Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four

by RAE STAPLETON

  Her big green eyes widened and a smile peeked at the corners of her mouth, letting me know I was forgiven.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  She glanced back and forth like the walls had ears.

  “It’s okay. I won’t tell.”

  “I want to look extra pretty today because I get to go next door to play.” She lifted the carved elephant box off Marjorie’s dresser and swung around, her eyes as shiny as emeralds.

  “I know we’re not supposed to,” she said, opening it and picking up the butterfly comb, “but...”

  I stepped closer, peering over her shoulder to see the silver hair clip and pearl earrings, but no Delhi Sapphire jewels. The set was probably tucked away in the hidden compartment.

  “I know that seems like a good idea, but there’s a good chance you might lose ‘em. So what if we make you a necklace instead?”

  “How can you do that?” Gigi asked, suddenly intrigued and I wondered if people made popcorn or paper necklaces now?

  A loud knock sounded at the door downstairs, interrupting us, and I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing tight. “You know how much I love you, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you know if anything ever happened to me, I would want you to be brave and strong.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good, because no matter what we’ll be together again. Now give me the biggest hug you can muster.”

  “You’re the best sister in the world, Zafira.”

  “No, you are,” I said and tickled her side. She cackled with glee, running out of the room and down the stairs.

  “Slow down,” I called, hurrying down the stairs after her. Scanning the front room, I caught movement by the door. My heart stopped beating, then started pounding.

  Marjorie stood by the open door, and on the other side of the threshold was a man, one I recognized but at the same time didn’t. His shining black hair was smoothed back and his eyes were dark...much too dark. My pulse kept its alarming pace.

  “Marjorie, isn’t it?” Deep dimples bracketed his grin.

  Shaking her head, Marjorie said, “Who are you?”

  “Eugene’s never mentioned me?”

  His eyes cut to mine. “Well, hello there. It seems we meet again.”

  The temperature in the house suddenly doubled and my knees went weak. Marjorie shifted her stance, looking from the stranger to me, still perched on the stairs.

  “You know this man?” Marjorie’s voice cut through my panic, but the best I could do was mumble. “Zafira! Answer me.”

  The man reached out, touching Marjorie’s hand. “Please don’t be upset. I thought I saw her at the General Store when I first arrived in town, but perhaps it wasn’t her.”

  Marjorie’s shoulders tightened up and she pulled her hand back.

  “Is this a bad time?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I blurted, backing up two steps on numb legs.

  Marjorie shot me a look.

  “How do you know my husband, then?”

  “I’m his brother. The name is Velte, ma’am.”

  Silence overtook the room.

  “Impossible. Velte died years ago.”

  “Apparently not, because here I am.” Amusement flashed in his dark eyes and he smiled, softening the sharp features of his face.

  “I’ve been searching for my family for a long time. Please tell me if Eugene is home.”

  She widened her stance, blocking the doorframe. “You’re really his long-lost brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to you? You went missing from the boat?”

  “I got lost in the crowd, ma’am—shuffled off the boat with some others. There was a death and everyone was asked to leave. I got separated—by the time I got back to the ship, it was setting sail.”

  “Why didn’t you tell someone? Surely they would have…”

  “I did. Believe me I did. One of the dock workers offered to put me on the next ship to catch up, but he lied. The rest of the story probably isn’t fit for the little one's ears.”

  “How awful,” Marjorie said. “Where are my manners? Please come in.”

  “No!” I blurted. “I mean—shouldn’t you go to the store? That’s where Eu—Papa is.”

  Marjorie looked up at me, narrowing her eyes as if I’d struck a match but as quickly as I’d lit her mind afire, it went out and, ignoring my protest, she waved him in. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Please come in.”

  Failing to suppress his grin, he casually stepped over the threshold and closed the door.

  FOURTEEN

  I entered the room carrying sandwiches, as everyone else fawned over the prodigal son’s return. It bothered me that Gigi had never mentioned meeting her uncle and, yet, here he was sitting beside her.

  As I approached, I felt the same torrent of feelings I’d had earlier on the stairs—recognition, mixed with fear, sprinkled with confusion. He was handsome, as handsome as Eugene, though where Eugene lit up the room with his bright eyes and smile, this man seemed to draw and collect the shadows in the deep, dark pools of his eyes.

  “Is Uncle Velte spending the night?” Gigi asked.

  My heart pounded as I waited for the answer.

  Eugene and Marjorie both looked to Velte.

  “I have a room down the street,” he answered.

  “Nonsense, you’ll stay here,” Eugene said.

  “Thank you, brother, but I’m all paid up for tonight and my things are back there.” His eyes darted toward me. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

  I set down the tray with a bang, and Eugene turned to Marjorie. “Why don’t you put the kids to bed? I’m going to spend some time alone with my brother.”

  “But it’s not bedtime,” said Gigi, climbing up on Eugene’s lap.

  “It is tonight, my dear. Go get a good night’s rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Velte reached out to pat Gigi’s hair and my skin crawled. I grabbed her by the hand, yanking her away.

  “Come along. You mustn’t ignore Papa. Let’s brush our teeth.”

  I stayed awake until finally I heard the front door close, then I allowed myself to relax. I was sure it had been him in last night’s dream. He had been the one to kill Zafira. And yet the world would think it was Eugene. I pulled the book out from under the bed where I’d hidden it, and opened it, allowing the familiar smell of dust and age to soothe and comfort me in a way only an old book could. “Now I lay me down to sleep.” I read the poem on page thirty-eight again and closed the book, drumming my fingers against the cover before tucking it back away.

  I dropped against my pillows with a sigh. The very thought of what I was up against was giving me palpitations. The shopkeeper had said the spell would only work once, but nothing had happened. Dreaming of Zafira’s death was nothing new to me, unless I’d missed something. I switched the lamp off and scrunched my eyes closed, settling into the darkness in the hopes that a solution would present itself by morning.

  Perky breasts jutted into my face, invading my dreams. Images—someone else’s, not mine—tumbled through my mind: metal walls and a girl’s terrified gaze, the smell of seawater and unwashed bodies. The pictures wrapped around me, suffocating me, until some rational part of my brain told me I’d fallen asleep and entered the mind of a sexually frustrated adolescent boy.

  The girl pushed away, jumping to her feet as he stumbled back, falling against the metal wall. His blood boiled. She fumbled to fasten the top of her dress where he’d torn it open, exposing much of her breasts. I could hear his thoughts as if he spoke them aloud.

  Nobody makes a fool of me.

  His mind jumped to the sapphire his father had taken away. He’d felt the power—felt it being stolen from him.

  This girl would pay. Something changed—I could feel the calm before the storm. Almost as if his madness had consumed him and he was suddenly pleased, even aroused, by the idea of the chase.

  “Go a
head. Run away.” He smirked, “but there’s nowhere to hide on a ship.”

  He followed her through a door, laughing and taunting, growing harder by the second. Her footsteps echoed off the metal walls, mixing with the thrum of the nearby engines, vibrating in his chest, buzzing in his ears.

  “You’ll never outrun me at this pace.”

  Chest heaving, she turned her eyes to him. Her glare so defiant it could have burned a hole through him.

  “Is that so?” she challenged, picking up speed.

  “Don’t try to be brave. I can smell your fear.”

  The stairs loomed ahead. She was close to her goal.

  I could feel his heart dancing in his chest. Like a cat with a mouse. He waited till she was almost up the stairs and then knocked her to the ground, dragging her back into the shadows. She was petite, most likely fourteen or fifteen, with bright eyes that widened as she opened her mouth to scream.

  The boy moved fast to straddle her.

  Letting loose a roar, he struck her across the face. “Are you afraid now?” he mocked.

  “You bastard,” she gritted, breathing hard. Sweat was beading at her hairline. He smirked down at her and grabbed at her russet-colored braids that had been pinned close to her head, tearing them loose. I could feel his desire to beat her face in.

  “Such language,” he tutted.

  “Please let me go!” she begged, failing to smother her panic.

  With a quick shove, the girl clawed at his face and attempted to push herself back up to her feet, but he pinned one hand against her neck, pressing the other over her mouth to stifle her cries. She bit at the knuckles of his hand and he howled, pulling it away and shaking it before he backhanded her across the face.

  He waited, almost challenging her to try something else, but she’d learned her lesson. He’d broken her.

  She rubbed at her cheek while he contorted his body to lift her skirts. A frightened cry escaped her lips and he turned back.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, but he didn’t care. There wasn’t an ounce of empathy in him.

  He gripped both hands around her neck. His thumbs folded over her windpipe and she gasped. I imagined the burn she was feeling as his fingers dug into the muscles. Her legs thrashed and she beat at his shoulders but he held tight, until I could almost hear the snapping of the trachea. She struggled, choking for air. The more she gasped, the more he liked it. Her eyes finally bulged and glossed over and he rubbed at the front of his pants.

  “Why are we stopping?” asked a woman’s voice from the hall.

  I looked around. Time must have jumped because we were no longer in the same area of the ship. The light was on and only the boy was in the room. The beds were mussed like everyone had been woken and the door was open.

  “I don't know. I'll go see. Perhaps we've reached the next port.”

  The boy bent down. There was a suitcase and a black leather bag.

  He needed to feel the power.

  He opened and frantically rummaged through the bag, but couldn’t locate what he was looking for. Sweat dripped from his forehead, landing on one of the sparkly baubles that glittered from within. A woman’s voice grew closer; it was Oma Gretchen, and she was coming back. He reached in, grabbing out two of the larger sized jewels, stuffing them in his pocket. Then he waited until his mother’s back was turned and bolted out the door.

  FIFTEEN

  I woke to screams of frustration tearing from my own throat.

  “Zafira, honey. Put the elephant down. It’s all right, shhhh, Mama's here.” Marjorie whispered soothing words as she rocked me in her arms. “It's okay. It's over. It was just a bad dream, shhhh.” She fumbled with the blanket, trying to wrap it around me to stop the shaking.

  I was disoriented and trembling violently. I looked around the room, trying to get a hold of myself, and realized I’d sleepwalked into Marjorie and Eugene’s room. “I'm okay,” I whispered and drew in long, steady breaths.

  Marjorie turned my face toward the moonlight and studied it.

  “You’re pale and sweating.” She put the back of her hand to my forehead. “And cold. Maybe you're getting sick.”

  Panic set in her eyes.

  “No, I'm okay,” I insisted swallowing hard.

  “You’re growing up so fast,” she said and paused to take a deep breath. “And there’s something else I can’t put my finger on.”

  Gigi sat on the end of Marjorie’s bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She had obviously woken and followed me.

  “Oh, Veronika, you must have been terrified waking up to your sister’s screams like that. Why don’t you go downstairs to your father and get a glass of warm milk? Come on, Zafira, I’ll walk you back to your own room.”

  Gigi scooted off the bed and disappeared down the stairs.

  Marjorie turned her attention back to me as we walked.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “No.” That was a lie. I wanted to tell her so badly, but I didn’t know the rules of time travel. How much was I allowed to interfere with destiny?

  “That's okay; I know you're probably too scared right now. You can tell me in the morning when it will all seem silly.” She smiled and smoothed my hair, helping me into bed and fluffing my pillow.

  She was such a lovely person. No wonder Gigi missed her so much. How could I let her die?

  “What if,” I whispered, pulling the blanket all the way to my chin, “I dreamed of a murder and what if it really happened?” I bit my lip, still debating whether or not I was doing the right thing.

  “Oh, I know, darling, nightmares feel so real but trust me, no one's going to die. It was all just a dream, a very vivid dream.”

  “No, but, I need—”

  Gigi returned with Eugene who carried two mugs of hot milk. “Get settled, sweetheart, and I’ll hand it to you.”

  Gigi crawled up beside me, folding her legs crosswise.

  “Daddy even put a drop of honey in it,” she whispered conspiratorially. Marjorie overheard and winked at Eugene who was now leaning against the doorframe.

  “Come on, Marjorie. Let's leave the girls to rest. They can switch the lamp off when they’re ready.” He smiled, wrapping his arm around her before padding down the hall.

  Gigi snuggled closer. “Are you feeling better, sissy? Was your bad dream about spiders? I once had a bad dream like that.” Her eyes widened with fear, as if remembering.

  I smiled and kissed her on the head, momentarily forgetting my own troubles.

  “I feel better now. Let's go to sleep.” I tucked her in and closed my eyes, willing myself once more to forget the other girl's screams. Instead I focused on my ring. If Cullen had pulled it off as I was being pulled through then I needed to find Marjorie’s set, but where did she keep them?

  As Gigi began to softly snore I felt the familiar spinning that preceded dream walking. I almost called out and would have woken her, but the whirlpool reached out and pulled me in. This had happened to me once before, while at work in the library. The Book of Rochus had beckoned me to it. Traces of gilt had twinkled along the edge, catching my attention as if the words were trying to flee from inside. One moment I’d been in the special collections room of the library admiring the book and the next, my world had spun, pulling me into a mirage of the past. There, the man, Rochus who had helped me to escape from 1857 had given me a message to return. This was definitely the book working its magic once more.

  The dizziness subsided. I now paced in a cold dark cell, filled with a feeling of vague oppression. I looked out and saw a sexy blonde woman in a tight blue t-shirt coming toward me. The wide bottoms of her high-waisted denim jeans swished as she walked, and I felt the urge to see her ass. I wasn’t in control, once again only a ghostly bystander trapped in some vile pervert’s mind.

  A prison guard with a black mustache led the way past a row of dark cells, his keys swaying with his movements, until he stopped and pointed. I drifted out of the shrunken form who was pacing
to and fro. Now looking down from above, almost as if I were a camera coming into focus, I realized he was very old, and yet his thoughts conveyed someone who held all the power.

  “Here’s your man: Eugene Breathour,” the guard said to the woman before moving on, leaving her staring at us through the bars.

  “Do you remember me? Loni Switzer, from the Star,” she said, pointing at the work badge hanging around her neck. He leered at her chest and his thoughts flew into my head. Nice tits, a little small, but perky.

  The look made Loni shift, and I forced my own mind to pull away from his. Her hair was dirty blonde and feathered out and I couldn’t help but wonder what the year was.

  The old man ceased his restless pacing, and I allowed myself to lower to the ground so that I was stopped opposite him, standing between him and Loni. He stared straight into my eyes for a moment, and I noted a dark and familiar expression. This was not Eugene Breathour.

  “I told you I won’t talk about my daughter, Zafira.”

  “You mean, your supposed daughter. Fine, then let’s talk about what you were looking for, Mr. Breathour.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. No more games. I know you weren’t after the girl. You were after what belonged to her.”

  “Games? You know nothing of what you’re involving yourself in,” he said, turning away as though to signify that the interview was over.

  “You were searching for the Delhi Sapphire, weren’t you?”

  He spun so fast, I thought his old bones would crack. “How do you know about that?”

  “So, you’re ready to talk now?”

  “Don’t toy with me, girl! You’ll get hurt.”

  “Your threats are empty, and maybe I know where the Delhi Sapphire is,” she said, crossing her arms.

  “How? Who are you? Switzer, that sounds familiar.”

  It sounded familiar to me, too. I racked my brain but nothing synced.

  “It should, Velte.”

  A cheshire grin spread across his face. “No one’s called me that in years. In here my name is Eugene.”

  She flipped open a notebook. “Is that why you killed your brother—for his name?”