Jo looked at me, puzzled.

“I’ll explain later,” I said, opening the back of the Saratoga to put my bags in.

“Hey, wait!” a voice called. It was Annie.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” she asked in a small voice.

“Oh, of course. See you tomorrow,” I said, giving her a hug. I realized I still owed her a huge favor—she’d never been able to sneak off in Paris like I’d promised, and she’d received a warning from Mr. Dean when he’d discovered her part in my cover story. Though she hadn’t gotten into trouble—as far as I knew—Annie hadn’t enjoyed getting caught. It didn’t take much to upset her, and I felt bad. I had a lot to make up for, I thought, resolving to see less of Ben and more of Annie.

She looked hurt, and I couldn’t blame her. I’d not said more than two words to anyone since coming back from my failed trip to the chapel, and she didn’t know what had happened. She had a right to be upset. I’d not been the best friend lately.

Aunt Jo remained quiet on the ride back home. When we arrived, she turned off the ignition and turned to me.

“Emily, you know I don’t like to pry, but you look awful—not at all like the girl I took to the airport or a person just back from her first trip overseas. Did something happen?”

“You could say that,” I answered, not meeting her eyes.

“I didn’t get a call, so I’m assuming you weren’t kidnapped, mutilated, or otherwise harmed,” she said, trying humor to lighten the mood.

“No, nothing like that,” I replied, looking down at my lap.

“Boy trouble?” she asked.

That was an understatement.

“I know you and Ben broke up some time ago, so I’m assuming it’s not about him,” she said.

She wasn’t letting up, which told me how terrible I must have looked to her.

I shook my head no, still not meeting her eyes.

“And I know you haven’t dated anyone since Ben…”

That was true.

“So I’m guessing it’s a boy you like but can’t have?” she asked tentatively.

I nodded, leaving it at that. In a way, it was true.

She reached over to give me an awkward hug since we were both still sitting in the car. I made the effort to smile, and we got out. I followed her inside more slowly, knowing she wouldn’t ask me anymore questions, though I could tell that she was disappointed that I wasn’t full of exciting stories.

I took my bags out of the car and entered the front door, glad finally to be home. I started climbing the stairs when Aunt Jo’s voice stopped me.

“Oh, I almost forgot. You have a couple of messages. One was from Ramona wanting to know about your trip, and one was a voice I didn’t recognize.”

I wasn’t paying too much attention to her. I’d call Ramona tomorrow, and I didn’t much care who the other person was.

I’d almost made it to the top of the stairs, wanting only to collapse on the bed and dream of Damien, when Aunt Jo’s next words halted me in my tracks.

She picked up the pad by the phone in the hall.

“Oh yes, the other message was from someone named Damien. Was that someone you met abroad? He sounded foreign. I couldn’t place the accent.”

I froze on the stairs, dropping my bags.

“What did you say?” I whispered. I must have misheard her.

“I said,” she repeated slowly, “You had two messages, one from Ramona…”

“Yes, I heard that part. What’s the other one?” I interrupted, trying to keep my voice level, though I felt frantic inside, desperate to know if I’d heard her correctly.

“The second message was…let me see…” She consulted her pad while I stood there, feeling as though my life hung in the balance.

“Yes, it was two days ago, I believe. You have a message from someone named Damien. Do you know him?”

It couldn’t be. No. I would have felt something. He would have appeared before me in the chapel or forest, right? I hoped this wasn’t someone’s idea of a horrible, sick joke. I mentally went through the list of people I’d mentioned his name to. Ramona. Annie. Ben. Anyone they told. Likely Zack. Would Ben have told Angela? It sounded like some prank she’d pull. But what if it wasn’t a joke? What if I’d actually brought him through time?

“What did he say?” I asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Speak up, Emily, I’m not so young as I used to be.”

“Oh, right, sorry, Aunt Jo. I said, what did he say?” I asked a little more loudly.

“Something about getting the next flight to Florida. He’ll come by tomorrow night. I guess that would be tonight. I hope we haven’t missed him.”

I closed my eyes, swaying slightly as the light began to recede.

Aunt Jo moved quickly for a woman in her seventies. She ran up the stairs and put her arms on my shoulders, supporting me before I collapsed.

I must have revived immediately after that, the Duchess licking my face.

“You need some rest. If this Damien person comes, I’ll just tell him you’re tired and need your rest. He can always come back tomorrow,” she finished, concern in her voice.

“No!” I screamed, startling Aunt Jo and the Duchess, who scampered away in a dander.

“No,” I repeated more calmly. “I’ll see him.”

I jumped up with amazing energy, surprising Aunt Jo, who still sat on the stairs watching my strange behavior. I ran up the stairs two at a time to the bathroom, my heart racing. I combed my hair, frantically wishing I had time to straighten the curls or at least get them going in the right direction. I looked at my watch. It was six o’clock. Surely he wouldn’t have already come by. Six was still afternoon, right? Or did six officially begin the evening? Maybe it depended on the time of the year. Had I missed him? My thoughts spun around erratically.

I’d left my bags on the steps where they’d fallen, so I had to go back, throwing out the contents right there as I pulled out toothbrush and toothpaste. My hands shook, and Aunt Jo and the Duchess just stared at me, wondering what demon possessed me to scurry around so.

This could not be happening. I felt hysterical again, but I fought the urge to sit down and cry in sheer relief. This was too important, and I was vain enough not to want a bloated face when I saw him. Some women cried daintily. Not me. When I cried, it was a disgusting mess for everyone concerned. My eyes got red and swollen, my nose ran, and my cheeks became beet red. I had to take great heaving breaths. Overall, it was not a pretty sight.

I splashed water in my face, glad the gash had healed and the scratches had nearly faded, and looked through the medicine cabinet for lip gloss. Usually, I wore little or no makeup, and I wished I had mascara for my nonexistent eyelashes. Where was that bag Ramona gave me? I couldn’t find it anywhere. I’d have to raid Aunt Jo’s drawer below the sink, which revealed precious little else—some blush, which I definitely didn’t need with my flushed cheeks, a little foundation in a color totally wrong for my pale face, and half a container of loose powder. I’d have to settle for the powder and lip gloss. If I hadn’t been so frantic, I would have laughed. I needed Ramona in more ways than one.

While I applied the powder, which triggered my allergies and made me sneeze, I started combing through my hair furiously, almost taking it out by the roots. Calm down, I told myself. You accomplish nothing by pulling out your hair. Somewhat satisfied with the mediocre results of my efforts, I turned my attention to what I’d wear.

I raced out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, opening the armoire and tossing pants and shirts aside as I searched for something suitable to wear.

The Duchess and Aunt Jo stood by the door, looking at the disarray around the room. In my haste, I realized that I hadn’t bothered to rub the Duchess on my way in, and she looked offended.

Sorry, Duchess, I thought. She meowed loudly, still annoyed with me.

“I take it that this is the guy,” Aunt Jo said, surveying my frantic activity.

I smiled, not pausing to look up at her.

I nodded, hopping on one foot as I tried pulling off my jeans, shirt, socks, and shoes all at once.

The Duchess slipped by me and started wading through the pile of clothes on the floor, finding the ivory dress at the bottom of the pile and pulling it out with her teeth. She was remarkably resourceful.

I quickly put the dress over my head and checked my appearance in the mirror. My breath caught. Even though the dress wasn’t as long or elaborate as the one I’d been wearing when I last saw Damien, it was pretty close.

“You look nice. I hope he’s worth it,” Aunt Jo remarked, shaking her head.

“He is,” I said, kissing her cheek as I ran past her.

I skipped down the stairs and went out to sit on the front steps to wait. My dress felt hot and heavy for the weather, and I hoped I wouldn’t break out into eczema, which sometimes happened in the summer. But I didn’t care. I wanted to be ready for him when he came.

I didn’t have long to wait. The black Audi pulled up in front of the house, and he got out. He had the darkest hair of anyone I’d ever seen, and his face matched the one in my dreams. He stared at me intently, his dark eyes never wavering from my face. He had the most beautiful face—even more stunning than the one I’d imagined.And he looked larger than I’d remembered too, the rolled-up sleeves revealing the strong arms I remembered.

I began to shake uncontrollably, feeling dizzy, hot, and faint all at once. I leaned on the rail to steady myself as I rose to meet him. Though I stood two steps above him, he still towered over me.

“Emmeline,” he said.

My heart stopped. His voice sounded like music from a distant country. It was exactly the same as I’d remembered and yet an entirely new experience.

I couldn’t speak. I could only stare at him. He smiled, reaching out to caress my cheek, and everything faded to black. I’d never fainted twice in ten minutes before, but I did then.

Sometime later, I awoke in his arms, the arms I remembered from long ago. I looked into his face, still not comprehending that he was really there.

Aunt Jo came in, a glass of water in her hand.

“Is she awake?” she asked, looking alarmed.

“I think so,” he said, and I marveled again at the perfection of his voice. This was so much better than all the dreams I’d had of him. Was I delirious or just hallucinating? I didn’t much care. No moment in my life could compare to this, and if I’d finally gone insane, it would be fine by me. I’d reached nirvana, and I needed nothing else for the rest of my life.

“Emily?” Aunt Jo said loudly, bringing me back to reality.

“Emmeline?” Damien said, nearly causing me to faint for a third time.

Aunt Jo had been right. He sounded as though he came from a different country, but none I’d ever visited.

“Emily, can you hear me?” Aunt Jo asked, kneeling beside me. I was reclining in Damien’s arms on the couch in the living room.

I shook my head to clear it.

“I’m still just tired, I guess,” I said, not understanding my reaction.

“She needs rest,” Aunt Jo said pointedly to Damien, who immediately took the hint.

“Of course. Emmeline, I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said reluctantly, intense regret filling his voice.

“No!” I screamed, clutching his arm.

I’d only just gotten him; I wasn’t letting him out of my sight. I turned to Aunt Jo.

“I’ll be fine, Aunt Jo, I promise. I’d just like a few minutes alone with Damien,” I said a little more calmly.

Aunt Jo muttered something under her breath about teenagers and turned to go, shaking her head.

“I will protect her,” he said, casting a look that must have caught her unawares. She immediately softened towards him, smiling a radiantly youthful smile I’d never seen before. I caught a brief glimpse of the beautiful young woman she had been, her long hair cascading in folds, her bright eyes perpetually sparkling. I imagined that any woman still breathing would find Damien charming, but he had also seemed to make her young again.

Aunt Jo left, her earlier distemper having faded, and Damien turned his attention to me again.

“How did you get here?” I asked.

“I drove,” he replied simply.

Drove?

“I can see that,” I said, looking past him out the window to the car outside.

I’d imagined him well off, but not quite this well off. I recognized the Versace glasses hanging from one pocket and the Armani pants. The shoes looked like Italian leather. Altogether, he was gorgeous and, from what I could see, appeared to be rich.

“Emmeline, I can’t believe I found you,” he said, his eyes staring wonderingly at me.

“You can’t believe it? I can’t believe it,” I replied.

I wanted to drink in his presence with my eyes. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.I understood for the first time the ancient words from the Song of Solomon. I knew what it meant to belong to another person. We had defeated time and death.

“Damien,” I whispered, unable to finish any coherent thought. I put my arms around him. Several moments passed before either of us could speak.

“You’re safe,” I said, still not quite believing that my spell had worked.

“I thought she’d killed you,” he began, sounding as relieved as I felt.

“She did,” I said, laughing. Somehow, my earlier death didn’t signify.

He visibly started.

“Then how are you here?” he asked, not comprehending.

“I brought you forward. Surely you must have noticed. We’re not in the thirteenth century,” I interrupted, laughing.

He looked at me wonderingly, touching my hair and face to validate that I was real.

“I thought we’d escaped, that we’d been part of some enchantment. I awoke and found myself in a different time and place,” he said slowly.

It was too much to absorb all at once. For now, it was enough just to be near him, to know that he was safe, to know that he was mine. I hadn’t failed, after all. I’d saved him, bringing him to me, nearly eight hundred years into the future.

“I want to know how you found me,” I said.“Tell me everything.”

Chapter Twelve

"Voyagers"

Here the impossible union

Of spheres of existence is actual,

Here the past and future

Are conquered, and reconciled

T. S. Eliot, “The Dry Salvages”

Aunt Jo put the kettle on for us and told me she’d be going out. Tonight was her monthly bridge meeting across town, and she didn’t want to miss it. She put hot cocoa in two mugs, her remedy for any emotional trauma, and asked me point blank if I was okay before leaving.

“I’m fine,” I replied, a goofy grin still on my face.

“Hmph,” she muttered, letting the screen door slam on the way out.

The Duchess had a much different response to Damien than her normal one to strangers. I’d never seen her behave with anyone the way she did with Damien, including Ben. She’d taken to Damien immediately, rubbing herself against his legs and jumping up in his lap. She began licking her paws before settling down, firmly ensconced in his arms. It seemed he charmed all females, even feline ones.

“I still can’t believe you’re real,” I whispered, letting both of my hands glide over his face to memorize every line. It was perfect, as though sculpted from stone by one of the Italian Renaissance masters. His face could have been the model for many of the statues I’d seen in Europe. I wished I’d paid more attention to them now.

“Start from the time when Lamia took you away from me,” I began, reluctant to take my hands from him or to utter the name of the witch who had kept us apart for hundreds of years.

“It took all of the guards to keep me from you,” he started, gently stroking my hair as he described events that took place both hundreds of years ago and only last week. I must have timed my arrival to the chapel correctly, knowing I was lucky that we’d had spring break during the window of time I needed to find him.

“Could you see where they took you?” I asked.

“Yes, they took my blindfold off after we left the woods, much good that it did since we went back to the dungeon, where it was pitch black. We didn’t enter through the secret passage. Instead, they lowered the drawbridge, taking me by force through the gate. When we crossed, I tried to distract the guards and jump into the moat, thinking I’d swim to the other side. There’s another point of entry into the castle from the moat that I’d discovered about a year after your father brought me to Montavere. I knew we couldn’t use it to leave the castle together because you couldn’t swim, but it would be perfect for the plan I’d devised. I thought I could double back out when it was safer and rescue you. I should say, rather, that there used to be an entry and moat. Both, it seems, are gone now,” he said quietly.

A sad look came over his face. I supposed the pile of stones, only an outline of the grandeur of what the castle had been, was an even greater shock for him than it had been for me since I had the benefit of knowing that it likely had changed over so many years. I still had not discovered the exact fate of the castle from of the cryptic entry I’d found under Damien’s name in the registry of knights.

“So did you find this entrance?” I prodded.

“No. Before I could jump, one of the guards hit me from behind, and I lost consciousness.”

I couldn’t imagine any of them actually being able to overcome Damien alone, and I looked at him questioningly.

“They used the handle of a sword to swipe me over the head, I think,” he finished grimly.

I shuddered at the pain this must have caused him.

I ran my hand along the back of his head. Sure enough, I felt a swollen lump rising under his hair—a wound hundreds of years old, I mused. No, that was wrong. It was only last week. I had to keep reminding myself of this.

“When I awoke,” he continued, “I found myself in the dungeon, but not in the cell with the secret passage. I waited, losing track of time, and wondering every second what Lamia had done to you,” he said.

He stopped then, a look of awe coming into his face.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured, kissing my forehead, my eyes, and finally my lips.

I didn’t want it to end. I could die happily now, I thought, and then shuddered as I realized I had died before.

He finally released me, but we still held each other. I leaned against him, enjoying the sound of his voice as he told me the hardest part.

“She came into the cell much later. They’d left me there in the dark, and I didn’t know what had happened to you. I knew they’d come to kill me, but I had no idea…Emmeline, I didn’t know they’d harm you. I thought your father would protect you. It was me they were after because I wasn’t good enough for you, because they thought I’d kidnapped you.”

“Oh, Damien! You were always good enough for me,” I assured him, rushing to take his face in my hands.

“Am I? I doubt it,” he mused.

“No, Damien. Never say that again. Whatever anyone else tells you, you have always been perfect for me, the only one. How could you think otherwise?”

“Emmeline, a week ago you didn’t want to leave with me, to marry me,” he said quietly.

I felt terrible. He was right. I hadn’t wanted to marry him when he’d asked, at least not immediately. I’d made us wait, wanting to seek my father’s permission. Vainly, I’d hoped we could live together in the castle, not like fugitives on the run. But I was wrong, and I said so.

“Damien, I’m sorry. I never realized how far she’d go in her hatred of me. I didn’t know the strength of her power over my father.”

“When she told me you were dead, I almost lost my mind. She told me what they’d done to you, accusing you of witchcraft,” he said.

His voice began to break. I had to remember that, for him, this had happened last week.

“Darling, I’m here,” I murmured in his ear, pulling him close and holding him.

“I knew then that I didn’t care what she did to me, and she knew it to.”

He stopped for a moment, and I was afraid to ask what happened next. Had I been too late? Had she tortured him, playing with his mind and tormenting his body before she’d started to carry out some hideous plan for his death?

“And then?” I gently asked.

“And then…then she began,” he said, looking away. Comprehension dawned on me.

I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a magnificent, muscled chest hardened from years of practice on the field. Knights were, by far, superior in size and strength to most modern athletes, having to carry most of their own weight in hauberk, mail, and armor while wielding a heavy sword and shield and controlling their horse. And that was before they fought other equally well-trained knights coming at them full force.

By the time Damien reached the last button, I saw what he meant. The red welts and lines crisscrossed his abdomen, and his stomach was up bound in bandages, the wounds still fresh.

I gasped at the cruelty of it, not daring to touch him lest I cause further pain. When he turned, however, I saw the evidence of her vengeance. It was not enough that she’d killed me; she had left his back a bloody nightmare, the slashes marring the beauty of his shoulder blades and lower back. I didn’t ask how she’d done it. I remembered seeing the instruments of torture for myself, and it wasn’t too hard to guess what she’d done to him.

“Oh my dearest love,” I whispered, afraid to hug him. It must have been ten thousand agonies for him to have carried me inside and hold me against him. But he hadn’t cried, complained, or even winced at the pain.

He shrugged back into his shirt and smiled at me.

“It’s over,” he said simply, not wanting to speak of it again.

I swallowed, wanting to cry out for him.

“About the time I thought she was getting ready to kill me,” he continued, “I hit the ground and must have passed out. I thought, when I awoke, that I felt weak from the loss of blood. Then I thought they’d either mercifully knocked me unconscious or already killed me. I heard your voice calling me, and the sun shone down on me. I was in a place I didn’t recognize, with stones scattered in piles all around. It took several minutes for me to understand that I was exactly where I was before, only it was a different time.”

“How did you know it was different?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I just did. One minute, I was lying tied up on a table, her disgusting face laughing above me. The next, I was lying on the ground staring at the sky.”

I thought for a moment. Perhaps he had come back when I’d been in the chapel, only he was in the castle, while I was…

“No!” I shrieked, realizing what had happened. If I’d just returned to the castle, I would have found him. We could have been together! He had only been a mile or so from me. How could I have been so stupid? Of course that’s where he came through. It made perfect sense since that’s where he’d been when I brought him over.

He looked at me, puzzled.

“Sorry,” I said, “it’s just that I realized that I should have gone back for you. I brought you here but didn’t think it had worked. It didn’t occur to me to go back to the castle for you. I thought it would have been a waste of time. How did you get out?”

“I walked,” he said and smiled.

I punched him lightly on the arm, careful not to harm his midsection.

He looked at me strangely, and I realized that we interacted in a much different way together in the thirteenth century. Girls were probably a lot less assertive and certainly never hit anyone, even playfully. There was much I would have to explain to Damien about modern life and male-female relationships. I wondered if I’d had a sense of humor in my past life.

“I did walk,” he continued, undaunted by my less-than-maidenly antics, “and a long way too. The world has changed so much, Emmeline,” he finished, becoming more serious now.

“Yes, we’ll get to that later,” I assured him. I was amazed that we’d been speaking to each other in English—modern English—the entire time. I’d mentioned nothing about this in my spell. Perhaps I’d mentally channeled it to him?

“What happened after you woke up? Where did you go?” I asked him.

“I walked for awhile, and I met a large man in the woods,” he explained.

“Yes, I know him. He found me too. Did he tell you what year it was?” I asked. “Yes. But he looked at me strangely,” he answered.

“I’ll bet,” I said, laughing as I thought about the strange morning he’d likely had coming across both of us.

“The man who found me answered most of my questions,” Damien said.

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth, or what I could make of it.”

I remembered how virtuous Damien was. He would consider lying to be dishonorable; even if the world thought he was crazy, he wouldn’t stoop to telling a false story.

“I told him I’d awoken in the ruins just beyond the forest and that I didn’t know where I was. I was looking for you, and he said he’d already seen a young woman with long red hair. He gave me food to eat, and then we were on our way,” he explained.

“So he took you to the train station?”

“Yes. I had no idea, Emmeline, how fast mankind can go…And they need no horses!” he finished, still amazed, I could tell, by everything he’d seen in this new world.I realized just how long eight hundred years really was.

“What time did you catch the train?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It was midday,” he answered.

I guessed that he’d probably taken the 12:00 train to London.

I had just missed him by one train since I had taken the 10:30. I couldn’t believe my bad luck. If I’d just waited, we could have been together.

“So you arrived in London. It was a little different than you’d remembered?” I asked, thinking of the thirteenth-century map I’d found online before the trip. I couldn’t help but smile.

He looked at me, grinning.

“Yes,” he said. “I didn’t know where anything was, so I stopped a man on the street and asked him if he knew you.”

I could just imagine the reaction that Damien, with his strange, beautiful accent and even stranger clothes, would have made. Fortunately, he wouldn’t have had the armor to contend with since he’d been under torture in the castle. I wondered if he’d had anything on at all, but I was too shy to ask.

“So where did you go?”

“I wandered around the city for awhile and then made my way to Westminster Abbey.”

I imagined it looked a lot different than it had in the thirteenth century. I thought I’d remembered the tour guide telling us that most of the church had been pulled down in 1245, so Damien likely wouldn’t have recognized it except, perhaps, for the name.

“Did someone help you there?” I asked.

“Yes. A kind woman asked me to wait and then said I could take a taxi to the police station when I told her I was searching for you. I was beginning to understand that London was not only completely different but also a much bigger city, much larger than any I’d ever seen before. The buildings, all of them, rise like cathedrals in the sky. And yet, they are not so beautiful,” he finished, looking somewhat melancholy.

I thought that he likely meant skyscrapers, which had a certain grace all their own, but not, of course, the haunting beauty of a cathedral spire or castle tower.

“Everything moves so quickly, Emmeline, even the people. They talk rapidly, sometimes to no one at all. It’s difficult for me to catch everything they say. Many times, I thought they were addressing me,” he said. Cell phones, I thought.

I mentally kicked myself. I’d not anticipated any of this when I cast the spell. Yes, he could speak modern English, but that didn’t mean that he could process the speed with which the modern world moved. Thirteenth-century England was a vastly different age. I thought of the absolute quiet of the chapel by the woods and of the merriment of the castle inhabitants in my dream. With all the noise, cars, and people talking to the air on their cell phones, it likely was a louder, more obnoxious, and more quickly paced world than Damien could have ever imagined.

“How did you afford your taxi?” I asked, guilty that I hadn’t thought ahead to the practical details. I’d had months to prepare, and what did I do? Moon around the place, worried I couldn’t bring him here. If I’d just known how successful I would be, I could have planned better. As it was, Damien had had to fend for himself. By the looks of things, though, it seemed like he had done alright.

“I honestly don’t know,” he answered. “I looked in my pocket, and there were strange coins and papers. I recognized the coins for money, but I didn’t know the purpose of the paper. The kind lady from the Abbey explained it to me, welcoming me to the city and asking me where I was from. She was quite surprised when I said England. ‘Country folk,’ she’d said in a huff. ‘You couldn’t pay me to leave London.’ I think she thought perhaps that I actually wasn’t from England.”

I could easily see that. His accent wasn’t British, but it wasn’t anything else I recognized either. And then I realized it sounded most like the recording Ms. May had played once for us of someone reading Middle English when we’d studied Chaucer. Except that he spoke modern words. He’d retained the sounds of his dialect, just not the linguistic pattern. I was fascinated. He rolled his “R’s” and put emphasis on the last syllable of my name so that it sounded a little like Emily with an “n” on the end. There was also something slightly French in the way he spoke, and I remembered that all of the knights could speak French and some of them, including Damien, had been trained in Latin.

French, I’d read online, was still a primary language spoken by the king, his nobles, and many of their knights during the early thirteenth century. But I couldn’t say that Damien’s accent was French precisely. It had the musicality of a Romance language, but it reminded me also of Ireland—even though I’d never visited. It was as though he’d combined the accents of several languages, taking the best of them all for his speech. The effect produced a slightly exotic, entirely erotic sound.

“When the taxi arrived,” he continued, “I climbed in, not understanding what I was supposed to do. The driver became a little frustrated but took me to the police station when I told him I was looking for you.

“What happened then?”

“I entered the building, and a man in a uniform approached me, relief on his face. He asked my name, and I reluctantly gave it.”

“What did you say?” I asked. Damien had had no surname in our past life. Was it Montavere?

“I’m guessing you thought better of it?” I asked.

“I did at first, not knowing the man, but then I thought it might help. I didn’t think that the world had changed so much that England no longer respected a knight of the realm,” he said.

In a way, he was right. The Queen did still bestow knighthoods, but men no longer earned them the way Damien had. I didn’t have the heart to tell him. There would be time for that later.

“I told him I was Sir Damien, the Black Knight of Montavere, and he looked suitably impressed, despite my shabby appearance,” Damien continued.

I smiled, wondering what they must have thought of his thirteenth-century title.“Another man came up to me at the station. ‘You are Sir Damien?’ he asked. ‘I am,’ I replied. ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said. I had no idea who he was or where he came from, but the man seemed to know me. ‘Can I be of service to you?’ I asked him. ‘No, but I think I can be of service to you. I’d begun to think you were a missing person and came to file a report,’ he told me. How could this be so, I thought? I’d only just arrived.”

“No, indeed,” I agreed. “So who was this man?”

“A solicitor. That’s a man of law.”

“Yes, I know, dear,” I said, hiding my smile. “What did he want?”

“It seems that I inherited a chateau in the Loire valley and a townhome in London.”

My jaw dropped. My spell had worked wonders I hadn’t even imagined; this magic was more powerful than I’d thought possible.

“Who left it to you? Did you visit it?” I asked eagerly.

“Not yet. I wanted to find you first. Madame Rose de Lioncoeur, English wife to a French ambassador. She died leaving no children, spouse, or other relatives but me. I had only to claim it.”

I wondered who Rose de Lioncoeur was, but I’d shelve that question for now.

“But how could you prove your identity with no license or photo ID?” I asked.

“That’s the strange part,” he answered.

Really? That was the strange part of the story?

“I put my hands in my pocket and pulled out a small book. Here it is,” he said.

He handed me what looked like his passport, complete with his picture, birth date, and country of origin. It seemed that Damien de Lioncoeur had been born in Salisbury, England on December 8, 1993. It had been stamped by customs officials in Philadelphia.

I smiled.

“I’m older than you,” I teased.

My birthday was November 5, 1993. It was ludicrous, really, I thought. He’s nearly eight hundred years old, yet I was older than he was.

“Now, Emmeline, let’s not go into that again,” he said, putting his passport away.

I stopped short, realizing that I must have been older than him in my past life, too. Did that make me nearly eight hundred years old also?

“It seems that Madame de Lioncoeur died several months before,” Damien explained. “Once I’d proven my identity, it was only a matter of retrieving the keys to the townhome. Rose and her husband, Armand, stayed there when they weren’t at Lion-sur-Loire, their chateau near Tours. I haven’t traveled there yet, but from what they showed me, it looks like a large, grand home, Emmeline, with pepper-pot turrets, gardens, and a flowing fountain. I hope to take you there someday,” he said, full of pride.

“Me too,” I thought, completely overwhelmed. Did Damien have some other past, some family I didn’t know about? I’d certainly never thought about any of this.

We had had a definite role reversal. Now he was the wealthy noble, while I was, well, just plain old Emily St. Clair. I understood what he must have felt in my past life—or was it my present?

“The solicitor called a taxi to take me to Belgravia, near Hyde Park. Here, I have a painting,” he said, taking out a photograph from his pocket.

The size of the home astounded me. The manicured lawn and roses looked like a brochure. We’d been to London, but beyond watching the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, I hadn’t seen anything of this upscale part of London. Damien must be worth a fortune.

The townhome stood three stories high, or was it four? Large Corinthian columns lined the front door, which overlooked a courtyard and rose garden, enclosed by a black, wrought-iron fence.

“So what happened next?” I wondered, nearly speechless with all of this. Who was Damien?

“I rang the front doorbell, and we were greeted by another man in a uniform,” Damien continued.

The butler, I presumed.

“Conrad was most helpful, filling in the information I needed, helping me to find appropriate clothes and make travel plans once we’d found you.”

“How did you know where to look?” I asked.

“Conrad helped me to hire a private investigator who looked for every Emmeline de Vere in England, Scotland, and Wales. There aren’t any.”

“So how did you find me?”

“I contacted the man who found me in the woods again. He thought he remembered that the red-haired girl’s name was Emily St. Clair. ”

I felt an eerie chill. How did this man know me? I was sure I hadn’t told him anything about myself.

“Once we had your name, it was relatively simple to locate you here in Florida.” He drew out Flo-ri-da.I remembered that in 1216 America hadn’t yet been discovered. Florida wasn’t even an idea yet to Europeans then.

“You must have done this all in just a matter of days,” I said, amazed at the speed with which he had found me.

“I must give Conrad the credit. He arranged the details for me, and I came over immediately.”

“Where did you get the car?”

“Conrad purchased it for me in London, then had it shipped here and ready for me at the airport.”

“But how did you know how to drive?” I wondered.

“It isn’t all that hard, you know,” he said. “Not nearly as hard as learning to handle a horse.”

I laughed.

“I guess not,” I said.

“I also have a driver. I’m still learning, but I did drive over here myself,” he told me proudly. My jaw dropped. A driver?

I got up and stared out of the window.

“Is he waiting inside the car?”

“No. Not exactly.”

“Then where is he?”

“At the house,” he said quietly. “I’m still learning, but I felt sure enough to drive these smaller roads. And I wanted to come alone.”

“The house? What house?”

“The one I had Conrad purchase for me.”

“You bought a house?”

I realized I was repeating everything he said. But it was too much to comprehend all at once. He’d traveled through time, discovered that he’d inherited what appeared to be a fortune, found me halfway across a world that he hadn’t known existed, traveled in an airplane, bought the nicest car I’d ever seen, and now he was telling me he’d bought a house—all in the space of a week. Was there anything he couldn’t do?

“Where is it?” I asked.

“About twenty minutes from here. It’s large, white—quite lovely—and very private. It’s surrounded by blooming gardens.”

Sugar Hill. Set on an incline on the banks of the St. Johns River, it had become a tourist spot in DeLand, and as far as I knew, still belonged to old Mr. Ramsey, who hired high school students every spring and summer to work in the gardens during peak tourist season. The plantation dated back to the eighteenth century and had, at one time, produced sugar cane, though it had long ceased to exist as a working plantation.

The house itself was white and featured a two-story, wrap-around porch. Every girl in DeLand dreamed of getting married there. I’d been several times on class trips over the years, and Ben had taken me once to see the azaleas in bloom. The plantation was vastly reduced in size from its early days, but it was still a considerable estate.

“I didn’t know it was for sale,” I said, puzzled by what he’d told me.

“It wasn’t. Conrad can be very persuasive.”

I couldn’t imagine how much money Damien had spent to buy it, and I was afraid to ask. Wealth had been a sore spot in our relationship before; I didn’t want it ever to be again.

I could hear Aunt Jo drive up in the Saratoga. We were running out of time.

“I should go,” he said, but we were both reluctant to part.

“What if you leave out the front and then come back once we turn off the lights? Or better yet, come back in about fifteen minutes. I’ll sneak out and meet you down the road,” I suggested.

He looked at me, more than a little surprised.

“Emmeline, anything could happen to you out there,” he said, waving his hand in the general direction of the night.

I looked at him skeptically. I guess he had a point, but really, this was DeLand.

“We’re not finished, Damien. There are things that I need to tell you,” I said.

“I know,” he replied quietly.

“Damien,” I gulped, suddenly nervous. This was going to be hard. “I’m a witch.”

“I know,” he said.

That surprised me.

“You do?”

I heard Aunt Jo’s keys turning the lock at the front door. I quickly kissed Damien, knowing I wouldn’t be able to once she walked inside.

She came in and looked at us, but she wasn’t surprised. The Audi was still parked out front.

“Emily, it’s after eleven. Your…friend…will have to leave,” she began in a no-nonsense tone.

She saw my crestfallen face.

“He can come back tomorrow,” she assured me.

Damien stood up, helping me to rise as well. He kissed my hand.

“Ladies,” he began, “I bid you goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” we said in unison, our eyes following him to the door. Before he left, he’d taken both of my Aunt’s hands into his and kissed them as well. He was, by far, the most charming person I’d ever met. There was something wonderfully old-fashioned about his manners. Then again, old-fashioned was an understatement considering our past.

I could tell that Aunt Jo was remembering boys, specifically one boy, from a different time. She had never married—her fiancé had tragically died before their wedding some fifty years before. I’d never understood why she didn’t show any interest in other boys. Now I knew. If I lost Damien, I wouldn’t want anyone else either.

I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. I knew what it was to lose the person closest to you. Time didn’t heal all wounds.

Chapter Thirteen

"The New World"

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this

Calling

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

T. S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton”

I decided to ditch school the next week. Even if I had been able to concentrate on what we were covering in classes, Damien needed my help. The butler he’d inherited in London had gotten him this far, but Damien needed a crash course in modern life. Even Conrad wouldn’t have understood how, as a modern teenager, he didn’t know about televisions, radios, computers, or cell phones.

And there were also things about me that Damien needed to know first. First, he thought I’d actually escaped somehow, like him, from the thirteenth century and Lamia. I supposed he’d drawn his own conclusions once the shock of finding himself alone in the ruins of the castle had worn off. Evidently, those conclusions involved regarding me as a witch. I was more than a little upset by this, even though it was true. While someone today might laugh—I know I had when I’d first entered Ramona’s store—a thirteenth-century knight would have regarded a witch as a perilous creature of the night, the next thing to Satan himself. True, it hadn’t affected his feelings for me; he’d located me within the inside of a week, an impressive feat given that he’d just arrived, bruised, beaten, and otherwise tortured, from another century. But it was something we had to talk about.

Not surprisingly, I decided against telling Aunt Jo I was skipping school. I got up at my usual time and drove the Saratoga down to the outskirts of town. Sugar Hill wasn’t a long ride out, but it also wasn’t just around the corner. I enjoyed the scenery as I entered the estate grounds. The drive wended through woods that gave way to the more formal gardens I’d remembered visiting several years before. I couldn’t believe Damien actually lived here.

The black Audi was nowhere in sight. I remembered that there were stables that Mr. Ramsey had converted into a garage, so I assumed Damien parked his car there—or had his driver park it for him. I shook my head in disbelief at the abundance of his wealth. I had been concentrating pretty hard that day, I thought. While I hadn’t consciously thought to make him wealthy, I did want him to have everything he hadn’t had in his past life.

He was out the front door and down the steps before I could get out of the car, opening the door for me and helping me up. He looked down at me, a frown on his face.

“Emmeline, do you always walk around half naked?” he asked, a stern look in his eyes.

I looked down at my shorts. The weatherman had forecasted eighty-eight degrees as the high, and my shorts weren’t that short. All in all, I thought my sleeveless white top, khaki shorts, and sandals were entirely respectable unless you were very old fashioned. And besides, it was the only clean outfit I had. In all the excitement of his return, I’d forgotten the more mundane parts of my life, like laundry.

I looked at him, amused. Hadn’t I found his old-fashioned ways charming last night?

“Surely you’ve seen other girls in the last week, Damien…This can’t be that much of a surprise to you,” I said.

“Yes, but Emmeline, I’m not going to marry any of those girls,” he explained. “It isn’t…” He searched for a word that wouldn’t hurt my feelings.

“Let’s go in,” I answered, halting the flow of his thoughts. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.”

He followed me up the stairs, and we entered the front door, which opened to a spectacular cathedral ceiling and a large, central winding staircase. I’d remembered how it looked, of course, but I still stood in awe, gazing up at the massive chandelier’s rows of iridescent, cascading crystals.

“It’s rather small,” he apologized. Was he serious?

“Small?” I asked. It was huge. On the other hand, he’d been used to living in a castle, so I guess, compared to that, it was small.

I laughed again, giddy just to be with him. He took my hand and led me from the main entrance to a smaller, more intimate sitting room. On the opposite side of the room, French doors led off to the veranda, and light filled every space. We sat down beside each other on a settee adjacent to the fireplace. The room was filled with antiques, some of them rare and priceless. Mr. Ramsey had been known for his antiques almost as well as he had for the miles of landscaped gardens surrounding the estate. I wondered where he was now.

“How did you manage to have him sell the house with all the furniture?” I asked.

“As I said before, Conrad can be very persuasive. I left everything to him,” Damien said, seemingly unfazed by all that surrounded him. I wondered how it looked to his eyes. These pieces were old, but not eight hundred years old. And décor had definitely changed over the centuries.

I was interested to meet this Conrad, grateful he’d taken such good care of Damien, but I knew it would have to wait.

I knew we needed to get started learning about each other in this new life we’d found together—Damien’s comments about my dress, or lack of it, was just a small sign of how far we had to go. But where should we start? There was so much for him to learn. I looked down at my hands, not knowing where to begin.

Damien started.

“Emmeline, you said before that you’d died. So how are you here? Were you able to work an enchantment before she killed you?” he asked.

“Not exactly. Damien, I’m a different person. Well no, that’s not entirely true, I am the same person you knew, but I was reborn in a different time and place. Here I am Emily St. Clair—the girl you found—but that’s not a fake name. I am Emily St. Clair.”

“No, you’re Emmeline de Vere,” he protested, not understanding.

“Yes, I know who I was. But I died, Damien. Lamia threw me into the water, and I drowned. There was no magic then, no spells. Emmeline de Vere died that day.”

I could tell it was taking a moment for this to sink in.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

This was going to be the tricky part.

“Damien, you know that I’m a witch.”

He looked stern at this but didn’t let go of holding my hand.

“So what you are saying is that you were…reincarnated?” he asked slowly, not quite taking my meaning.

“Yes. I started having dreams several months ago, nightmares about what had happened but also happy visions of us, of you. That’s what began this. I thought you were contacting me.”

I gave him the basic outline of what had happened, watching his expressions carefully. When I’d finished, he stared off into the distance, not speaking.

“What are you thinking?” I asked nervously.

He remained quiet for awhile, and I didn’t push him. It would be hard for anyone to take in.

“I’m thinking,” he began, “that I don’t know who Emily St. Clair is, but I want to get to know her,” he said, smiling.

He took me in his arms, and I felt intense relief that he hadn’t rejected me outright. I was not the Emmeline he’d loved before, not exactly, but the essence of that girl was still with me. Even if he hadn’t consciously called to Emily, he’d called out my name under torture, and it had been enough to reach across time.

****

We spent the rest of the day discussing my life. He wanted to know everything about me—my childhood, my likes and dislikes, my experiences. One question he did not ask me was whether or not I’d had a boyfriend. Girls in the thirteenth century didn’t have them since their parents arranged their marriages. Damien and I had been unique. I didn’t want to ruin our perfect day by bringing up Ben. We would have time for that later, and I knew it would be difficult to explain it to him.

He was disturbed that Aunt Jo and I lived on our own, not understanding how two women could live without a male relative to protect them.

“Much has changed, Damien, since the 1200’s,” I said, laughing.

“Yes,” he said sadly, “it has.”

I could tell that, for him, it was a total shift of perspective. He would have to learn how to be modern, and I knew it would take time, perhaps all our lives.

We moved on from my personal history to a more general history of the world. I had been prepared for this and brought my history book with me. It was woefully inadequate, but I was confident I could drop by the library on my way home and pick up more books.

He was horrified to learn that the Holy Land hadn’t been taken from the “infidel.”

“But Damien,” I protested, “the Crusades were very wrong.”

He looked at me in horror.

“Emmeline, how can you say that?” he asked, outraged.

I had to remember that it had been every knight’s dream to make a pilgrimage at least once in his life to the Holy Land or to fight in a crusade. My father, in my past life, had done it before I’d been born, traveling with King Richard the Lionheart’s army before he’d married my mother. Damien had planned on it as well. The Crusades were a rite of passage for many trained knights, anxious to serve their God and King in momentous battles for Christendom.

“Damien, it’s a different world,” I explained.“For one thing, the world is a much bigger place than the one you, that is, we, grew up in.”

I could read regret in his eyes.

“I’m not sure I like this new world, Emmeline,” he said quietly.

I tried my best to defend it.

“We’re trying to recognize and appreciate differences across cultures and religions, to end wars and promote peace. At least, most civilized countries aim for this,” I said, thinking about the bombs, attacks, and wars they reported every night on the evening news. I wasn’t so sure I actually believed what I was saying. Was it really a better world than it had been?

He looked thoughtful at what I’d said.

“Yes, I can see the merit of that,” he finally said, conceding that peace was preferable to war.

He was willing to allow for the logic of my argument, but I could tell I hadn’t changed his mind entirely. It was too ingrained in what he’d trained to do his entire life. A week ago, he’d been practicing in the field. Today, he was sitting in a plantation house built several hundred years after he’d been born discussing twenty-first century world politics with me.

He was more excited by the scientific advances that had been made. Electricity had seemed like magic to him, and the television, he said, had scared him when he first saw it through a store window in London. How could those tiny people get into the box, he wondered? I laughingly tried to explain how TV worked, realizing that actually I didn’t know the technicalities myself. I supposed it was a little like magic.

I wrote down his questions and promised to research them in the library for him. He was shocked to learn that I could read and write. Women weren’t educated in the thirteenth century beyond the domestic arts, and he was very proud of my learning.

I blushed. I was not the brightest student at school.

“I can still sew,” I boasted, and he laughed.

“Don’t you remember? You really hated that,” he said.

“Did I?” I could hardly believe it.

How strange that I was drawn to something now that I’d disliked earlier. Except for my power, it was likely one of the only connections to my past life.

“Emmeline,” he began, a serious tone to his voice now, “there is something you should know. When I came through, I didn’t come alone.”

I caught my breath.

“Lamia,” I whispered, not wanting to speak her name aloud for fear that I might conjure her before us.

“When that strange man found me, he said two other girls had come out of the woods. I didn’t think about it at the time, but now I wonder…” He let his sentence trail.

I knew this was a possibility. Ramona had warned me that curses could follow time travelers. I thought then that the man who’d rescued us must have thought it was a strange morning to have found three lost souls wandering around in the early morning hours. Perhaps that was why he acted so strangely. Something wasn’t adding up, though.

“But I didn’t see anyone, and I would have felt Lamia on the train station, even if her appearance had altered... witches can do that,” I explained. Though I preferred the name “wise woman” to witch, I wasn’t sure it would’ve made a difference to Damien. Even a good witch was still a witch. We hadn’t yet discussed my power. Tomorrow would be time enough for that.

I thought back to the morning after I’d cast the spell, which was still slightly blurry. I’d been terribly upset. I tried to piece together the events leading up to my departure.

“I took the 10:30 train, and you took the 12:00.The station wasn’t very big…” I began, trying to imagine how we could have missed her…unless she didn’t want us to know that she came through.

“Damien, did you see her at the ruins?”

“No. Should I have?”

“She should have come through at the same place and time with you. Tell me the last memory you had before waking up.”

He looked at me, pain filling his eyes. I caressed the side of his face and kissed him lightly.

“I know it’s painful, but this might be important,” I said softly.

He looked down, too proud for me to see him struggle with the memory. After a moment, he began.

“She had been standing over me, directing one of her henchman to pick up the tongs. That was to be her next instrument,” he said in a controlled voice.

I held my breath.

“So she was right beside you?” I asked quietly, not wanting to prolong this if I could help it.

“Yes, the last I remember she was.”

“Yet she wasn’t when you awoke?”

“No.”

This was a mystery. Could she have come through earlier or later? But it couldn’t have been later since the strange woodsman had seen her after helping me but before he’d found Damien. The window of time was not long, either. He must have found her right after he discovered me.

Then I remembered. She had the power to bewitch others, to take them over completely so that their will coincided with hers. Had she cast some sort of spell over the man in the woods? It seemed like a ridiculous, farfetched idea. But then, everything in my life in the last six months had been unbelievable, to say the least.

I could see that Damien didn’t want to talk about Lamia any more than I did. For now, we could shelve it. I didn’t want to spend our first real day together talking about her anyway.

“Emmeline,” he began, “I want to know what happened. Everything—who you are, what you are,” he said, looking intently into my eyes. So it was to be today, then.

“You know what I am,” I replied, not meeting his eyes. “But it’s not what you think,” I continued.

“Then tell me. I’ll believe you,” he said gently.

“I can’t explain it myself. It’s something born within me, though I’m not like Lamia. Ramona said that we all have powers, but some of us choose to use it for good; those are the wise women, like me, like her. Others, like Lamia, use their power to harm others, to control them.”

He looked thoughtful, as though he wanted to say something but didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

“What is it? What are you thinking?” I prodded.

He opened the first few buttons of his shirt. Beneath, he wore a small metal cross with a sapphire in the center. I recognized it as having belonged to my father. It was strange, knowing I had two lives, two sets of parents, two selves. In my past life, which had become my present, my father had given him the cross at the feast celebrating his knighthood. Damien had not taken it off since that day.

He looked longingly at it, memory filling his eyes, and then took it off. He drew me close to him and kissed me once, solemnly. Placing the cross over my head, he took my hands into his and made the sign of the cross.

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen,” he said. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

I felt a curious shiver run through me, one filled with recognition and holiness. I’d never heard those Latin words uttered in this life, but I knew them from long ago. They seemed to cover me as a shield, an antidote to the curse Lamia cast over me so long ago.

“Amen,” I echoed, awed by the sacredness of the moment. I did indeed have my protector with me.

“…sed libera nos a malo,” he murmured. Deliver us from evil.

I could feel the tears slide down my face. I hadn’t thought I was very religious, but in my past life, I had been and so had Damien. Vows were taken seriously then; to break a vow was to imperil your immortal soul. I wondered if Damien thought my soul was in danger. Witches were damned for all time by the church.

Neither of us spoke for a moment, but we held each other, relieved that we were both alive, and for the moment, at least, in no danger. There was much to discuss, to learn, to discover together, but in this moment, we needed no words.

He felt like a haven for me; the warm, familiar scent of him was both strange and instantly recognizable. I looked out the large window panes at the blooming azaleas, the bees buzzing, the birds happily singing. It was as if I’d entered a beautiful dream, and I never wanted to wake up. This was happiness, perfection—the still moment, the moment outside of time and place. I didn’t know what the future held for us, but the future was not important. Only now held any significance, this moment suspended in time.

We stayed like this, holding each other and making plans, for the rest of the day. I knew I’d eventually have to go back, but neither of us wanted to break the silence that cemented us together.

As it turned out, Mrs. Arthur, the housekeeper, broke it for us.

“Will the young miss be joining you for dinner, Mr. de Vere?”

Both of us jumped apart, startled. I hadn’t realized anyone besides Damien and I were here, though I should have guessed that, in a house this large, there had to be some staff.

“Certainly,” he replied.

“No, I can’t,” I said, getting up.

“Why not?” he asked.

He looked a little hurt.

“I don’t want to leave, but my Aunt…” I gave him a knowing look.

“I’ve been meaning to discuss that with you, Emmeline,” he said, becoming serious.

I looked puzzled.

“Don’t worry,” I assured him, “she doesn’t suspect that I’m here.”

“You mean you lied to her?”

He looked horrified. I’d forgotten for a moment that Damien would consider any form of deceit terribly wrong.

“Well, not exactly,” I backtracked. “I just didn’t tell her I was coming here.”

He looked at me skeptically.

“Emmeline, I want you and your aunt to come and live with me.”

“What? Here?”

“Of course.”

He said this as if it were the most natural thing in the world for us to pack our bags and come to live with him. I wished with all my heart that I could.

“I’m sorry, Damien, but I can’t.”

I hoped he saw the regret in my eyes.

“Two women shouldn’t live on their own. You have no one to protect you,” he argued.

How could I explain?

“Damien, I love you for wanting to take care of us, but it’s a different world now.”

I sounded like a broken record, even to myself.

“What I mean is…,” I continued, “women live alone all the time. We’ve been doing it my whole life, or at least since I was five.”

I could tell this didn’t satisfy him either.

“With Lamia possibly lurking around, Emmeline, I don’t think you can afford to take any chances,” he said.

I suddenly felt the urge to laugh. Telling a small white lie to sneak out of the house could have consequences for my soul, yet living together, or what my Aunt would consider ‘living in sin,’ was perfectly acceptable to Damien. Of course, I knew he’d guard my virtue fiercely, perhaps a little too fiercely. Since we’d all lived together in the castle in my past life, he saw no problem with my sharing this large house with him now.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering how exactly I’m going to explain to my Aunt that we are going to be moving in with a boyfriend of mine that, to her, I just met last night.”

He looked offended.

“But Emmeline, I am your betrothed.”

“Yes, this just gets better and better. We’ll announce we’re getting married while we’re at it.”

I was laughing then, imagining Aunt Jo’s reaction.

“I think it’s a good idea,” he said quietly.

I stopped laughing and felt an eerie sense of history repeating itself.

“I think that’s probably not a good idea,” I said.

“So you still don’t want to marry me?”

Just as before, I rushed to assure him that yes, I did, just not right now. It felt like déjà vu.

“Damien, it isn’t that…it’s just, well, a different world now,” I finished.

“So you keep saying.”

“Women live alone, and it’s perfectly safe and acceptable. And no one, or almost no one, gets married when they’re seventeen. It’s not even legal.”

Damien looked at me, not comprehending.

“Not legal?”

“No, you at least have to be eighteen to get married. You’re not considered an adult yet.”

He looked thoughtful.

“Even with your Aunt’s permission?” he asked.

I didn’t want to answer this. Actually, with Aunt Jo’s consent, we could get married. But I didn’t want to tell him this; he’d suggest asking her immediately. I didn’t want to lie to him, either.

“Yes, but she isn’t going to give it.”

“Why not?” he asked, looking affronted. “Am I not worthy of you, Emmeline?”

Worthy was an understatement. Of course he’d always been perfect in every way that mattered. He was more than worthy in the sense that he meant, but I’d also made him materially worthy in a way he hadn’t been before. He had no real concept of the wealth he had. He understood ideas like “estate,” those having been in existence as strongholds and castles in the thirteenth century, but he didn’t cringe at the car I drove or the clothes I wore, which didn’t have designer labels attached to them. Conrad had purchased the Audi in his name and had had him measured for the impeccable clothes he wore. And it was Conrad who’d bought him several outfits in London and had the rest shipped to him in America. Damien had no real frame of reference to understand the difference between his level of wealth and mine. If there were any monetary obstacles between us now, it was all on my end, not his.

“Damien, it isn’t that. If anyone is unworthy, it’s me,” I answered.

He looked at me in disbelief.

“Besides that, I have to finish school first; then I want to go to college. Only then do I want to get married,” I said.

I’d explained the schooling system to him earlier that day, and he was amazed that girls and boys went to school together for so long. “What do they learn for so many years?” he’d asked. I had smiled at him, amused. Thinking of all the movies they’d shown, fieldtrips we’d taken, and homework I’d neglected, I wondered myself what I’d learned at school over the years.

Damien wasn’t sure why I needed to go to college anyway when he would be taking care of me for the rest of my life. I could tell he wasn’t persuaded by my argument. I wasn’t going to be able to put him off, and truthfully, my heart wasn’t in it.

“Alright,” I finally conceded, “but I don’t think Aunt Jo will say yes.”

I left it at that. His face looked so elated that I didn’t want to burst his bubble. I was unsure how I was going to broach the subject to Aunt Jo.

“You can still go to school, to college,” he promised.

I smiled. I guess I should be grateful that I’d fallen in love with such a progressive knight, my bare legs notwithstanding.

He was reluctant to let me go, insisting on taking me home, but I was firm in my refusal. It was already five o’clock, much later than my usual time, and I knew I’d better have a good story ready for Aunt Jo. It wasn’t going to include Damien. If she was going to accept him at all, it wasn’t going to happen if she knew I’d skipped school to hang out with him all day.

Though I knew that Damien was ecstatic to have won me over so easily, I could still tell that he wasn’t happy about my refusal to move to Sugar Hill. It finally hit me that I needed to explain it in terms he’d understand. I didn’t want him to think I was rejecting him.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to live with you, Damien. It’s just that, in my culture, it isn’t traditional for a girl my age to live with her boyfriend, at least not when she’s seventeen. And Aunt Jo wouldn’t think it was acceptable at any age for unmarried people to live together.”

“Oh... Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s cultural…no, religious,” I said in a burst of inspiration. As a knight, he’d understand that.

“Emmeline, I would never…” he began, nearly speechless as he finally comprehended what I said.

I put my fingers to his lips.

“I know. I’m just trying to explain the difference between the age where you, no, where we came from, and this one.”

“But who defends you?”

“We have locks on the doors.”

He looked at me skeptically. I had to concede that it was rather flimsy. A knight like Damien could have the door down in less than five minutes with his bare hands. Fortunately, there weren’t lots of those running around…I hoped.

“We look out for each other here in town,” I finished weakly. But even as I said this, I knew that crimes were always being committed, even in small towns. Just last week, a house two streets over from ours was robbed, and I knew of at least one girl at school who’d been raped after a football game last fall. And that was not taking into consideration that we likely had an evil witch on the loose to contend with.

If it had been left up to me, I wouldn’t have thought twice about moving here with Damien. But I had my Aunt’s feelings to consider, and I was still underage. Even if I’d wanted to move, I couldn’t without her permission, which I’d little to no chance of getting.

Damien accepted my explanation. Under no circumstances was he interested in leading me down any untoward paths, so once I’d explained how Aunt Jo would likely see our move to his house, he was satisfied. But I could tell it made him more urgent to marry me. I couldn’t be all that surprised. It was just last week that I’d agreed to marry him in the chapel, and he’d asked Father Philip to marry us before we made our escape. Poor Father Philip. If there was one good thing resulting from Lamia’s coming through with Damien, perhaps it was that it had maybe spared his life along with Peter’s and Millie’s. I guessed I’d never know.

Chapter Fourteen

"Encounters"

I was still the same,

Knowing myself yet being someone other—

And he a face still forming; yet the words sufficed

To compel the recognition they preceded.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

I spent the rest of that week trying to teach Damien the ins and outs of modern life—no little feat in such a short time span. Fortunately, Aunt Jo announced that she was going to see an old friend in Orlando on Wednesday, so I was able to stay with Damien until Sunday afternoon, when she returned. She worried about how I’d get to school, but I asked Annie to cover for me again, explaining to Aunt Jo that she’d come by in the mornings to pick me up. I really did owe Annie. She was a great friend.

Damien had his driver, Dmitri, who lived in one of the rooms at the top of the house, to come for me on Wednesday morning. I didn’t bother coming back in the evening, letting the Duchess out to fend for herself for a few days. I had no worries about her. She left us all kinds of disgusting presents on the back stoop that I was sure I’d have to throw out before Aunt Jo returned. I still left lots of cat food on the front porch, hoping the Duchess wouldn’t be too angry that I was leaving her for a few days. She seemed to understand when I explained where I was headed, though I think she was upset she couldn’t go. When I told her, she’d turn her head away from me and pranced out the back.

One of the highlights of the week was my teaching Damien the finer points of driving. While he had learned the rudiments before finding me, he wanted to improve his skills. He’d already begun lessons with his driver, but it was more fun, he said, to practice with me.

Sugar Hill had acres and acres of land, and we practiced on several unpaved roads first before trying the grocery store parking lot, usually late at night, when no one was there.

Damien caught on quickly. Dmitri often accompanied us on those first outings, and I suspected that he and Damien went out together every day when I was not there. I was learning that Damien was a perfectionist, and he had his driver’s license within a month. I was unsure how he’d arranged it without having to take the dreaded Drivers Ed class we’d all had to suffer through. I wondered if Conrad continued to pull strings. He seemed to have powers as great as mine.

I knew that people would grow suspicious if Damien didn’t go to school, and if he was to exist in the modern world, he’d at least need a high school diploma. We discussed how to enroll him. Conrad had again managed to get him the passport so quickly, and we called him, trying to arrange for a student visa so that he could stay. I was glad, actually, that we were getting married when we both turned eighteen, a concession I was finally able to persuade Damien to make since it was less than a year away. Applying for his citizenship would be easy then. I could have used my power to arrange this, but I knew that Damien didn’t want that, and neither did I. I knew I’d have to get him settled and likely wield some magic to that end, but I wanted my life to return to normal, as far as it could, with Damien by my side. Now that he was here with me, I hoped never to cast another spell if I didn’t have to.

We hadn’t talked yet about where we would live after the wedding. I was serious about the desire to earn a college degree. One of the last promises I’d made Mom was that I would go. Damien understood vows, of course, and he was supportive, joking that perhaps he’d enroll in college too.

This was going to be the greatest obstacle I could see facing us. How would Damien handle school? High school wasn’t exactly rocket science, but for someone who’s never been there, never gone through each grade, it was going to be a nearly impossible task. I thought over what Damien already knew from his past life, and I decided the best course of action was to enroll him as a foreign student, explaining that he’d taken much different classes than American students. No one, I thought, would question this with his strange accent. I knew it was just a matter of picking a country most people had never visited or heard much about.

But I was careful. I didn’t want to choose a country where Damien didn’t actually know the language. I wanted it to be an English-speaking country despite Damien’s knowledge of Latin, now an unspoken language, and French. Since we’d visited France during our class trip, I thought that was too dangerous. Madame Renalt might also begin to ask questions. I couldn’t choose England because his accent sounded nothing like a modern British accent, even with all of the regional variances. I knew we’d have to explain that he had relatives who’d lived in England, but I thought, overall, that New Zealand was the best country for him. People had heard of it, but it was still not well known—not like Australia. And no one knew anyone from New Zealand to my knowledge. The chances that we’d actually meet a native New Zealander were slim to none.

Damien was not happy about the lie, but he knew there was no real alternative. We couldn’t exactly explain to everyone that he’d come from the past, nearly eight hundred years before.

We spent the Saturday before Aunt Jo returned checking out books from the library about New Zealand so that we’d both know something if anyone asked us any questions or started to dig deeper into Damien’s past. I wasn’t too worried that anyone would actually uncover the truth, but I wanted to make sure.

I knew we’d have to create a transcript and grade record for him and that likely would involve my powers; otherwise, the school registrar would begin to ask questions.

I was more concerned about how he’d do in his classes. Science, math, history—nearly all the subjects he would take—wouldn’t be recognizable to him. They would be much different from what he would have remembered, and there was no way I could catch him up on everything. Smart as he was, I didn’t think he could fake it. Fortunately, he seemed to have a natural aptitude for math, not that I’d been able to show him much so far. It was too bad I wasn’t terribly good at it, but then I’d never really tried all that hard. I did okay, but there were definitely nights when I’d skipped the homework assignment.

Damien wanted to hire a private tutor right away, and I didn’t think this was such a bad idea. But I wanted to see first how well he did in school before we did that.It was going to take time for him to adjust to modern life, and I was afraid he could slip up if he worked with someone too closely.

It turned out that most of my fears were unfounded. I’d underestimated just how smart and hard-working Damien was. Once he did begin taking classes, he did very well in most subjects, much better than I expected. I felt a little ashamed that I’d assumed he couldn’t do it; he had been my father’s best knight in our past life. Damien was a serious student who, unlike the rest of us, actually read his textbooks and did his homework the night before. I had taught him how to use the library before his first day, and he spent most of his time away from me reading. He was also building his own library at Sugar Hill, amazed at the amount of books readily available. He couldn’t believe that so many people could read. In the thirteenth century, books were a rarity; they had to be copied out by hand, usually by a scribe, and almost no one could read them. He was amazed to discover how the world had changed. It was not just the knowledge that astounded him; the world itself was much bigger and more diverse than what he’d thought possible in the thirteenth century.

His first day in school was one I would never forget. I spent the night before concentrating on all of the records he’d need. It helped that I had copies of mine in an old box under the bed so that I would know what to imagine. I didn’t want there to be any gaps. Damien wasn’t entirely pleased with this, hoping there could be another way for him to enroll, but I assured him that they’d start to ask questions we couldn’t answer if there was no record anywhere of his having attended school.

I decided that, though he’d be a native of New Zealand who vacationed with relatives in England, he had spent the majority of his time at a Swiss boarding school, which is where he’d picked up such impeccable French. I researched on the web and found a suitably impressive-sounding school with a name no one, including me, could pronounce. It was just a matter of imagining his records there and having them faxed to the registrar. We listed Mrs. Arthur as his guardian, thinking that no one would question this. I knew everyone would wonder why anyone with that kind of wealth would want to come to our small town and finish high school. True, there was the beach nearby, but really, we couldn’t compete with one of the best private schools in Europe. But there was no help for it.

I knew when Damien arrived on the first day in an Audi wearing Versace that we’d have to be ready with some sort of plausible background for him. I did consider buying him more normal clothes, but I didn’t have the heart to dress him in Levi’s when there was Armani in his closet. I wasn’t totally immune to fashion.

On his first day, we rode together, with me behind the wheel. I dissuaded him from having Dmitri take us, since we were already going to cause enough gossip as it was. Though I felt safe with his driving, we didn’t need the police asking questions about his past if we were pulled over.

I knew, when we arrived in the parking lot, that we’d stop traffic. I didn’t anticipate, however, that this would literally happen. Most students didn’t drive nice cars—not luxury, pricey ones. Angela’s father had bought her a used mustang for her sixteenth birthday, but most students drove boring ones. Even Aunt Jo’s old car didn’t really cause too much comment when I’d first driven it to school.Ben had teased me a little, but that had been the extent of it. Everyone had, of course, long seen Aunt Jo driving it around town for the last fifty years. People began to stare at us as we drove up, and two students actually stopped their vehicles, blocking us as we pulled in.

“What’s wrong with everyone?” Damien asked me. He still had no real idea about the distinctions between cars, proving, I thought a little smugly, that the “car gene” was not encoded into the male DNA the way Zack and Ben had always argued.

“Nothing. Let’s just say, if we’d ridden in on a horse, it would be a thoroughbred,” I answered.

“Oh,” he said. That registered.

We parked and got out of the car. Everyone stared at us. For once, I really wished that I’d used my power to give me a designer outfit to wear rather than the boring t-shirt and jeans I was wearing. I quickly dismissed this thought, though. People had enough to talk about without wondering how and where I’d finally acquired fashion sense.No one stopped us on the way in, and I made my way over to the office. I thought that this would be trickier, but it was amazingly easy to enroll Damien in school. The registrar seemed to accept our story, only asking how we knew each other—and that was just politeness. Stupidly, I hadn’t actually thought of that.

“Um, we met on vacation a couple of years ago and kept in touch,” I explained, knowing that I was talking just a little too loud and a little too fast, a habit I had when I felt nervous. I’d have to work on that end of the story later. Fortunately, she didn’t seem alarmed. We were just another couple of students, two of many she’d probably see that day.

The fax from the Swiss boarding school had arrived just before we did that morning, so it validated our story. It showed his transcript, complete with a prior history of schooling in New Zealand. It was just a matter of registering him for a class schedule.

We sat in the registrar’s office before first period, and I helped him to choose Latin, which he probably knew better than Mr. Henley, the teacher; English; History; Calculus, which I had the most misgivings about; Anatomy, easy enough without prior knowledge, I thought, since it was mostly about memorization anyway; and Gym. I’d tried to put him in as many classes with me as I could, but I knew we wouldn’t be able to take everything together. I wanted him to have some classes where he had some knowledge of the subject, like Latin or French, but there were no spaces open in my French class. They wouldn’t let him enroll in two languages at the same time anyway. Not surprisingly, Latin was not a popular subject, and there were plenty of openings mid-semester there. It was just as well, I thought. People might get suspicious if we were always together.

Most of my friends accepted our story easily. I’d begun hanging out with them again a couple of weeks beforehand, so it was easier than I’d originally thought to introduce Damien to the group, which usually included Ben.

Ben and I had settled into a distant friendship—enough, at least, that we could sit together and ask about our day, but certainly not the closeness we’d once shared. I hadn’t taken off the ring he’d given me. I couldn’t explain why, but it seemed an important part of me, of who I had been before Damien. I didn’t want to let it go, even though I knew it was hurting Ben. Damien had commented on the ring the first week we were together, wondering who’d given it to me. I evaded his question, and I think he assumed it was my mother’s. It matched my eyes, he said. I let him believe the misconception. I still really hadn’t explained anything to him about Ben, and I was fairly certain that the idea of my having a prior boyfriend was inconceivable. I wasn’t sure how he’d react when he learned, either, so I was trying to put it off for as long as possible. Maybe, I thought optimistically, it wouldn’t come up.

Between Damien’s cross around my neck and Ben’s ring on my finger, I felt like a complete person. It wasn’t fair to Ben, and I knew that when I came to school with Damien, he’d be upset, even if he didn’t show it.

When we walked into English, our first class together, Ben eyed Damien warily, his face quickly settling into lines of frustration, resentment, and anger. It was a rare look, but I recognized it immediately. I knew him too well. I could see his fingers twitching, and I knew what to expect. I had no idea that the day would end the way it did, though. I might have thought twice about enrolling Damien in school.

Everyone seemed fine in the morning. Damien had made his entrance with me in the classes we had together, stopping every girl mid-sentence. No one at school had his dark good looks, and the sheer size and height of him made most of the guys, including Ben, look shorter and weaker. As a knight, Damien had mainly trained outdoors; he had an olive complexion, so he fit in with most of the students, who spent time surfing at Daytona Beach and working on their tans. But there the similarity ended.

Fortunately for me, I thought, thirteenth-century standards of beauty for women were much different than twenty-first century ones. Damien thought it was natural for me to protect my face, which burned easily, from the sun. Fair skin was the fashion hundreds of years ago, and he thought that the girls who attended high school, most of them very tan, were completely unattractive. I couldn’t help but hide a smile when I’d asked his opinion of the girls he’d met. After overcoming the initial shock of their outfits, not considered decent in the thirteenth century, he assured me that he thought my long hair and pale face was the most beautiful he’d seen. I was vain enough to be pleased with this. No one but Ben had ever thought I was beautiful, and I wondered if love gave a person new eyes.

I thought Ben had taken Damien’s sudden appearance with me remarkably well. We’d had a couple of classes together, and I thought he was handling everything okay. But, by lunchtime, however, his patience had ebbed.

Damien and I entered the cafeteria, stopping most of the conversations around us. I made the introductions between Damien and those he hadn’t met sitting at the lunch table, when Ben asked us how our day was going—a simple enough question.

Damien answered.

“Fine. Emmeline has been most helpful to me,” Damien said fondly, reaching his arm around my shoulders.

“Emmeline?” Ben asked. I saw the tell-tale twitching of his fingers.

I hadn’t had the heart to correct Damien when he called me Emmeline. It sent a small thrill of excitement through me for him to use the name I was called in my past life. I hoped that most people would assume that Emily was short for Emmeline or believe they misunderstood Damien because of the accent. His pronunciation wasn’t too far off from Emily in any case. I should have known that Ben would have reacted instantly to the difference.

I hastened to explain.

“Yes, it’s a different form of Emily,” I continued, hoping that would be the end of it.

We’d finished eating, and Damien rose to take our trays up, bending over to kiss my cheek when he stood.

That was all it took.

Ben stood up, knocking the trays from Damien’s hands and spilling leftover pork chops, mashed potatoes, and pink lemonade all over Damien’s expensive clothes.

“Get your hands off of her!” Ben shouted, ready, I could see, to fight.

Damien had been trained for battle—it’s what knights constantly prepared for. I tried putting a restraining hand on Damien’s arm, concerned more for Ben than Damien.

I was surprised by Damien’s reaction. Instead of attacking Ben, as I’d thought he would, he turned to me, a somber look in his eyes.

“What is he to you, Emmeline?” he asked me a little too quietly.

I was so surprised, I nearly didn’t know what to say. Both of them were looking at me, waiting for a response.

“He’s…he’s…” I stuttered. I didn’t know what Ben was to me. I knew what he had been. But where did that leave us now?

“He’s a friend,” I finished, knowing that neither of them would be satisfied with that answer.

The tension eased a little from Damien, and for that, I was grateful, but only for a moment.

He turned back to Ben, and said in a calm, controlled voice, “For her sake, I will not kill you here. I will see you outside, after school.” The intensity of his voice cut through the silence. Everyone in the cafeteria had stopped eating to watch the drama unfold.

I closed my eyes. This was worse than a school fight. I thought Damien might actually follow through on his promise to kill Ben. Knights fought for their ladies in tournaments all of the time. Sometimes they killed. I thought back to the tournament I’d seen in my past life, when Damien nearly killed Justin in the joust. Knights regarded life and death differently from everyone else, and they expected to meet their death at any moment. Damien was absolutely fearless. Would he know when to stop?

Damien strode out of the cafeteria, going, I assumed, to clean up in the bathroom. I had to admit, even with mashed potatoes on his pants, he was still the hottest guy in the school.

I stood up to go after him, but Ben’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“I hope that loser makes you happy. I see now why you dumped me. I mean, I really couldn’t compete with his fancy car or his designer clothes,” he said in a sneering voice I’d never heard before.

The entire cafeteria, which was most of the school, hung onto his every word. I caught Angela laughing from the corner of my eye and could feel the blush on my face.

I said softly, hoping no one could hear me, “Ben, you know who he is, what he means to me. Don’t you remember?”

He replied so that everyone could hear: “Oh, you mean that lame story you told me? I thought you were just crazy at the time, but now I know you’re not only crazy but also the meanest girl I’ve ever known.”

“But I showed you, Ben,” I said, feeling humiliated and betrayed. Maybe I was wrong to sit with Ben today, but did he have to take his revenge like this?

I could feel the tears in my eyes. I shook my head in disbelief. I couldn’t believe he thought I’d broken up with him because Damien was rich. Or that he hadn’t believed me when I’d poured my heart out to him. There was no rational explanation for who or what I was. But I expected him to care enough about me to believe what I’d told him. I didn’t realize the depth of the pain I’d caused him.

And then there was the unhappy truth that maybe he was right. Maybe I was the meanest girl he knew. But I’d never intended to hurt him.

I shook my head and turned away, too upset to speak and too embarrassed to face anyone. If it hadn’t been for the fight that afternoon, I would have left to go home. I seriously thought about leaving anyway, but I was afraid of what Damien might do to Ben if I wasn’t there to stop him.

Annie followed me out of the cafeteria and must have seen me heading in the direction of the teacher’s bathroom. It had a lounge with a small sofa and a lock that I hadn’t bothered to flip. She knocked, came in without a word, and sat down beside me, letting me cry on her shoulder for the next hour. We skipped fourth period, fortunate that nobody came to investigate.

****

I didn’t see Damien again until that afternoon after school. He stood outside my last class, waiting for me.

“Emmeline,” he began, “I want you to go home now.”

“What?” I answered, confused. I was still too traumatized by what had happened at lunch to understand what he was saying.

“Annie’s agreed to take you,” he said.

Annie had come up beside him. They both looked worried about me.

“But why?” I asked.

But I knew why, of course. Damien had regarded Ben’s action as a direct challenge to his honor, one he would not let slide. But he didn’t want me to see him. Though I’d watched him perform in several tournaments in our past life, this was different. This as personal, almost like some kind of duel.

“Damien, stop this madness now. This is just ridiculous. We’re going home,” I said firmly, taking him by the arm. He didn’t budge.

“No, Emmeline. You’re going home. This will be no place for a lady,” he responded.

I’d had enough of his high-handed medieval ways. I had to put a stop to it.

“Listen to me, Damien. In the twenty-first century…” I began.

“I’ve heard enough about the twenty-first century,” he interrupted. “I don’t know who that boy is to you, but we’ll discuss it when I get home,” he finished, taking my hand firmly in his.

I was almost too shocked and angry with him for words. How dare he talk to me like that! On the other hand, he’d sensed something. Was there still so much between Ben and me that Damien had noticed? But he must have. A different look came into his eyes when he’d threatened to kill Ben earlier, one that I’d recognized only once—when Lamia had proposed that I marry someone else. I didn’t think it was jealousy; Damien wasn’t petty enough for that. But I belonged to him, and he wasn’t about to let Ben tell him how to behave around me.

It was probably a good thing that I was speechless. I let him pull me out to the parking lot, where a crowd had already gathered, eagerly awaiting what looked to be a promising fight.

We arrived to Annie’s car first, but I refused to get in, knowing I had to stop this somehow. I didn’t see Ben yet, but I knew he’d show.

When Damien saw that I wouldn’t get in on my own, he picked me up with one hand, opened the door with the other, and gently placed me inside almost before I had time to react. Annie just stood there, motionless. I guess she was also too stunned to speak.

“Get in,” Damien ordered her in a voice none of us could argue with.

Annie quickly climbed in beside me. I had, by now, given up the idea of reasoning with him or getting back out to confront him, knowing that Damien would just put me back in. I also had a plan.

“I’ll see you at your Aunt’s house later,” he said. He bent and tried to kiss me, but I turned away. Never, in my entire life, had I been treated this way.

Damien shut the door, Annie started the car, and we drove out of the parking lot, parting the crowd that continued to stare at me. We waited less than five minutes before I suggested going back. Her eyes grew large and round.

“I don’t know, Em. He looked pretty serious to me,” she said in a nervous voice.

“I don’t care. I have to stop Ben, even if I can’t stop Damien,” I said, anxious to prevent the fight or something much worse.

I knew they’d wait until the parking lot had cleared. Though Damien had been used to fighting in hand-to-hand combat in tournaments, Ben hadn’t had any fighting experience with anyone except for his brother, Jake, and his best friend, Zack. They wrestled all the time, but this was different. Damien wasn’t playing around.

My only hope was that Ben had forgotten the events at lunchtime and decided to drive home.

Annie turned the car around, and we turned back into the parking lot. From what I could see—which wasn’t much—the fight was underway. A huge crowd surrounded them, blocking my view. Was the entire school here? Where were the teachers or principal to stop it?

Once Annie parked, I quickly got out of the car and ran to the edge of the crowd. I could see Angela cheering Ben on. It looked like they’d made up, I thought. I tried pushing my way through the throng of people, but everyone was too focused on the fight to take any notice. Finally, several people realized that it was me, the object of the fight, and they parted to let me through. I was just in time to see that the first punch had been thrown by Ben. So they were beyond words now. The blow merely grazed Damien, who didn’t flinch. Nevertheless, he quickly responded, seemingly unfazed as he sent Ben a blow that made everyone recoil. In terms of height, Damien had the advantage. His size and sheer muscle power would have intimated most guys. Ben had been an athlete his entire life, but he could not compete with Damien, who’d trained to fight, fully armed, since he’d been a boy. I remembered what he’d done to Justin.

The fight was over almost before it began. Damien’s punch lifted Ben off his feet. Ben went sprawling backwards, landing with a thud on the pavement. Realizing he’d likely knocked out his opponent, Damien turned, wiped his hands on his pants, and parted the crowd, which instantly moved out of his way, awed, I could tell, that he’d effectively won the fight with one blow. He got into the Audi, not even winded. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen that Annie and I had driven up a few spaces away. Her car had been hidden on the other side of someone’s van. And since he didn’t expect us to be there, he didn’t look for us in the crowd. I didn’t think he saw Annie’s car as he drove off. I knew he was headed to my house first, but I had to make sure that Ben wasn’t lying there, unconscious or dead.

The crowd had surrounded Ben now, and I had to push my way through them to get to where he was.

“Stand back!” I yelled, worried he couldn’t get any air with everyone so close. Kneeling down, I immediately felt for a pulse; it was there, but it felt faint.

“Ben, are you okay?” I asked. It was a ridiculous question. Everyone could see that he was not alright.

“Do you think we should take him to the hospital?” Zack asked.

“Ben?” I said, cradling his head in my lap. I would never forgive myself if he didn’t wake up.

His eyes started to flutter, and I felt relief sweep through me. He was going to be okay after all.

He looked at me, focusing his eyes.

“Emily?” he whispered.

“Yes, I’m here,” grateful to hear his voice.

“I think I need a doctor.”

It must have been bad. I had never, through all my years of knowing Ben, heard him ask for a doctor—not when he’d broken his leg climbing a tree when he was eleven, not when a drunk driver had rear-ended us one Friday night, and not when his brother had tackled him so hard playing football that he’d broken a rib.

We carefully lifted Ben into Zack’s Jeep, which was big enough for him to recline. As I started to shut the door, I heard Ben call me back to him.

“Emily?” he said. His voice was barely above a whisper now.

“Yeah, Ben?” I asked.

“I’m taking you up on your offer.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I want my ring back.”

Chapter Fifteen

"The Ring"

…for history is a pattern

Of timeless moments.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

I didn’t speak to Damien for two days. He’d left me a note at my Aunt’s apologizing for his behavior to me, but I hadn’t called or gone to see him. And he must have sensed that he’d crossed the line with me because he left me alone, not coming to school or the house.

I finally realized that I missed him too much let this incident—however bad it was—get between us. I knew I had to forgive him or go crazy. It was true that we had a lot to work out, but we loved each other. I was hopeful for the future.

Ben had quickly recovered, needing only a few bandages, and amazingly, no one had reported the fight. I couldn’t believe that the principal or teachers hadn’t seen the crowd outside, and I knew we were lucky.

Despite the disastrous first day, Damien eventually settled into high school, the only foreign student. Everyone accepted the past we’d created for him, and most of the girls thought it was terribly romantic of him to fight for me. I probably would have thought so too if I hadn’t lived it. It’s only romantic in books and movies, not in real life.

Annie had overheard Angela say that I was the luckiest girl on the planet and that it wasn’t fair since I didn’t deserve the newest hot guy in school. Hadn’t I already had my chance with Ben?

Despite feeling terrible about what happened, I knew that at least the worst was over. And Ben wasn’t dead. So that was a plus.

Before Zack took Ben to the hospital, I’d given Ben back his ring. It was the right thing to do, I knew, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I had that it would lead to something terrible. But Ben was right; it was cruel to keep his ring since we weren’t together. I had to honor his wishes, whatever misgivings I had.

Understandably, Damien and Ben completely avoided each other after the fight. Damien and I stayed away from the lunch table, choosing instead to eat outside on the picnic tables by ourselves. This suited me, and Ben was grateful, I think, not to have us near him. Not that he ever spoke to me after that.

Damien hadn’t yet asked me too many questions about Ben, and for that, I was grateful. I hadn’t stayed angry at him too long, but he told me it was long enough. Though he’d hastily written the note for me on Aunt Jo’s message pad, he made a more formal apology to me later, knowing that I must hold Ben in some regard and telling me that he wished the outcome of their exchange had been different. Evidently, before Ben punched him, Damien had offered to accept an apology for his insulting behavior at lunch. I cringed when he told me and didn’t have to imagine Ben’s response. I had watched it.

I felt obliged to explain something to Damien. I didn’t tell him that Ben and I had once imagined being together our entire lives, that we’d originally planned to go to the same college and eventually get married.Instead, I explained that Ben had once been something more to me than a friend.

Damien still struggled with the past life I’d had without him—the one before my dreams had begun. But he accepted the brief description of my past relationship with Ben. He didn’t begrudge me the happiness I’d found with Ben, so long as it was over now. As far he was concerned, we could be friends if Ben could respect the boundaries. I was a little amused by this. I knew Damien had researched modern relationships at the library, and he used psychologists’ terminology as he tried to understand how men and women related to each other.

In the thirteenth century, relationships usually only took one form—marriage—but I appreciated that he was trying to understand that everyone, male and female, could interact as friends in the twenty-first century. I was grateful that he was making the effort to understand and respect my wishes.

As it happened, though, Ben didn’t want to be friends after the fight. I think he assumed that we were getting back together until Damien actually arrived. Once he saw for himself that it was really over between us, he couldn’t handle it. Since then, I’d caught him watching us only once, a resigned look in his eyes. I thought that maybe he hated me, and that made me sad. But there was nothing I could do. I didn’t think Ben and I could be friends, even if the fight hadn’t happened. We had been too much to each other before.

Damien and I mainly kept to ourselves. It was too dangerous for him to try and make any close friends with the other students since he was still learning about modern life. I was glad for the time we had by ourselves, though I knew that I was losing Annie, my best friend. Since I avoided Ben, and Annie dated his best friend, we no longer moved in the same circles.

I knew Aunt Jo was concerned about the amount of time I spent with Damien and the fact that I didn’t really have other friends anymore outside of him. She liked him well enough, though I could tell she still preferred Ben. I hadn’t told her anything about the fight, and she often mentioned Ben’s name over dinner unless Damien was there. She was very sensitive to his feelings, whatever her personal preference might be. Ben had been around for years, while Damien was the newcomer. And even though he was charming, handsome, and clever, he wasn’t comfortable to her yet. I was hoping that time would eventually remedy that.

I hadn’t yet broached the subject of getting married to Damien with her. I still had some time, and I knew she’d be angry and likely forbid me to see Damien until I turned eighteen, when she wouldn’t have any say in the matter. But I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

For his part, Damien frequently wanted to discuss our marriage and asked me when we could talk it over with Aunt Jo. I continued to put it off, not wanting to hurt his feelings or have him think I was rejecting him. But it was going to come up sooner or later.

One Friday night, we’d ordered take-out and decided to watch an old film about knights and ladies. Damien enjoyed watching movies made about our past life, laughing at the misconceptions modern filmmakers and audiences held about knights and the Middle Ages. We liked to curl up on the large couches in what was once an elegant, formal parlor on the ground floor of Sugar Hill. Damien had converted it—the only room he’d changed in the house—to a movie room, amazed and delighted by the moving pictures he saw on TV.

He also couldn’t believe the kinds of foods we ate. I agreed with him. Though we’d likely eaten tastier fare in the castle than the average thirteenth-century villager did, food had definitely improved over the centuries.

I lay curled up on his lap, trying to feed him noodles with chop sticks. We’d just finished watching the movie, and the credits were running when Damien put his take-out box down, looking a little nervous, which was odd. Damien was never nervous.

“I’ve been doing some research in the library,” he began.

“Oh yeah? What about?” I asked absentmindedly.

My attention was mainly focused on rooting around the bottom of my box in search of chicken pieces. Damien was frequently researching in the library, so that was nothing new. I liked to tease him about being a bookworm—though I had to say, his enjoyment of books had inspired me to read more. I couldn’t say that I loved books as much as he did, but we often read together on lazy Sunday afternoons.

“I’ve been reading about marriage rituals,” he said hesitantly.

Uh-oh, I thought. Here we go again. I concentrated hard on the noodles.

“Oh yeah?” I asked casually, searching now for imaginary chicken in my box.

“Did you know that it is customary to give your fiancée a diamond ring?” he asked.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, I am aware of the tradition,” I answered, trying to keep my voice casual.

He moved more quickly than I expected, but then he always did. It was part of his training as a knight, I guess.

He took away my chopsticks and then removed the take-out box, laying it beside his on a nearby end table. Lifting me from his lap, he placed me on the couch. In a flash, he was on one knee, holding my left hand—the really greasy one—and slipping the largest diamond I’d ever seen onto the third finger.

“Emmeline, will you marry me?” he asked, a heartbreaking smile on his face.

My speech was temporarily suspended, and I knew my jaw hung slightly open. I forgot for a moment that this ring would cause huge difficulties with Aunt Jo and no end of gossip at school. I wanted to savor the moment.

“Damien, I don’t know what to say,” I began, stunned. That was true. I was totally speechless.

“You don’t like it?” he asked, a frown on his face.

“Like it? No, I don’t like it,” I said.

His face fell.

“I love it!” I squealed, throwing my arms around his neck. I was pretty sure my lips were as greasy as my fingers felt and that my breath smelled like an eggroll, but I didn’t care. It was the happiest moment in my life.

“So the answer is yes?” he ventured tentatively.

Too overcome for words, I just nodded my head in assent.

“So, I think we should tell your Aunt Jo now, Emmeline,” he said when my initial euphoria subsided.

My face must have given me away.

“Why can’t we?” he asked.

I sighed. It as an old, familiar story, and I was so tired of saying no.

“We can, Damien. Of course we can,” I assured him.

I’d hoped to squeeze out at least another month before I had to tell her. He just didn’t understand; he only saw that he wanted to be with me always. No amount of explanations about modern life was going to change that.

“Let’s tell her now. Tonight,” he urged.

“Tonight?”

I gulped. It had been such a perfect evening. Why ruin it?

“Tonight,” he said firmly.

****

Overall, Aunt Jo took it better than I’d expected. She didn’t look particularly surprised, and she allowed Damien to finish his speech. He’d insisted on asking her for my hand in marriage, a route I thought quaint but ill-advised. I was sure Aunt Jo would say no on the spot.

Instead, she looked at us both and smiled.

“Emily, dear, is this what you want?” she asked gently.

“Yes, Aunt Jo, it is,” I replied, too stunned to say more.

“Then there’s nothing more to be said. I’d like you to finish high school first, of course, but you’ll be eighteen before then so you can do what you like,” she said, a tone of resignation in her voice. Damien beamed. It had gone exactly as he’d expected, and that annoyed me a little. But I was grateful that Aunt Jo hadn’t forbidden us to see each other or banned Damien from the house, an outcome I’d worried about.

Something still didn’t seem right, though. I knew Aunt Jo cared about me, so why didn’t she say more? Or was I just looking for problems where none existed?

When Damien finally left that night—he was now, as my fiancé, allowed to stay until midnight—I knocked on Aunt Jo’s bedroom door. Filled with antiques, her room looked much like mine did, minus the posters I had pasted over the rose wallpaper. Her lavender scent, always soothing to me, permeated the room. To come into Aunt Jo’s bedroom was to enter another time.

I poked my head around the door.

“Can I come in?” I asked tentatively.

“Sure,” she said. She was sitting up in bed reading her monthly Ladies’ Home Journal, a green mask plastered on her face—one of her Saturday night rituals.

I smothered a smile. This was an image I’d remembered from my childhood. I came often to her room as a little girl, homesick at first for Colorado and the friends I’d left there. We’d had lots of bedside chats, but not, I realized a little sadly, recently. There was a time when I’d had no secrets from her. She’d always been a good listener.

“Aunt Jo,” I began, “about Damien…”

“Hmmm? What, dear?” she asked, stroking the Duchess, who lay contentedly in her lap.

“Damien?” I repeated a little louder, wondering if she’d heard me.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, putting away her magazine.

“Are you really okay with this? You took it much better than I’d expected,” I began, uncertain of what I wanted to say.

“Emily, if you’re happy, that’s all that matters. I can’t really say I’m surprised. You two have been very close since he arrived,” she said nonchalantly. She looked as if she was going to start reading her magazine again.

“That’s all?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it. Surely it wasn’t going to be this easy.

“Yes, that’s all,” she answered, smiling as much as she could beneath the hardened mud that promised to take years off her skin.

I came in further and sat on the side of her bed. Something was definitely up.

“I’m not buying it. You always have an opinion, Aunt Jo, even if you don’t always give it,” I said.

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you. Now out with it. Tell me what you really think. I can take it,” I said with more bravado than I felt.

She sighed.

“Emily, I’m going to tell you a story,” she began, a faraway look coming into her eyes.

I pulled off my shoes and curled my feet under me, ready for a bedside chat. The Duchess, bored with us, climbed down. She had better things to do than listen to our human chatter.

Aunt Jo smiled, but not for me. I knew she remembered a different time.

“When I was a little girl, my sister—not your grandmother but my other sister—was the oldest. She and I shared this room,” she began, her eyes growing misty.

“She was so lovely—she looked much like you do, Emily,” she continued. This surprised me. To my knowledge, I didn’t resemble anyone on either side of my family.

“No,” Aunt Jo said as if reading my mind, “she didn’t have long red hair or green eyes, but there’s something about the shape of your face, the way you walk. You remind me of her.”

“I’ve never heard you talk about her, Aunt Jo. What was her name?” I asked.

“Edwina. There was Edwina, Miriam, and me, Josephine. It was our baby brother, Sam, who called me Jo. He couldn’t say the whole name,” she said, stopping for a moment. I knew she was remembering her brother, the great-uncle I’d never met who’d died years before in a car accident.

She fell quiet for a moment and then resumed her story.

“Edwina had blonde hair and dark blue eyes like sapphires. She had pale skin, like you, and she was so elegant and tall, the very image of Grace Kelly. She had her pick of the young men who came by the house. Edwina dated several young boys, usually all at once. She was a great flirt. She was also my father’s favorite. No young man was good enough for her. Because Edwina didn’t seem to prefer any of the young men she dated, this presented no problem at home. Daddy never paid too much attention to anyone taking us out, so long as it wasn’t serious.

But everything changed when Richard moved to town. He had an angelic face, with curling lashes and baby blue eyes. I can still see him in my mind, standing on the front porch to ask our father for permission to call for Edwina. With Richard, I knew it was different immediately. Edwina acted like a woman in love. She used to dance around our room, planning the outfits she’d wear for him. Though she was just seventeen, she knew her own mind. When he asked her to marry him, she planned to say yes.

Richard asked my father for her hand, though they’d only seen each other for three months—and then it was just once or twice a week, when he came to take her dancing. He began to attend church downtown with us. We went every Sunday then.”

Aunt Jo looked a little contrite at this. We hadn’t been to church together in over a year, not since my mother had passed away. Damien insisted that he and I attend Mass, horrified that I didn’t take religion as seriously as I had in my past life. He didn’t understand that there were other choices, growing up as he did with only one church available in the thirteenth century. I knew I’d likely convert sometime in the next year to make him happy. I didn’t think Aunt Jo would be too upset at this. She’d always regarded religion as an expression of a larger faith in God; the details, she’d once told me, were less important to Him than to us.

“When he came formally to ask my father for her hand,” she continued, “I thought I’d never seen such fireworks. My father threw him out of the house, threatening to kill him if he came back. Edwina pleaded, begging him to change his mind, but he wouldn’t. She didn’t a say a word to him, which was very unusual for her. We should have suspected something was amiss, for Edwina had a terrible temper. As it turned out, she was just biding her time. She left in the middle of the night without a word to any of us, even me.”

Aunt Jo’s voice broke then, the tears making trails in the green mask. I reached over, putting my hand over hers and squeezing it for comfort.

“Did she marry him?” I asked gently.

“I don’t know. We never saw her again,” Aunt Jo finished on a sob. I could tell she still felt upset about it, even fifty-five years later.

“You mean, she never came back, never wrote or called?” I asked.

“No, nothing,” Aunt Jo said, wiping her eyes and the rest of the mask off with her handkerchief.

We both fell silent, alone with our own thoughts. I could imagine how sad my Aunt Jo must have felt, first to lose a sister, then a brother, and finally a fiancé. Though I knew what loss felt like, Aunt Jo had had more than her fair share.

“I see the same determination in your eyes, Emily. If you feel for Damien what Edwina did for Richard, then I want you to be happy. I won’t stand in your way, even though I think you’re too young to make this decision. If it’s what you want, then I support you. You’re all I have, Emily. I don’t want to lose you too,” she said, crying into her handkerchief.

I felt overwhelmed with the enormity of her love. Except for Damien, she was all I had too.“Don’t worry, Aunt Jo. You won’t ever lose me,” I promised, hugging her.

By this time, we were both in tears, and the Duchess had crept back in, jumping into my lap and purring softly. She might find us boring, but we were still her family.

“Enough!” Aunt Jo said. “This old woman has to get some sleep. And you probably want to start planning your big day, though I hope you’ll take my advice, Emily, and wait a little while at least,” she said, sounding more like herself.

We both laughed, wiping our eyes. I assured her I was in no rush.

“Will you make your dress, Emily?” she asked. I knew she wanted to see me sewing again. It was something that had once made me happy.

I thought for a moment. It would be a huge undertaking. I hadn’t made even a simple dress since Mom had died. And to make a wedding dress…it would be a time-consuming project. But then I knew, suddenly, that that was exactly what I wanted. I had the ivory dress from the mall, but I wanted to make the exact gown I’d been wearing when I last saw Damien in my dreams, to recreate our past life and relive it with a happier ending.

“Yes, Aunt Jo. I think I will,” I finally said.

“Promise me one thing, dear,” she said, looking more serious now.

“What’s that?”

“At least finish high school. And I don’t want to see him whisk you off to New Zealand or England or wherever his family lives, at least not yet.”

“Okay,” I agreed readily, happy to oblige. “But you know,” I continued, “Damien doesn’t have anyone either.”

Aunt Jo looked thoughtful at this.

“That may be, but he’s just become the luckiest person I know,” she said.

I smiled at this, putting my arms around her. I was grateful for her support. I was also glad that she hadn’t mentioned Ben. I knew that she liked Damien, but I also knew that she’d always prefer Ben. He’d been in my life too long for her to change loyalties now.

Chapter Sixteen

"Following"

Whatever we inherit from the fortunate

We have taken from the defeated

What they had to leave us—a symbol:

A symbol perfected in death.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

The red BMW convertible tore into the school parking lot, nearly running over Angela Rossi—not that I could say I would have complained much about that. The black-haired girl got out of the car, looking neither to the right nor the left, and passed by everyone as if she didn’t feel their eyes fixated on her. She could have been a model. Damien and I exchanged looks, but I shook my head, not feeling the strange tingling that would have told me she was a witch. We were both relieved. It wasn’t Lamia, though I didn’t know who she was.

Though she looked nothing like the stepmother from my past life, with her long dark hair and strangely golden eyes, I had the oddest feeling as she brushed past me—not the same as I had for Ramona, though. I attributed it to apprehension; lately, any stranger aroused my suspicions, and I’d had several false alarms since I’d brought Damien from the past.

To Damien’s credit, he didn’t look twice at her. He’d assured me on more than one occasion that other girls held no appeal for him, and the car didn’t send him drooling as it did most of the boys in school.

She’d been introduced to us in second period by my English teacher as Kirsten Lowe, also a foreign student from Quebec. I immediately became wary but ignored the feeling when she smiled, sitting beside me and extending her hand. It was a very formal gesture, but I was touched. The feelings of apprehension I’d had dissipated, and I decided I was worrying too much. Besides, wouldn’t Ramona have seen this and warned me of any danger?

It had been a long time since I’d brought Damien over, and I thought we were likely safe by this time. Damien had found me in a week. Surely Lamia would have located us by now, weeks later, if she’d come through.

Kirsten also looked completely different, though I knew that didn’t mean much. Lamia had had dark eyes and was taller, I thought, than Kirsten. Damien hadn’t recognized her either, and though she spoke with an accent, it was not similar to Damien’s. Hers was definitely French, corresponding to her story that she was from Quebec.

She attracted most of the boys in school. I did think it was strange that she’d enrolled in school a couple of months before summer, but then she’d explained that her school in Quebec had been on a different system. She had cousins, she said, who lived nearby. I didn’t know them, but then we’d had many new families move into town over the past few years—overflow from the developments building up around Daytona. So that didn’t mean much either.

Kirsten was immediately popular, despite her early aloofness in the parking lot on the first day. She gravitated to me and Damien, but even that made sense since she and Damien were the only two foreign students at school. I was glad for a friend anyway. I almost never saw Annie, often with Zack and therefore with Ben. We’d grown apart after the fight.

I was happy to have a girlfriend to chat with again. Kirsten fully supported my relationship with Damien, which had become the talk of the school.

When I’d come to school engaged, with undeniable proof on my left hand, I caught everyone staring at us—everyone but Ben, who continued to keep his distance and almost never looked my way. We formed the subject of everyone’s lunchtime gossip, but I didn’t care. I missed Annie, whose opinion I did care about, but I knew she also felt that I’d shut her out. She was also hugely loyal to Zack, and he was definitely on Ben’s side. The fight had divided everyone. Most sympathized with him, blaming me for causing everything. I was glad to have an ally, someone who didn’t judge me.

For the most part, Kirsten’s class schedule coincided with mine, and we quickly became inseparable. Damien and I still spent all of our free time together, of course, but I usually tried to include Kirsten on a least one outing that Damien and I had during the week or on the weekend, especially if we went to Daytona. I confess that I loved to feel the wind in my hair when we took Kirsten’s convertible.

After getting Damien settled, I promised not to use my power again except in cases of emergency. True to my word, I hadn’t cast any spells, but there were definite downsides. For one thing, the Saratoga constantly acted up—I forgot to fix it before agreeing to give up my powers. But I didn’t have to drive too much now. Damien took me most places, having eventually found Dmitri another job when he no longer needed a driver. He’d been driving on his own now for over a month.

Aunt Jo was also glad I’d made a new girlfriend. Even though she wouldn’t pry, I knew she wanted me to have friends outside of my relationship with Damien.

Damien tolerated Kirsten’s presence reasonably well, though he often rolled his eyes when she wanted to come with us to Sugar Hill, where he would’ve preferred that we spend our time together alone. Since I was virtually Kirsten’s only friend, I felt compelled to invite her over.

We spent the last months of the school year like this. June approached, and everyone was happy to get out of school for the summer. Most of us had summer jobs, and I’d applied to work again at a local drugstore just a block from Aunt Jo’s.

Damien told me I didn’t have to work, arguing that he had plenty for both of us, but I liked to earn my own money. We weren’t married yet, and I knew Aunt Jo could use the income too.

Damien still couldn’t believe that women worked, but he’d been remarkably open-minded since arriving in March. And I explained that I also enjoyed my job. I’d worked together last summer with Ben, and I was looking forward to working there part-time again. I would spend the rest of my time at Sugar Hill with Damien when I wasn’t designing my wedding dress, which I wanted to be a surprise for him. I needed the summer job because I wanted to save up to order special Belgian lace for my veil.

Kirsten didn’t have to work, of course, and we all expected that she’d travel to Europe for the summer. But she didn’t, telling us that she loved sunny Florida and her new friends too much to leave us. As a Canadian, she said she never got tired of the warmth after living so long in the cold. I vaguely remembered feeling the same way when I first moved from Colorado, but that had been such a long time ago, I really couldn’t remember much about it. DeLand had been my home for a long time now. I already felt some nostalgia for it, knowing that I’d likely be leaving it for good at some point after Damien and I got married.

Damien had not pressured me to set a date in the near future after my conversation with Aunt Jo. I wore his ring on my hand and had begun making definite plans, so he knew I was really serious about going ahead with the wedding.

We’d discussed several ideas, including having the ceremony at Sugar Hill. But I think we both knew that our hearts belonged in the chapel in England where we’d first pledged our love. It was fortunate that it had been rebuilt, a perfect site for us to wed next summer. Even though I’d originally wanted to wait until after college, we’d compromised by agreeing to postpone the wedding for one year only. Then we’d apply and go to a university together. Neither of us really wanted to delay too long anyway. We’d already waited a lifetime.

I felt sad that none of my old friends—however estranged— would attend the wedding. Though a perfect spot for us, England was too far for everyone but Aunt Jo. Damien had offered to fly anyone I wanted, but I declined. Somehow, it felt like our private place, and I’d grown apart from the friends I’d had before him. My past life had overtaken my present one, and while I missed some of my former friends, especially Annie, Zack, and even Ben, I couldn’t say I really regretted anything. I would do everything over again given the chance.

I began work for the summer a week after school ended. On my first day, I wondered if Ben would return to work at the drugstore with me, but I doubted it, given everything that had happened over the last year. He never showed, so I figured he’d taken another job somewhere. I finally heard that he was a lifeguard at the local Y. It was a perfect job for him, and I hoped he was happy.

I didn’t hear from Kirsten for several weeks and thought perhaps she’d decided to travel for the summer after all. It was strange that she wouldn’t tell me given how close we’d grown over the last weeks of school, but I didn’t give it too much thought. Friends often grew apart during the summer break.

I settled into a routine at the drugstore, spending most of my mornings and part of my afternoons there before driving out to Sugar Hill to see Damien. In the evenings, I’d go back home to have dinner with Aunt Jo. Damien often came with me, but I always made him leave soon afterwards. I had begun the pattern for my dress, and I didn’t want him to see it.

One morning, I busily stocked the shelves when I felt a strange sensation. A chill ran down my spine, and I turned around before I heard her voice.

“Hello, Emmeline,” Kirsten said as she approached me. This in itself was strange—only Damien called me Emmeline. It struck a disturbing chord in me, and I felt almost panicked.

Get a grip, I thought. It must be the heat. She’d probably been so used to hearing Damien call me Emmeline that she’d fallen into the habit herself. I was just overreacting.

“Hello, Kirsten,” I replied, forcing a note of cheerfulness in my voice.

An awkward silence ensued.

“I haven’t seen you in awhile,” I continued nervously, unable to keep the tremor from my voice. My hands shook, and I broke out in a cold sweat.

“Yeah, I’ve been a little busy,” she finally answered.

Was it me, or was her voice a little strange, her accent a little different from the one I’d remembered before? And yet, at the same time, it sounded so familiar.

She didn’t wait for me to respond.

“I’ve mainly been at the Y,” she said, still in that eerie voice I suddenly remembered. It sounded as if it came through a tunnel from long ago.

“Oh, yeah?” I said, looking for an escape. She was blocking me in front, and the cosmetics section had me trapped from behind.

“Mm-hm,” she said, coming closer. She smiled, lowering her lashes. I felt paralyzed with fear. An intense light seemed to surround Kirsten, whose skin glowed and lips appeared painted the deepest shade of red, as though she’d applied layers of a lip stain. I shook my head, trying to clear it.

“Emmeline, I hope you don’t mind…I know you and Ben dated before. But he’s asked me out, and I’ve said yes,” she finished in a silky voice, coming still closer.

I had been rolling beach towels, getting ready for the tourists that came through on their way to Daytona, but when she said this, my arms dropped everything.

My first impression was intense relief—so she only wanted to deliver some bad news. She wasn’t Lamia, my evil stepmother from the past. I shook my head again to clear it. What was wrong with me?

It had to happen, of course. Ben had to begin dating again at some point, but did it have to be her? And why couldn’t I shake that odd sensation that made me feel so afraid? This was Kirsten, after all, someone I’d seen a hundred times by now and knew almost as well as myself. Yet I couldn’t shake the weird feeling I had. Kirsten’s boyfriends were none of my business, and I’d made it very clear to Ben that I’d moved on. Our relationship hadn’t been the same ever since the afternoon of the fight. If he wanted to date Kirsten, then it had nothing to do with me.

“Great,” I said in a squeaky voice. To my credit, I looked her straight in the eye and tried to ignore the overpowering feeling of danger.

That’s when I noticed. Her eyes were no longer the strange golden color they usually were. They looked much, much darker.

“Good, Emmeline. That’s wonderful news. I wouldn’t want for you to be upset,” she said, her voice becoming lower, huskier. It was a voice I recognized, and it terrified me.

She was already walking out of the store before I could respond. How could I have been so stupid, so blind? I ignored all the warning signs from the very beginning.

Lamia. She would get to me through Ben. She’d been waiting, listening and biding her time. She’d planned the entire time to find the one person most vulnerable because of course he wouldn’t believe any warning about her from me. She knew I still cared for Ben despite our estrangement. For some reason I didn’t yet understand, she couldn’t get to Damien, but she obviously saw Ben as an easier target.

Damien didn’t like Kirsten much; he thought she was a nuisance, and she knew it. He didn’t, of course, know that she was really Lamia, but his indifference to her somehow must have made him immune to her power.I’d thought I caught her flirting with him once or twice, but it didn’t bother me because Damien never responded to her advances.

At the time, I’d just attributed her overfriendliness to cultural differences, thinking that it was just her way of being nice. And then, too, we were her only friends in Florida. Damien was polite but not that responsive. He respected her as my friend, but that was it.

Had Damien known who Kirsten really was, he would have gone after her to avenge me. But he hadn’t been able to defeat her in our past life. Why would she avoid him now? Didn’t witches only get stronger the more past lives they experienced?

I wondered why Lamia had chosen to reveal herself to me now. I could only figure that she had more than just my death in store for me. Maybe she’d go after everyone I cared for and leave me last. She’d obviously kept herself hidden from me as long as was necessary, striking out only after she’d gleaned all the information she needed. Once she knew everything about my current life, she could begin her attack, which included revealing herself to me. She wanted me to know that she orchestrated my pain. Part of the satisfaction in her revenge, I concluded, was to make me suffer. She started with someone I loved, someone also obviously attracted to her—Ben. It seemed that her powers had doubled, if not trebled from our past life in the thirteenth century. Had she experienced another past life since then? Not only could she change shapes and bewitch others, using their own emotions against them, she could also almost totally hide her power from me, another witch. I only felt her when she chose the time and place.

By now, I’d finally composed myself enough to begin thinking clearly about what I needed to do next. My first thought was that I had to get to Ben. I didn’t bother telling the manager, Mr. McDougal, that I needed the rest of the afternoon off, but ran out of the store to where I’d parked the Saratoga. I knew I’d have to use my powers to make it go much faster than it usually did. Lamia already had a good ten minutes on me. I was glad I hadn’t let Damien drive me into work this morning. I worried about what she might or even could do to Damien, but I thought that she wouldn’t go after him, at least not yet.

I knew eventually that Damien would be worried when I didn’t show up at his place later and would start searching for me. That could be dangerous. Just before I got to the Y, where Ben worked, I called Damien on my cell phone. He answered immediately, and I struggled to steady my voice so he wouldn’t suspect something was wrong. I told him I had a headache and needed to go home and sleep. I cringed at the lie, but it couldn’t be helped. I had to keep him safe.

As I expected, he was immediately concerned, but I rushed to assure him that I didn’t want him to come to Aunt Jo’s since it was just a headache. The safest place for Damien, I thought, was Sugar Hill, way out of town.Though Damien was physically the strongest person I knew, Lamia was a witch. It would take a witch to deal with her. I took a deep breath, praying that I was strong enough. To my knowledge, I’d only had one past life, and that had been cut very short. I knew I possessed only one power, while Lamia wielded many. Could I defeat her?

Damien didn’t want to hang up, sensing something was wrong, but I downplayed my agitation and thought I’d made him understand that it wasn’t a big deal—just a headache from the heat. I could see that my hands were shaking, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to continue hiding my agitation for long.

I finally convinced him, and after we hung up, I decided to ask for help from the only person I knew who could give it—Ramona.

I felt guilty because I hadn’t spoken much to Ramona lately. I’d taken Damien to her store once, and though Damien was polite, I could tell that he wanted me to put my power behind me, to live a normal human life. Ramona was a reminder of that part of me he still found distressing, so I was sorry to say that I hadn’t kept in touch much since I’d brought Damien back. Ramona also definitely looked like a witch, and I knew that Damien couldn’t get past the stigma, even knowing that I was one too.

A few minutes later, I arrived to the store, parked the Saratoga out front, and rushed in. Ramona was helping a customer to choose several herbs. She signaled for me to wait, but I was antsy, each moment making me more afraid for Ben’s safety than the next.

The customer finally made her purchase and left. I was furious and frantic.

“Why did you make me wait?” I said, exasperated. “Don’t you know why I’m here?”

“Because right now, there’s nothing you can do,” she replied quietly.

“What do you mean, nothing I can do!”

“She isn’t at the Y.”

“Then where is she, and how long have you known what she is?”

“I suspected some time ago, but I couldn’t be sure. Part of her power, I think, is an ability to hide herself from us. You didn’t recognize her immediately either.”

I knew she was right, having already surmised this for myself. I should have felt her the moment she’d arrived, but then I mentally kicked myself. I had felt her or felt something; I’d just ignored the feeling because it was so weak.

“Where is she now?” I asked, feeling that this was a huge waste of time.

“I’m not sure, but I’m positive it isn’t the Y.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because I see his future, and nothing bad happens to him today.”

I felt a huge sense of relief.

“What about tomorrow?” I asked.

“Fine.”

“And the next day?”

“Also fine.”

“What about long-term? Do you see Lamia anywhere in Ben’s future?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t there.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Ben’s okay for right now, but since Lamia can hide from me, I can’t see what role she’ll play in his life. All I can see is that he isn’t dead.”

“Then he’s safe?”

“Not exactly. I do sense some danger, some force looming over him. And I see him lying still. But I don’t see him losing his life force.”

“How can you know that he isn’t going to die?”

“Intuition. But Emily, I could be wrong. If Lamia can hide herself like this and her actions, I don’t know what she’s capable of.”

“Then she could be on her way to him right now.”

“No, I don’t think so. His picture is very clear today.”

“Then I have time to get to Ben before she does.”

I made Ramona promise to call if she saw anything clearer that could help. I wasn’t exactly reassured by what she’d told me.

I was anxious to leave and get to Ben. I knew I was likely the last person he wanted to see, but I had to try, to make him understand the danger he faced.

As I was leaving, Ramona’s voice followed me. “Remember, Emily, to be careful. She’s a powerful witch.”

I arrived a few minutes later at the Y, hoping Ben was still there. It had been a while since I’d been, and I obviously had forgotten where things were located. I blundered into a random room, right in the middle of a summer camp crafts demonstration. I excused myself, backing out into a group of middle-schoolers running and yelling down the hall. Was everything conspiring to keep me from Ben?

The hall cleared, and I saw a friendly camp counselor who directed me to the outdoor pool where Ben was a lifeguard.

I made my way out to the pool, relieved to see Ben there, but he was in the middle of giving swim lessons to twenty or so five-year-olds. I obviously couldn’t interrupt that.

The lesson finally finished, and Ben started talking to Zack, who saw me and waved. I was glad for one friendly face, at least.

Ben looked up, saw who it was, and turned away. So this was going to be more difficult than I thought. He started go into the locker room, and I ran to stop him.

The five-year-olds, fresh from their lesson yelled at me, “No running around the pool!”

I ignored them, wanting to catch Ben. Zack called after me, laughing, “Hey, Emily, didn’t you hear? You’re not supposed to run around the pool! Don’t forget what happened last time!”

I didn’t slow down or laugh. This was too important.

“Ben,” I called, out of breath. The pool was Olympic-size. Before reaching the locker door, he stopped, turned, and looked at me, not speaking.

“Ben,” I said again more quietly, still trying to get my breath. “I have to talk to you. It’s about Lam—Kirsten.”

He crossed his arms across his chest.

“What about her?” he asked defensively.

“Ben, you can’t go out with her,” I blurted out.

He rolled his eyes and started to go in the locker.

“You really are unbelievable, Emily,” he muttered.

I clutched his arm.

“Listen, Ben, I know you’re upset with me. And you have a right to be, but this is just too important. You have to listen… she’s dangerous. You’ve got to stay away from her.”

He smiled at me, but there was no mirth in it.

“Jealous?” he asked.

“What? No! Ben, this isn’t a game.”

“Oh, really? Then what would you call it? You have Damien now. You made it very clear that you want nothing to do with me. And you lost the right to tell me who I could and couldn’t date when you broke up with me. You want to know what I think? I don’t care what you say. I think you are jealous. Kirsten is beautiful, much prettier than you, and she wants to go out with me. You don’t want me, but you don’t want someone else to have me, either. It’s malicious, Emily, but then that’s what I’ve come to expect from you,” he finished, stalking off.

It could not have hurt more if he’d hit me. I didn’t go after him. It was hopeless; he hated me now in earnest, and nothing I could say would change his mind.

I turned to Zack.

“You have to make him understand,” I pleaded, desperate now for someone to believe me.

Zack shook his head at me.

“Give it a rest, Emily. I didn’t want to get in the middle of this, but just listen to yourself. I mean, you’re engaged to somebody else! Why don’t you just cut Ben a break? He deserves to be happy too, you know,” he finished, walking off.

Zack was right. Ben did deserve to be happy, and he shouldn’t have to be a pawn in Lamia’s game with me. If was I going to save him, I’d have to go after her.

Chapter Seventeen

"Déjà Vu"

The river is within us, the sea is all about us…

T. S. Eliot, “The Dry Salvages”

As it turned out, going after Kirsten proved harder than I thought. Two weeks went by, and I hadn’t seen her. I couldn’t track her to the false address she’d given me, and the school wouldn’t tell me any confidential information, not that I actually thought it would have helped. I tried using my power, considering that this definitely counted as a life-threatening emergency, but it didn’t work. Ramona was right. She was blocking both of us.

I called Annie to ask about whether or not Kirsten was dating Ben, but Annie didn’t know or wasn’t telling. She was more than a little angry with me for my friendship with Kirsten. If you want to know where she is, she’d told me, why don’t you call her yourself?

It didn’t help that I had to keep all of this from Damien, at least initially, which was more difficult than I’d anticipated. He knew me better than anyone and could read my mood swings. During the first few days, when I waited for something to happen, he knew something was wrong. Two weeks after Kirsten frightened me in the drugstore, I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. I told him the story.

“Kirsten is Lamia? Are you sure?” he’d asked, alarmed and looking around Sugar Hill as if she might appear any moment.

“Absolutely positive,” I replied, more worried now that I had no idea where she was or what she was doing. I knew it was part of her revenge to keep me guessing, frantic and worried all the time.

“Why didn’t we recognize her before?” he asked.

“Because that’s her power,” I answered.

“I thought she was able to bewitch people,” Damien said, confused.

“She is. Ramona says she’s just a very powerful witch. I suspect she’s had many past lives. That gave her time to develop her powers of concentration to a point where even I couldn’t immediately recognize who or what she was.”

Damien grew speculative, and I knew he was making his own plans, which didn’t include me. He thought he could handle Lamia, but I knew differently and told him so.

“You can’t go after her, Damien. She’s too dangerous and too powerful for you.”

“I’m certainly not going to let her get to you. Emmeline, she killed you last time. Do you think I’d ever let that happen again?” he asked.

He pulled me to him close, stroking the back of my head. I felt so safe in his arms. I wanted to stay wrapped in the warmth and security of him, but my need to save Ben was uppermost in my mind.

“What am I going to do?” I moaned, burying my face in his shoulder.

“No, Emmeline. What are we going to do, is the question,” he said in a resolved voice I remembered from long ago when we had to escape Lamia and her evil power before.

It was a relief to know that I didn’t have to do this alone, though I was frightened by what she could do to Damien, who still carried scars from his last confrontation with her. It still puzzled me that she hadn’t gone after him first. Though I knew she couldn’t bewitch him—I thought she had probably already tried that—she still had enormous power. I still didn’t know what she was after, exactly, and I was worried I wouldn’t solve the mystery in time. I’d been caught by her unawares before, with deadly consequences. I didn’t want to underestimate her again.

Damien thought we should wait for her to come to us; he felt assured that Ben was just a lure, that she wanted to choose her time and place and to make me watch her kill him before coming after me. It was just a waiting game, he said. It was part of her strategy.

Whatever she was doing, it worked. By the third week, I was completely on edge. Having heard nothing from Ben, I suspected the worst. I considered joining the Y just to keep an eye on him, but after our last conversation, I decided against it. He obviously didn’t want to see me, and I wanted to respect his wishes as far as I could while still making sure he was safe.

By the fourth week, life had begun to return to some semblance of normalcy. I couldn’t keep up the state of nervous tension that I’d felt for the last several weeks, and I knew that, when the time came, I’d have to focus all my energy on defeating Lamia.

Six weeks passed before I saw her. I’d just finished at the drugstore for the day. We’d decided to close early for the Fourth of July parade happening downtown that afternoon. As I locked the front of the store, I happened to see them drive up together. Lamia, looking like Kirsten, sat behind the wheel in the convertible with the top down. Ben was in the passenger’s side, and they laughed together. They pulled up to a stop light near where I stood on the street, and she reached up to smooth back his hair. I caught the glimmer of the emerald on her hand. It was the ring that Ben had given to me. She turned, knowing exactly where I stood, and smiled. The light turned, and she sped away, leaving me in the dust behind her. Understanding finally dawned on me. She needed something of mine, something valuable to me personally to control me. That’s how I’d brought Damien over—the force of my concentration plus the rosary that reminded me of him. It wasn’t strong enough to bring him directly to me because it wasn’t actually an object of his, but it had been enough. But she now had something I had worn, something that symbolized the love I’d felt for Ben. She might kill him to get to me, but her ultimate goal had been to control me, if she could.

My cell phone rang at precisely the same moment. It was Ramona.

“I see her clearly. She isn’t trying to hide anymore. They’re driving out to Ben’s parents’ house. She’s going to kill him. And she’ll try to kill you too,” she said urgently.

I dropped the phone and ran. The parade was just getting started, and I had to make my way through the floats to get to the Saratoga, which was parked two streets over from the drugstore. I couldn’t use my power to help me. There was literally no space to get any car through, even if I could imagine it. I’d have to do it the old-fashioned way, I thought.

No one would let me through, so I started elbowing my way through the crowd, drawing lots of grumbling complaints and one ice cream cone, which somebody’s toddler threw in my direction. Fortunately it missed, but just barely.

Now I just had to get across the street. The local police made sure people didn’t come too close. They’d already spied me, ready to make a bee-line in my direction if I so much as stepped out of line.

One of the floats threw out candy, so when the children rushed to scramble for the goodies, creating an opening, I followed. I couldn’t get through the throng of kids, so I knew I’d have to climb over the float. Lunging over them, I stumbled onto the Miss DeLand float, landing right in the center of the largest pie I’ve ever seen—it was the size of a large kiddie pool. Now covered in peaches, syrup, and whipped cream from head to toe, I literally stopped the parade, backing up the floats. I didn’t have time for this, I groaned, too worried about Ben to think much about the entire town’s seeing me covered in pie.

Undaunted, I stumbled right into Miss DeLand herself, who just happened to be Angela Rossi. Under different circumstances, I would have enjoyed seeing her land in the pie, peaches dripping from her rhinestone crown, but I had more important issues than embarrassing my old rival. I had a more dangerous nemesis to contend with.

I finally made it to the other side of the float, jumped off and made my way to the other side. The crowd immediately parted. I ran the rest of the way unhindered, climbed in the Saratoga, not bothering to turn the ignition. I let my power do the rest.

The car sprang to life, roaring down side roads to avoid the onlookers and traffic. On my way, I thought about Lamia’s revenge. She’d wanted me to see her with Ben and to follow them. I thought she’d probably wait, planning to have me watch everything. I was glad Damien, at least, was safe. But for how long? Would he be next on her list?

It took me half the time it normally did to arrive to Ben’s place. I saw his truck and her convertible. I may already be too late, I thought in a panic, wondering if I’d guessed incorrectly as I ran to the front door. Maybe she’d already killed him.

I didn’t bother to knock, though I didn’t have to. The door stood wide open, and I could see Ben lying face down on the deck through the sliding glass. I ran inside, frantic to open the door, when Lamia’s voice stopped me.

“Don’t bother. He’s dead, Emmeline. You don’t think I’d leave him alive?” she said, in that low, dark voice I knew so well.

I slowly turned around.

“You knew I’d come. Why did you have to kill him too?” I asked, tears filling my eyes. Ben was dead because of me.

She laughed, a cackling sound I’d remembered from long ago. She held up her hand, showing me the ring, which caught the light filtering through the glass.

“I really should thank you, Emmeline, for bringing me through with Damien. Every time it happens, my power increases.”

So that was how she’d done it. When she’d come through, it had added to her abilities. I wondered how many times she had traveled through time.

I tried to concentrate, to focus on shifting the context around us, but it was as though she blocked me. I knew then that it was the ring. She could already hide herself from other witches, but she was using the ring to control my power. As long as it meant something to me, she could take my power and use it.

She moved more quickly than I could have anticipated, easily overpowering me. I thought she meant to kill me with her bare hands, but she didn’t, instead hitting me, hard, across the face and half-dragging me to the Saratoga, which she’d started even before we reached it. I could feel myself losing consciousness and fought it as she almost literally threw me into the passenger’s side. I tried to focus on breaking free, but she’d locked me in and drained my power, unlocking the driver’s side and getting behind the wheel before I could act. I thought for a moment of wrapping my hands around her throat, but if I tried killing her now, I knew I’d have little chance of success in such a weakened state. She was too powerful, and with my ring in her possession, she was capable of using my power against me.

She backed out into the street, and we made erratic zigzag patterns across every lane, going and coming. If anyone passed us, we’d all be dead. She laughed as we went along, talking incessantly as she drove.

“Yes, Emmeline, I really must thank you. When I came through, I found myself possessed of enormous powers—greater than I’d ever had before.”

Her voice had dropped several octaves to another level that I recognized, a kindly voice. The man in the woods. I looked at her then and stared in amazement. She didn’t look like Kirsten or Lamia but like the large man who’d found me in the woods.

“You!” I cried.

She smiled, baring her pointed teeth, and stepped on the accelerator harder.

“But why? Why didn’t you just kill me then?” I asked, furiously trying to work out a plan for my escape.

“Believe me, I tried. But coming through drained me for a time. I couldn’t kill you then; I never realized how weak you really were, Emmeline. Now I know,” she said in the same triumphant voice I recognized from long ago.

“But you had enough power to change shapes,” I argued, angling for more time.

“Yes and no. The man in the woods was the first person I met when I came through.”

“Then that means…”

“Yes, I can inhabit other bodies too.”

“But why? When you can change shapes?”

“I was weak then. It was easier just to tap into his life force.”

Poor man, I thought, cringing to think of what she’d done to him. He had probably been a nice person before he met Lamia. If it hadn’t been for me, he would still be alive. I couldn’t imagine her letting him live after taking him over.

“So why did you help us?” I wondered, desperate to know what she had planned. “I knew I could always find you later when I was stronger. And I wanted to see what your life here would be like with Damien” she said, laughing maniacally, an inhuman sound that nearly paralyzed me.

Even as we spoke, she transformed again, but this time she looked like me. I didn’t understand why she cared about seeing what my present life was like, but I didn’t have time to think about what she said. I was certain of one thing only—that she would try to kill me again. I knew my only chance was to grab the steering wheel and try to wreck us. The odds of my dying along with her were stacked against me, but at least I’d have a chance. If I didn’t try something, I knew I’d end up dead…again.

I realized in some panic that we were headed to Sugar Hill, and I became more frantic. So she wasn’t just going to kill me, I thought. She was after Damien as well. That decided me. I might not be able to survive this, but at least I could save him.

I saw the bridge crossing the St. Johns River. It was now or never. I waited until we were just approaching it and surprised her, jerking the steering wheel and sending the entire car over the side and into the river. If I was going to die, I would take her down with me.

We plunged down into the water. Lamia reached over, grabbing my hair and pulling me to her. I thought she meant to strangle me, but she released me abruptly, using the force of her strong arms to break open the driver’s side window and swim out. Water flooded the car immediately, and I couldn’t move, the old fear of drowning coming back to me.

I knew then that I would die again just as I did before. History moves in interlocking circles. She’d already gotten away and would kill Damien. Perhaps her plan had been to make me watch her kill him.

We were doomed to continue repeating this pattern throughout time. Maybe I could try to save Damien in my next life. And maybe then, I thought, I would finally succeed. I wondered before losing consciousness how many times we’d done this before.

Chapter Eighteen

"Being and Unbeing"

She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,

Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;

Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,

Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd;

And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,

Dissolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed

Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries

So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries,

She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf,

Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.

Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!

She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete:

And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there

But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?

As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.

Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake

Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake…

John Keats, Lamia

I awoke in the hospital, an IV hooked up to my arm. My first thought, when I saw the bright sun pouring across the floor, was that I’d died. But I heard Aunt Jo’s voice calling my name, and I realized they’d just given me a cheerful room with extra light. I blinked a couple of times and saw two faces above me.

Relief poured through me. So Lamia hadn’t gotten to Damien, after all. I reached out my hand, and he took it.

“She’s waking up,” I heard Aunt Jo say.

“What happened?” I asked them both at once.

I felt drugged and knew they’d likely given me some sort of sedative. Either that or I was really, really out of it.

“You almost drowned, Emmeline,” Damien told me quietly. His eyes said what we were both thinking: again.

I remembered then why I was there and what had happened.

“Lamia?” I asked Damien, worried.

“She’s gone. You don’t have to worry about her anymore,” he assured me.

“But what happened? How did I get here?” I asked.

Damien sat down on the bed, looking from me to Aunt Jo. Of course, he couldn’t tell me the whole story in front of her.

“Emily, dear, you drove off the bridge. If Damien hadn’t seen your car, you’d have drowned. He pulled you out, saving your life,” Aunt Jo explained. “Who’s Lamia?” she asked.

Damien and I looked at each other.

“Oh, nobody, really,” I said quickly, “just somebody I used to know in the past. Aunt Jo, will you go get the nurse? I’m really thirsty,” I said, trying to change the subject.

“Sure, but I think there’s a call button somewhere on this bed,” Aunt Jo said, searching around me. She stopped when she caught the look on my face.

“Why don’t I just go look for the nurse in the hall?” she finally said, leaving me alone with Damien.

Aunt Jo always knew when to make an exit.

Damien’s shoulders visibly slumped.

“How long have I been here?” I asked him.

“Just a day. But it’s been the longest twenty-four hours of my life,” he said. He was right. Dark circles appeared under his eyes.

“How did you know how to find me?”

“You didn’t come by after work, and when I didn’t hear from you, I called Ramona. She filled me in, and I thought you might be headed to Ben’s. When I got there, I saw the convertible and went inside. That’s when I saw Ben and called 911.”

“Damien, Ben’s dead,” I said, tears welling up in his eyes.

“No, actually, he isn’t. He’s down the hall.”

“What?”

“When I saw him lying there, I thought that he’d been killed, but he had a faint heartbeat. I confess, though, I didn’t wait for the paramedics. There wasn’t much I could do for him, and I was more concerned about where you were. I thought Lamia might be headed to Sugar Hill, so I raced home. When I saw the Saratoga on the way, I knew I was right. There are definite advantages, I guess, to driving that old thing.

I eventually gained on you, but I wasn’t sure what to do. What confused me was that I saw two red heads struggling at the wheel before the car crashed over the bridge. I immediately got out, afraid I wouldn’t be in time. I thought at first that you’d escaped, but I knew you couldn’t swim. The girl I saw swimming upriver moved like a fish. I concentrated on pulling out whoever was trapped in the car. I dove in, and when I saw you trapped, unconscious, I nearly lost my mind. I reached through the smashed window and pulled you out. Fortunately, I just learned CPR. The rest you can imagine.”

“Wait, they don’t teach CPR in school,” I protested.

“I know. I taught myself by getting a book on it in the library,” he said, proudly.

“But why?” I wondered.

Damien smiled.

“Let’s just say I had a premonition that it could come in handy one day. I lost you once; I never want to lose you again,” he finished quietly.

I couldn’t argue with that.

“But Lamia? Where is she?” I wondered.

“That’s a very good question. It started to rain and thunder as I pulled you out of the river. I saw her head break the surface a few times and then not again. But I couldn’t imagine anyone actually swimming the river and surviving; the current was strong, and the storm was only growing.”

I couldn’t imagine it, either. I looked down at my hands, noticing for the first time that the emerald ring Ben had given to me was on my right hand, the diamond still, thankfully, on my left. I had no idea how Ben’s ring had gotten there, but I didn’t care. I was so grateful to be alive and to find out that Ben hadn’t actually died, that I didn’t worry about the details.

I hadn’t realized I’d been crying until Damien folded me up into his arms.

“Is it over?” I asked through the tears.

“I think so, Emmeline. If she did survive, which I doubt, she has to think that you died again in the river. I think that’s why she didn’t swim back. She wasn’t counting on me coming for you.”

“Wait a minute. We were headed to Sugar Hill to find you. That’s why I jerked the steering wheel.”

He pulled back from me.

“You crashed into the river on purpose?” he asked incredulously.

I looked a little sheepish and stared at my lap.

“Yes, but it was the only way,” I explained. “She was going to kill you too, Damien.”

“Emmeline,” he said in an exasperated voice, “what am I going to do with you? You just can’t stay out of trouble. I mean, of all things, water? And after what happened to you before?”

He pulled me to him, kissing the top of my head. I could hear the relief through the frustration.

“I know, I know,” I said, “but it really was the only way…I wonder,” I said, sitting up, alarmed “could she be at Sugar Hill right now waiting for you?”

“Emmeline, she’s dead.”

“But what if she isn’t? She’s incredibly strong, and if history is repeating itself, then you’re the next victim on her list.”

“I don’t know, Emmeline, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you or me. In fact, I’m not letting you out of my sight. You and your Aunt are moving up to Sugar Hill as soon as they let you out of here. I don’t care what anyone thinks—and marry me, don’t marry me—but I’m not listening to this nonsense that you’re safe on your own.”

I hid my smile. It was nice to be loved by someone so much.

“I’m not actually worried about me, Damien. You’ve just said that she thought she’d killed me—again. I’m more concerned about you and what she has planned.”

That made him thoughtful.

“I’m not afraid of her. I can handle it,” he said finally.

“No, you can’t. It takes a witch to fight a witch.”

He looked meaningfully at me.

“You didn’t seem to do such a good job on your own,” he said.

“Okay, point taken. But I have the ring back now, and I can use my power…”

It was the wrong thing to say. He stared down at my hand, a scowl on his face.

“Emmeline,” he began in that quiet voice that always made me quake a little, “why do you have that boy’s ring on your finger?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I said quickly.And I didn’t. It had just appeared on the third finger of my right hand.

“Lamia got it from Ben,” I continued, “and she was able to use it to take away my power.”

“And how would she be able to do that?”

“Because the ring means something to me. She can manipulate others through their emotions. It must be her power. Or powers, I should say.”

“What is it, Emmeline? What does it mean to you?” he asked, a quizzical look on his face.

I faltered. What did the ring mean to me? That I still loved Ben? I knew the answer to that question. I’d always love Ben. But Damien was part of me, was more than just part of me. He was my other half. I couldn’t imagine living my life without him. I didn’t want to.

“Ben is someone I still care for. Not like I love you. Nobody will ever take first place in my heart but you. But he was a huge part of my life for years. I left him when I first saw your face in my dreams and discovered who you were, but I can’t erase our memories together. And I guess his ring symbolizes the love that we shared once. It has nothing to do with you and me,” I said, hoping he could understand.

I could tell Damien wasn’t happy with my explanation, but that was how I felt. Ben could never alter my love for him. Damien nodded his head once in understanding, and the doctor came in to tell me I could go home if I felt up to it.

After they’d taken the IV out and I’d gotten dressed in the clothes Aunt Jo had brought from home, I told Damien I had one more stop to make.

“You’re seeing Ben, aren’t you?” he asked, a little resigned.

“Yes,” I said simply, kissing him and walking slowly down the hall. Damien might not be happy with my feelings for Ben, but I knew he’d accept that part of me because he loved me. He’d even once told me that he was glad Ben had been there to take care of me before him. For that, he said, he’d always be grateful.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” I promised, kissing him lightly.

I pushed open the door to Ben’s hospital room. His parents were just leaving when I entered. They smiled at me, looking tired. Ben was still hooked up to the machines, and his head was wrapped in bandages.

“Hey,” I began tentatively, not wanting to disturb him if he didn’t want to see me.

He looked at me but without the hatred I’d seen in his eyes the last time we’d spoken.

“Hey,” he said weakly, moving his hand as far as he could to indicate that I should sit in the space beside him on the bed. I went over and sat down, taking his hand in mine.

“You were right. She was crazy,” he said.

“No kidding,” I replied.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I heard that you guys had driven off the bridge going up to Sugar Hill. Why did you get into the car with her?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“More secrets?” he asked. He sounded a little bitter, and I couldn’t blame him.

“No. It’s just difficult to explain.”

“Is it related to your being a witch?”

“I thought you didn’t believe me.”

“I honestly don’t know what to believe.”

“Neither do I some days. I’m just glad you’re okay. When I saw you lying there on the deck, my heart stopped. Ben, I’m so, so sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? You tried to warn me. I just didn’t listen.”

I felt guilty. I couldn’t tell Ben that I was to blame, even indirectly. I’d been the one to pull Lamia through with Damien. If it hadn’t been for me, he’d never have gone through any of this.

“So what do the doctors say?” I asked him.

“Nothing too serious. I was really lucky.”

As usual, Ben downplayed his injuries, not wanting me to worry. From what I could see, though, they looked severe. His obviously had some kind of head injury, both of his arms were in casts, and they were monitoring his heart rate.

“What happened?” I asked softly.

“I’m not exactly sure. She picked me up after work, and we went to my house. We were just going to hang out, watch movies, maybe order pizza. She asked to see the deck, and when I turned around, she must have clubbed me with something heavy from behind. I’m not sure how I got all of the other injuries. The next memory I have is waking up here in the hospital.”

“I’m so glad that Damien found you.”

“Yeah. Tell him I said thanks. I owe him for my life… and for yours.”

“I will,” I said, hoping that Ben and Damien could be friends, or, if not friends, then at least not enemies.

He looked tired, so I rose to leave. He happened to glance down at my right hand.

“How did you…?”

“Lam—I mean, Kirsten threw it at me before we drove off the bridge,” I made up. I couldn’t explain to Ben any better than to Damien how the ring had gotten on my finger. But I felt strongly that it belonged there, just as the diamond that Damien gave me belonged on my left hand.

“How did Kirsten get it?” I asked, hoping the answer wasn’t what I thought.

“I honestly don’t know,” he said. “I mentioned once to her that I’d given you a ring, but I kept it in Mom’s jewelry box. I didn’t even describe it to her. I don’t know how she could have stolen it or when.”

But I knew. She’d likely broken in and made a search of the house when everyone was gone or asleep. The ring itself was distinctive, and it wouldn’t have taken much for her to guess which one was the right one.

“I hope you’ll let me keep it,” I said, knowing it was probably the wrong decision. But I wasn’t able to give it back.

He looked at me long and hard.

“Sure,” he said and closed his eyes.

I bent to kiss him, tears forming in my eyes, and turned to leave. Before I could get to the door, his voice stopped me.

“Emily, please take care of yourself. You’re still precious to me.”

I looked back and nodded, not wanting him to hear my voice shake or see my tears.

Damien waited for me in the lobby, and we left the hospital, driving in silence. I felt exhausted, and as we made our way up the long drive to Sugar Hill, I took in the serene beauty of the gardens. Despite their calming beauty, I felt nervous, wondering if Lamia waited for us.

“What are we going to do about her? What if she didn’t die in the river?” I asked.

“Emmeline, you worry too much.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Damien reached over and took my hand into his.

“Whatever happens, we’ll face it together,” he assured me, kissing my hand.

He sounded so confident that I didn’t question him further. Maybe he was right. Lamia had always separated us before, so perhaps now that we were together we could overcome her.

Damien stopped the car in front of the house. I somehow expected to see Lamia there when we drove up, but there was no sign of her outside.

We got out and made our way inside. I was the first to see her, sitting in the library opposite to the front entrance. She was facing away from the door. I stopped in my tracks. Though I hadn’t been surprised that she was here, I still couldn’t believe my eyes. She looked exactly like me.

Damien looked as shaken as I felt. Lamia turned slowly around, her arms outstretched as she came forward into the grand foyer. I knew then what Damien had meant when he said she wouldn’t let him go so long ago. She might have severely punished him with torture for trying to escape with me, but she had never planned to kill him. She wanted to take my place. She hadn’t had the strength to kill me or change her shape when she’d first come through. She had to use a stranger’s life force, to inhabit his body to disguise herself as she approached us. And she needed to know where we were headed.Then she could go after us later. She was just waiting for the right time when she had regained her power, a time when we’d be least likely to suspect her. Then she could take her revenge, kill me again, and take my place with Damien.

Not expecting to find me alive, she lunged for me. I was quicker now and stronger. She no longer had my ring, and she couldn’t control my power. I mentally cut loose the massive chandelier overhead, which fell, splintering into a thousand pieces between us. I’d had more practice using my power, and I was able to block the crystals from shattering in our faces, concentrating my effort on directing the splintering shards towards Lamia, now buried under the tiny crystals, all individually stabbing her.

Damien and I looked at each other in relief, but before we could investigate the rubble, she rose up, a glittering figure seemingly impossible to kill. She came at me again but turned at the last moment, lunging at Damien for a last deadly embrace. I looked in horror at the tiny shards, all cutting him at once. I immediately concentrated on pulling out each crystal, but the damage had been done. She’d not yet reached his face, but she was covering the rest of him with her body.

She must have had a death grip because Damien couldn’t pull her off of him, and he was bleeding profusely. I had to do something.I knew I’d never be able to overpower her physically, so instead I decided to channel all of my energy into using my power to break her hold.

I started to concentrate harder than I ever had before. Standing several feet away, I channeled all of my thoughts to uncurling her fingers, then worked on her arms and legs. It took all of my mental efforts, but I could tell that her hold lessened. Damien thrust her from him, and she staggered back, falling again into the remains of the chandelier. I concentrated on folding its arms around her, trapping her body, now weakened from the loss of blood.

She began to convulse in a fit that caused shards to fly everywhere, sending off a prism of colors as the sun streamed down, catching the glass that still stuck into her. I again created a protective shield over us, blocking the crystals from penetrating our skin.

She suddenly shriveled, and like a chameleon, revealed herself as an exotic serpent, with green, blue, yellow, and orange hues. The colors grew in intensity, burning our eyes. We heard a low moaning, then a low hissing voice. I was a woman, let me have once more a woman's shape, and charming as before. Give me my woman's form, and place me where he is!

I began to shake with the intensity of my effort, not knowing how much longer I could last.

The moaning finally subsided, the voice dissipating in a fume of silence. Writhing on the floor, she disappeared into a mist.

We heard a noise from above and jumped, but it was only Mrs. Arthur, the housekeeper, who’d come down to see if we were alright. Having heard the noises from upstairs, she’d come to investigate, a club in her hand.

“What happened here?” she asked, surveying the broken glass.

I took several deep breaths. It took a few moments to answer.

“Oh, just killing a snake,” I tried to say nonchalantly, unsuccessfully keeping the tremor out of my voice.

Then she saw Damien.

“Heaven help us! I’m calling 911,” she said, bolting upstairs.

Damien’s voice stopped her.

“No, Mrs. Arthur, I’m fine,” he said.

We both looked at him in surprise. Blood seemed to ooze from every pore of his body from the neck down.

“It’s like a thousand paper cuts, no more,” he explained. “I’ve experienced worse.”

I shook my head in disbelief then remembered the training he’d endured as a knife—the broken bones and gashing wounds were all just part of a day’s workout. Many knights returned from the field needing attention.And then there was the torture Lamia had likely inflicted on him.

“But how?” Mrs. Arthur asked, clearly perplexed at how one snake could wreak this much havoc.

“A minor technical malfunction,” I hastily explained.

“We’ll have to have the home inspected again, then. We can’t go round having chandeliers swinging and dropping down on us, now can we?” she said. “The next thing you know, it will be the wainscoting popping off the walls! Old houses! Who says they’re charming when you think about all the maintenance,” she said as she climbed the stairs again.

We breathed a sigh of relief.

She stopped and turned, a thoughtful look on her face.

“That snake wouldn’t happen to be a colorful one, now, would it?” she asked.

We both nodded, wondering how she would have known that Lamia was a snake.

“I thought so. I’d just gone to get this club after I spotted that large pretty one downstairs. Nasty things, snakes,” she said. “ This one looked to be poisonous.”

Damien and I looked at each other.

“She was,” we both said in unison.

****

Later that evening, we lay curled up together on one of Damien’s large couches. Damien had needed lots of bandages, but the shards hadn’t penetrated too deeply. So he hadn’t downplayed his injuries, as I at first had thought. He really had only gotten a thousand small scratches—enough to draw blood and look horrible at first but easily cleaned up. The worst part was where they re-opened his earlier wounds. Fortunately, however, I’d prevented most of the damage by removing the shards so quickly.

Damien started laughing.

“What is it?” I asked. I couldn’t believe he could laugh at anything just now.

“I was just thinking…If one good thing has come out of this, it’s that I doubt they’ll make you take the swim test now,” he said, chuckling.

I laughed.

“I think a swim test is the least of my worries,” I said, reflecting on the traumas I’d experienced in this life and my past one. “But I’ve decided something,” I told him.

“What’s that?” he asked, stroking my hair.
“Maybe it really is time that I learned to swim,” I said.

Damien reached over to hold my hand.

“I hope it’s really over now,” I said, relieved that the swim test was the only concern I faced now that Lamia was dead, Ben was safe, and Damien was here with me.

Despite all the bandages, he took me into his arms, resting his head on mine.

“Whatever happens, Emmeline, you’re not by yourself anymore,” he said, kissing the top of my head.

I nodded. I knew what he meant—no more trying to fight alone. Whatever the future or the past held for us, we’d face it together.I looked up into his face and smiled, thinking of T. S. Eliot’s timeless lines, which I’d read in my English class:

Love is itself unmoving,

Only the cause and end of movement,

Timeless, and undesiring

Except in the aspect of time

Caught in the form of limitation

Between un-being and being.

I reached over to stroke his beautiful face. No matter what happened, nothing would ever part us again.

Epilogue

What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

I stood looking into the water at my reflection. It was now or never.

Lunging forward, I felt the cool water all around me, covering my head, and I started to panic. A hand reached over to help me if I needed it. Relief flooded me.

I gasped for air as I broke the surface.

“Great job,” Damien said, his hair glistening in the sunlight. I smiled at him, the intense fear subsiding.

“You were down twenty seconds, I think,” he said, a large smile radiating from his handsome face.

“Really?”

“What does your watch say?” he asked Annie, who stood by the pool, a stopwatch in her hand.

“Eighteen seconds,” she said proudly.

Damien took me by the hand, and we went under again. He shoved at me playfully, and I shoved back, keeping my hands cupped as I treaded the water.

I didn’t know how to swim yet, but I knew it was a beginning.

We broke the surface again, and Annie yelled, “Thirty seconds!”

The third time down, Damien caught me to him by the waist, kissing me. When we broke the surface, Annie was clapping.

“A full minute!” she screamed, clapping and jumping up and down.

I looked over to Damien’s proud face, love shining in his eyes, and my heart melted.

It was a start.

The End

About the Author: Amanda Paris and has written the literary vampire mashup, Heathcliff, Vampire of Wuthering Heights. She has published Timeless on amazon.com under the pen name Emma Eliot.You can write her at amandaparisnovels@gmail.com and visit her website: https://sites.google.com/site/amandapariswrites/.

COMING SOON….

SHATTERED

Prologue

They came, their dark eyes boring holes into me as they approached. The life force seemed to drain from my body, which lay immobile, my arms and legs paralyzed by my side. My spirit drew to the whirling vortex beyond death as I shattered into a thousand pieces, a ball of heat breaking apart. Was I human anymore or part of some cosmic sphere awaiting rebirth?

The high priestess loomed over me, the dagger poised above my heart. The darkest one—whose eyes I remembered from long ago— held up her hands to scatter my remains. Then the burning started from the inside out and everything became red…

Chapter One

“Camelot”

If ever I would leave you,

How could it be in spring-time?

Knowing how in spring I'm bewitched by you so?

Oh, no! not in spring-time!

Summer, winter or fall!

No, never could I leave you at all!

Alan Jay Lerner, “If Ever I Would Leave You”

They pulled me between them, almost ripping the fabric of the dress. Annie looked nervously in my direction, remembering, as I did, what had happened this time last year. I whispered for Ben to let me go, but he did so only reluctantly.

“Cut!” Mr. Ormond shook his head at us. “That’s not in the script; you won’t fight over her until later!”

He walked up to the stage, his hands gesticulating wildly.

I took a deep breath and exited stage right, glad not to feel the pressure of their hands on my arms or the weight of Ben’s accusing eyes. This wasn’t going well.

Ms. St. Clair, you really need to do a better job of looking at the audience. We need to feel the conflict you’re experiencing between your loyalty to the king and your undeniable love for his best knight,” Mr. Ormond was explaining. “You must show how aware you are of the pain you’re inflicting, the betrayal.”

But I was all too aware of how I could cause pain. I groaned. I wanted to avoid this and had promised myself that I would never cause them to fight over me again. I was never supposed to play this role, I muttered under my breath.

Ms. May, who’d volunteered to help us in rehearsals, stepped in.

“Why don’t we take a break, John? We’ve been at it for two hours now, and I think they could use a rest.”

Mr. Ormond shot her a look. If I must, it signaled.

“Alright, folks, take five,” he said, frustrated with us.

I felt relief. It was the night before the big show, which the senior class was putting on as their “creative project” for the year. This year, we’d decided to perform the musical Camelot.

Correction. Angela Rossi, the senior class president, had chosen our class project. She thought it was romantic for her to play Guinevere, to have the two hottest guys in school fight over her in front of everyone. They just happened to be Ben and Damien, who hadn’t wanted to star as Lancelot, a poor excuse for a knight, he’d argued. We’d watched the 1967 Lerner and Lowe musical together, amused at the hokey songs, costumes, makeup, and acting. But he didn’t have much of a choice. As Class President, Angela could force any student to participate in the project. The power had definitely gone to her head.

She’d cast Ben as King Arthur, but there’d been no real question about who would play the French knight who had stolen Guinevere away from the king. Only one student had the looks, personality, and strange accent to do Lancelot’s role justice—Damien. And both guys had more than decent singing voices, which couldn’t be said for Angela, who’d taken a starring role.

Rehearsals had started just after Christmas. I was grateful that Angela hated me, relieved I wouldn’t have to play even a minor role, but all of my friends had been upset that I didn’t have to suffer onstage with the rest of them. Annie had been cast as a lady-in-waiting to Guinevere, while Zack had been cast as Mordred, the nemesis of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, which consisted of a spray-painted piece of cardboard we’d cut into a circle and propped on several cinderblocks. A less likely villain was not to be found, but Zack agreed to take the part, probably after more than a little prodding from Angela. And since I’d taken up sewing in earnest over the last year, I was in charge of costumes, which suited me just fine. After the past year, I didn’t crave attention and certainly didn’t want to act or sing in front of an audience.

I’d worked hard on designing and making everyone’s outfits. I considered it good practice for the wedding dress I had started to make last summer. Damien and I had finally settled on a summer wedding after graduation. That gave us enough time to explore England for our honeymoon and then come back, ready for college in the fall.

I was waiting any day now to hear from several universities. Damien had also applied to the same schools, and I thought he probably stood a better chance than I did of being admitted. When he wasn’t with me, he spent his time poring over books in the library, still anxious to understand all that had changed since the thirteenth century.

My grades were okay, but I knew they could have been better. In my defense, I had had a lot going on in the last couple of years—my mother had died and I’d learned that I had a past life. I knew I could use my power, but I wanted a university to accept me on my own merit. Though I’d always expected to go to college with Ben, all of that changed last year when I’d experienced the strange dreams that led me to discover I was a witch or “wise woman.” My past life had definitely affected my present one, and I thought better of going to the same school where I’d helped Ben to land a swimming scholarship.

The rehearsal was back underway. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Damien watching me, signaling that he wanted to speak to me privately. I met him behind the castle scenery.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I think Ben has had enough.” Damien said, nodding in Ben’s direction between the tree props.

I turned to look, but Ben was speaking with Mr. Ormond.

“He looks okay to me,” I said.

Damien looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t think it was the outfit. It dawned on me that Damien might be the one ready to call it a day. Seeing Ben embrace me several times had likely tested his patience, which looked a little thin. We were all tired after the sudden casting change, which made the dress rehearsal longer.

Angela had suddenly come down with strep throat, threatening to close down the entire performance, which had sold out. She hadn’t thought to cast an understudy for herself, and I’d been surprised that Mr. Ormond hadn’t thought of this before. I supposed that Angela’s forceful personality had been enough to convince him that she wouldn’t need one. But even divas got sick, I thought a little maliciously.

Over the last few months, I had helped Damien practice his lines, so I knew everyone’s part, including Guinevere’s. And Aunt Jo had listened to me hum the tunes around the house as I made costumes. Both of them had ganged up on me this afternoon when it looked like Angela wouldn’t be ready for Saturday night.

“What do you mean you want me to play the part?” I’d said incredulously to them both earlier, two pins still caught between my lips as I made a last minute adjustment to Annie’s gown.

“Emmeline, you know this part cold. We didn’t even use the script together last weekend when we rehearsed my lines. And you know I’d much rather have you play Guinevere than Angela,” he’d reasoned.

I couldn’t argue with him there. I didn’t much relish the idea of him embracing Angela in several scenes. She’d gotten a little carried away in the last rehearsal, and it took all of my energy not to use my power to stop her. I’d dreamed of suddenly having a trapdoor open beneath her. The temptation almost proved too great the last time she’d tried my patience.

Aunt Jo hadn’t helped either. “But Emily, you have such a sweet voice,” she’d argued. “Remember when you sang in Oklahoma?”

How could I forget? I had been twelve at the time, and Mom had made me enroll in the downtown summer theater. I’d had a small—very small— singing part.

“But that was with other people, not by myself,” I complained. “And besides, I don’t have a costume.”

“Emmeline, you have to play Guinevere. You’re the only other person who knows the music and the lines. Otherwise, they’ll have to cancel the show. Do you want to disappoint all of those children?” Damien finished.

"That was low,” I answered him, but he knew he’d won. He could guilt me into playing the part, knowing that we were donating the money to a local children’s charity.

I hesitated for a few more moments but then relented.

“Okay,” I said, “but you owe me. Big time.”

I thought of the sultry way Vanessa Redgrave had performed Guinevere, a part Angela played to the hilt. I wasn’t sure I had it in me.

Damien smiled over at me, springing up from the sofa where he’d been sitting to call and tell a delighted Mr. Ormond the news that he’d found a new Guinevere.

Annie rushed to assure me I would be fine.

“And you know,” she said, “you sing much better than Angela does. I think she might be a little tone deaf.”

We giggled. It was true. Angela didn’t have the best voice in school.

I didn’t have time to make myself a costume, and Angela was several inches shorter than I was. I remembered, however, that I still had the dress I’d bought at the mall with Annie over a year ago. I’d only ever worn it once, when Damien had first arrived at my aunt’s house.

“Wear that,” Damien suggested.

“It might work,” I replied, still hesitating. Most of the costumes I’d made were fairly elaborate.

“Don’t you think it will look too plain beside all of the other dresses?” I asked. I didn’t think my simple dress would work.

“It will be perfect. You’ll stand out in the white dress amid all of the other colors. And with your long hair, you certainly don’t need the wigs everyone else is wearing,” Damien assured me.

“And I can make you a small crown of roses for your hair, Emily. I remember doing that for your mother on her wedding day,” Aunt Jo offered, becoming sentimental.

“I can tell you’re all conspiring against me. Now I’ll have to do it,” I said, becoming a little nervous. The dress rehearsal was just a few hours away.

That had been this afternoon. When we’d arrived at the school auditorium, most of the cast thought Mr. Ormond would cancel, not knowing that he’d found a replacement—me.

Before the announcement, I could tell that half of them were relieved at not having to perform after all. But the other half, including the art students, were grateful to me for stepping in. They’d worked for months to create the elaborate backdrops for the stage. And, I thought, I had worked hard on the costumes too. I hated to see my handiwork go to waste, even if I wouldn’t be wearing any of it.

Ben had smiled at me when we took our places for the first scene we had together, holding my hand in his just a little too long. There were two places early in the musical where Mr. Ormond wanted King Arthur to kiss Guinevere. He had told Ben when we first started in January that he could ad lib whenever he felt like it. So far, Ben hadn’t felt any artistic urges move him with Angela. But in the dress rehearsal today, Ben had kissed me four times. I could hear Damien grumbling behind me.

We were near the part where Lancelot saves Guinevere from burning at the stake, when Ben hadn’t wanted to let my arm go. Tensions ran high, and I could tell that Guinevere’s betrayal had made him think of my breaking up with him last year for Damien. I felt like Guinevere in more ways than one—she too had had a difficult choice, loving the king, who was kind, loyal, and good, but unable to keep away from her knight, the most perfect in the realm. I understood her dilemma.

Thankfully, Mr. Ormond decided we’d had enough for one rehearsal, and we left. I avoided Ben, waiting for the stage to clear before we exited.

****

Later that night, Ramona put the finishing touches on my face.

“Beautiful! I always knew it. Alabaster. That’s your color. Now, just a quick flick of this brush, and we’ll be through.”

I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. The girl who stared back at me didn’t look like a girl at all. Aunt Jo smiled, her soft eyes misty.

“Emily, dear, you look lovely. Just like your mother did on her wedding day,” she said.

“I thought I didn’t look anything like Mom,” I said surprised.

“Well, you do today. And with those roses in your hair…Oh, it takes me back twenty years!” Aunt Jo said, tears in her eyes.

She was right. I did favor the picture of Mom on the dresser with my hair rolled up with roses. And if I’d known how nice the makeup would look, I might have started wearing it sooner. I’d had my doubts about letting Ramona go to work on my face for the show. She wore heavy black eyeliner, what looked like false lashes, deep red lipstick, and very white face powder. Though gothic had been a style during the Middle Ages, it wasn’t the look I was going for tonight.

But I’d been wrong. She’d chosen a shade to match my skin, creating a flawless finish that hid my freckles, and the golden eye shadow she applied made my green eyes sparkle. All together, it looked a lot better than I’d expected, though after an hour in hot rollers and another waiting for Ramona to apply makeup and Aunt Jo to pin the roses, I ought to look nice.

Damien was picking me up, while Aunt Jo had decided to ride with Ramona in her Cadillac. Aunt Jo and Ramona had become friends after I’d nearly drowned last year.

Aunt Jo pinned the last white rose to my hair and arranged several large curls to fall over my shoulder when we heard the doorbell.

“That’ll be Damien,” I said, quickly kissing Aunt Jo and thanking Ramona for her help.

“I’ll see you both later,” I called behind me as I ran down the stairs, putting on a shawl as I went.

I opened the front door, and Damien stood before me looking spectacular. I’d only made part of his costume since he wanted something at least partly authentic, and I couldn’t make armor with only fabric. We’d looked through Ramona’s Halloween catalog, Ghouls, Witches, and Other Halloween Designs, and ordered something from there. The armor looked a little plastic, but it was the best we could do. He’d offered to purchase an authentic thirteenth-century suit of armor from a museum, but I advised him against this, politely telling him he’d stand out a little too much.

“Emmeline,” he said, his eyes taking in my new face and hair. “You look...amazing,” he finally finished.

I blushed.

“Really? You don’t think it’s a little over the top?” I asked, self-consciously patting my hair. Aunt Jo had taken her job to heart, and I thought my head looked a little like one of the blooming bushes at Sugar Hill.

“No,” he said quietly, “I don’t.” He took my hand and kissed it, helping me down the stairs. I’d asked Aunt Jo not to come downstairs but to wait to see everyone in their costumes onstage.

We got into the Audi—a little difficult for him with the bulk of his costume—but we managed anyway. He’d wanted to buy a horse to arrive in style, but I suggested we just take the car. I was unsure how my hair would hold up in the wind.

Everyone stood around, nervously anticipating the evening and saying lines to themselves when we arrived.

Ben was the first to see me.

“Wow, Emily. You’ve never looked so beautiful,” he said, his eyes widening. He came over and took both of my hands in his.

“Yeah, you look nice. I wouldn’t have recognized you,” Zack chimed in, laughing.

I stuck my tongue out at him but then laughed. Zack had on his costume, which included plenty of hosiery. I smirked.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I said.

Zack rolled his eyes.

“If Romeo over there didn’t look ready to kill me, I’d show you how much I appreciate the costume design. Really, Emily, tights?” he asked, stalking off. But I knew he wasn’t really upset.

Annie hid a smile in her hands. She had on one of the long wigs that Ramona had lent us from her shop and tons of makeup. Ramona must have gotten to her first.

“Places everyone! The show will begin in five minutes!” Mr. Ormond called backstage.

I took a deep breath, trying to quell the butterflies in my stomach.

“You’ll be fine,” Damien whispered in my ear.

The cast turned to take their places. I was glad that I wasn’t in the first scene so I could watch in the wings. Ben had just spoken his first line when Angela came running in carrying her wig in one hand and three packs of cough drops in the other.

“Am I too late?” she croaked.

We looked at her, and I nearly laughed. Someone must have called her last night to say that I’d been her replacement. Mr. Ormond had announced last night that the show would go on, with or without the questionable talents of Ms. Rossi. That thought alone might be enough to kill her. She looked as if she had trouble standing; I was unsure how she thought she’d manage the dances.

Mr. Ormond looked disbelievingly at her as Ben delivered his first lines to the audience.

“Angela, you can’t possibly go onstage like that. Can you even talk, let alone sing?” he whispered angrily.

She tilted her head a notch, passed us by like the queen she was, and put her long wig firmly on her head. She literally marched onstage and delivered her first lines in a voice that sounded like a dying cat coughing up a hairball.

We all cringed, and I thought Mr. Ormond was going to pull his remaining hair out. But Ms. Shoemaker, the music teacher, played the opening bars to “The Simple Joys of Maidenhood” anyway. I had to concede that the lyrics seem made for her:

Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?

Where are all those adoring daring boys?

Where's the knight pining so for me

he leaps to death in woe for me?

Oh where are a maiden's simple joys?

Shan't I have the normal life a maiden should?

Shall I never be rescued in the wood?

Shall two knights never tilt for me

and let their blood be spilt for me?

Oh where are the simple joys of maidenhood?

Shall I not be on a pedestal,

Worshipped and competed for?

Not be carried off, or better still,

Cause a little war?

Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?

Are those sweet, gentle pleasures gone for good?

Shall a feud not begin for me?

Shall kith not kill their kin for me?

Oh where are the trivial joys?

Harmless, convivial joys?

Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?

I don’t know how she made it through the first three verses, which were painful to hear and even more painful to watch, but right as she lamented that kith were not killing their kin for her, one of Zack’s little brothers, eight-year-old Tommy, threw the better part of a pudding container at her and began laughing. That set off the less mature section of the senior class who were sitting at the back, and their laughter began the ripple effect up the auditorium and right to the stage. Even Ben, who, as King Arthur, stood behind one of the props to watch her sing, had a hard time controlling it.

Angela ran offstage, and Mr. Ormond literally pushed me on. The show, it seemed, had to go on.

Ms. Shoemaker struck up the opening lines to the song again, and for a brief moment, I froze. I looked over at Damien’s smiling, handsome face, took courage, and began.

The rest of the show progressed without incident. Angela fumed in the wings, but no one paid her any attention. And taking into consideration the rough start we’d had, I thought the performance went well. Aunt Jo sat on the front row cheering me on, and I didn’t forget any lines or song lyrics. After my first song, everyone had clapped for me, giving a huge boost to my confidence, and Damien had squeezed my arm when we had our first scene together, despite our needing to maintain distance. Guinevere disliked Lancelot at the beginning, only realizing her love for him later. This had been the most difficult part of the musical for me, but we got through it smoothly.

We passed the difficult scene where we’d had trouble during the rehearsal. Lancelot had already rescued me, and we were turning to exit when I felt it. Something was strange, and a chill ran down my spine. It wasn’t stage fright. I looked at Ramona, who waited in the wings to powder our noses between scenes. She met my eyes. So she’d felt it too.

Three women had walked in, though I could only see their shadows. Intuitively, of course, I knew. When the lights came on at the end of the show, I looked at the back of the auditorium and saw them more clearly. Each of them looked alike, as if they were sisters. They each had dark brown hair and black eyes so piercing that I could see them from the stage. They reminded me of Lamia.

I blinked, and they were gone.

When we took our bows at the end and the applause had ended, I looked for Ramona, dodging eager students and parents who congratulated me on my theater debut. Obviously, they hadn’t seen Oklahoma! I thought.

After several minutes of fruitless searching, I thought Ramona had already left, but then I saw her dark head bending over to collect cast-off wigs behind the stage.

“Ramona!” I called, running over to her.

We looked at each other for a second before speaking.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“I couldn’t get a clear read. I need a quiet place to concentrate,” she answered.

“But there’s no doubt?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Witches,” we said together, shuddering. They weren’t the good kind…

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One: "The Dream"

Chapter Two: "Plunging In"

Chapter Three: "The Quest"

Chapter Four: "Darkness Falls"

Chapter Five: "Dream Kingdom"

Chapter Six: "Reckoning"

Chapter Seven:"Discovery"

Chapter Eight:"Torn"

Chapter Nine: "Limbo"

Chapter Ten: "Flight"

Chapter Eleven: "Touching Eternity"

Chapter Twelve: "Voyagers"

Chapter Thirteen: "The New World"

Chapter Fourteen: "Encounters"

Chapter Fifteen:"The Ring"

Chapter Sixteen: "Following"

Chapter Seventeen: "Déjà Vu"

Chapter Eighteen: "Being and Unbeing"

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Chapter One