“It’s much smaller than I thought it would be.”
“Whisht! Ye’ll love it. We’re early for the walkabout, and I could use a pint. There’s a tavern about here somewhere, what do you say we leg it.”
“I think we lost somebody, didn’t we?”
“Ah, we did. Leslie’s stayed behind at Hotel Forellenhof Rössle—she said she was jet lagged, but I bet she was just hungry.”
Alana yawned. “I think I’ll stretch my legs and have a gander.”
“Plenty of time for that, a mhuirnín. Besides, it’s bucketin’ down out there. Ye’ll get soaked.”
“What else is new?” Alana pulled out her hooded waterproof cape.
“Clever girl, but ye still need to eat.”
“Really, Da, I’m grand to explore. Go on without me. “
“I will yeh. Do as ye’re told.”
Alana looked the other way and rolled her eyes, but she listened and walked in the direction of a log building.
At a table near the window, they ate their way through some bread and cheese, admiring the outline of the castle and people watching as the tourists explored in the horizontal rain.
“I think I need a kip now too—this fine drizzle is zappin’ my energy. Did Leslie tell ye that we’re up early to catch the train tomorrow?”
“She did. We’re takin’ the scenic route to Budapest? “
“Indeed—eleven hours’ worth.”
“I hope Leslie doesn’t snore the whole way.”
“I’m sure she will.”
“Is it eleven hours straight?”
“It makes six different stops. We’ll see Austria on the way. Then I’m meeting with The Professor for a pint in Hungary. Ye ladies can check out the festival in town while I go about my research. “
“Why are ye meeting your old professor?”
“The Professor is his nickname, although he does work at the University of Budapest. We went to school together as lads. From there, we take the train to Brasov for the Blood Moon Ball.”
“I can’t believe I’m finally going to see Bran Castle. After all those scary books Mum used to read to me, I wonder if it will compare.”
Da set his stein down in a hurry and pointed out the window. “By the holy, it’s clearin’ up and we’ve fifteen minutes to spare. Just enough time to see the Echaz valley.”
Da led the way up the hill, stopping only for a moment so he could snap a picture of Alana in front of the studded wooden door.
“What do you think, a mhuirnín, is it ‘Instaworthy’?”
Alana frowned.
“Sorry, wrong one—Snap-cat, then.”
“It’s not an animal, Da.”
“One of them is an animal—a bird, right. I’m close. I know I am. Do ye know how hard it is to keep up with ye these days? Yer mum was much better at that social media stuff. Now, don’t go twitterin’ about me.”
Alana laughed. “Oh, Da, you’re so lame. Speaking of mum, this was her favorite castle, do ye remember? She called it Württemberg´s fairytale schloss.”
“Ahh. I do remember her sayin’ that.” Da smiled, but he cleared his throat and turned away, blinking back the tears. “How high up are we, do you think?”
They had reached the edge of the cliff that overlooked the valley. Green, red and white dotted the landscape—trees and tiny little houses with terracotta roofs.
Alana shrugged.
“Too high to slip, that’s for sure.” Cullen joked. “I think I read that it was 817 metres above sea level, but we’ll learn all about it when we go inside.”
Alana turned, admiring the breathtaking view of the castle with all of its turrets and peaks.
“Did you know that the Count who built this was inspired by a novel? Mum once told me…” Alana said.
“Been studyin’ for that paper of yours or are ye just practicin’ to be a tour guide?”
“Why do ye always do that?”
“Do what, Lana?”
“Change the subject when I bring up Mum.”
“I do?”
“Ye do.”
Neither of them said anything else for a couple of minutes until finally Alana broke.
“Would you tell me the story of the Graf?” Stories were one of the comforts both her mother and father had always offered up. Mum’s were typically historical tales while Da’s usually drew from his silly childhood with the occasional leprechaun and fairy thrown in for good measure.
“A story about who, a mhuirnín?”
“The Graf who lived here. The one Mum used to tell.” Alana felt an inexplicable surge of pain at the memory. He turned and looked mildly at her, thick eyebrows raised above his green eyes.
“I barely remember it—Conrad something or other. I do remember from my last visit that there are some brilliant knight costumes that were worn by children, and a broken mirror that was damaged during the war—you’ll hear of it once we’re inside,” he said.
He was shifting—a surefire sign that he was not tellin’ the truth. There was no way he could have forgot about Conrad and the Princess. Mum always joked that Da had been the Graf in another life. “Da, I need to ask ye somethin’.” Alana paused and he looked up sharply. “I was pokin’ around before we left and I found a letter—”
“Ah c’mon will ya look at that, a mhuirnín,” Cullen interrupted. “The tours started!”
FORTY-TWO
Hunedoara, Romania, 1494
T he grass from the embankment felt cool under my hands, or maybe it was just in comparison to the heat coming off this young man. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I’m not who you think I am.”
“You’re not Sofia, then? I suppose I’m not Costin?”
He gazed at me, clearly not about to let me go.
I took a deep breath and went on. “I’m much too old for you.”
“Too old. We are the same age. What has gotten into you?”
I shook my head absorbing this new detail.
“Could you take me home, please?”
“What about our plans? You will still meet me, right? I told you something is amiss at the Castle. We must leave tonight.”
As though realizing something, he paused and then relaxed. “You’re afraid. I told you, we don’t have to do that right away. Your virtue is quite safe with me. Now, come here,” he said, enfolding me once again.
When he kissed me, the familiarity soothed and yet butterflies in my tummy reminded me of the truth. I wasn’t at home and this wasn’t my husband, not really. I couldn’t remember the last time Cullen’s kiss had felt like this, so innocent and new.
I pulled away. This was Cullen and yet it wasn’t. This was a much younger, untouched version but I wanted and needed to get back home to the man himself. Some things were better with age.
In the regression—this boy, who I was certain was one of Cullen’s past lives, had been trying to save me from the noose. How far away was that day?
A sense of urgency moved me.
I had to get back to Elena. If she truly was a witch, then maybe with a little forewarning she could save us both and send me home to my family—my real family. Oh my god—Alana! Sandra Brun had kept her hostage in that basement. No, Cullen had picked her up. I remembered him carrying her from the séance and suddenly things clicked. I remembered the way home to the cottage in the woods.
The underbrush scratched at my arms as I ran through the trees.
FORTY-THREE
Seated comfortably on the train to Budapest, with Leslie now fast asleep, Alana seized the moment to mention her mum and the book with the letters once again.
“We need to talk,” Alana murmured.
Da looked up from the castle drawings he was reading and Alana prayed her bravado wouldn’t fail.
“I know ye don’t like it when I nose through your things, but I found something in yer study before we left. A book.”
“I’m sure ye found quite a few books in my study.”
Alana looked over at Leslie’
s sleeping form. She was now openmouthed and snoring in a somewhat distracting fashion.
“It had an L design printed on it. I know ye know it. It’s the one Mum accused me of takin’ on my birthday.”
He straightened his shoulders.
“Inside, there was a bundle of letters with my name on them.”
Da sighed deeply, an almost grief-stricken sound.
“I know the ones.”
“And….”
“And I was goin’ to give them to ye.”
“When? It’s been four months since she died.”
He was silent, sitting ramrod straight against the seat.
Alana was surprised to see how drawn and sad he looked, then he lifted a briefcase from the floor, and squeezed the handle so tight his knuckles grew white. “We didn’t have the letters the whole time.”
“Leslie knew about them, too.”
“This is a sensitive subject. Let’s talk when we get to the hotel.”
She followed her Da’s look and glanced from side to side but there was no one around. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“Be reasonable, a mhuirnín, this is a public train. Nobody wants to hear our business.”
The train plunged into a tunnel with great jolting and shrieking, and Leslie bolted upright, wiping the drool from her chin.
Leslie rubbed at her eyes and looked from Alana back to Cullen. “What’d I miss?”
“Da was just about to tell me why he hid my letters from me.”
“Watch yer volume there, lass.”
Alana’s lip quivered, “I was so bold to her, Da. It hurts my heart to think of all the nasty things I said.” The tears streamed down her cheeks. “She loved me so much, regardless of my bad behavior, and I never told her I loved her.”
“Bollocks, Lana. She knew ye loved her.”
“I can just imagine what my letter for this year would have said. ‘Dear Alana, ye’ve turned out to be a terrible disappointment—an unholy brat. Thanks for all the tears.’”
Cullen pulled a small square of paper from his pocket. “Dry yer eyes, lass. Ye didn’t read all of the letters. I’ve kept this one close to my heart.”
Alana unfolded it. It wasn’t like the others had been. It wasn’t yellowed with age, only creased where her father had obviously folded it.
My Dearest Alana:
As a mother, it is pure agony that I imagine you reading this—especially given that I am most likely in trouble if this is in your hands. By now, you know I’ve written you a letter each year exactly one week after your birthday, just in case anything ever happened to me.
My own family died and left me with a lot of questions and so I felt the need to prevent you from ever feeling that way. It’s been sixteen years now and I’m writing this letter in a rush. If what I suspect is true, then I am in danger. There are many things you don’t know about me that I should have told you by now.
First of all, I am a time traveler of sorts; I’ve been able to visit past lives on several occasions, thanks to a magical heirloom passed down through my Gigi and The Book of Rochus—the grimoire that I accused you of stealing. This is a very long story—one I don’t have time to write out, but you may remember the bedtime tales of the Delhi Sapphire and The Temple of Indra. I must confess these chronicles were true and I lived them.
The one story I didn’t share that I regret the most involves a psychic medium and how I found out that I was pregnant with you. Again, I wish I had more time but the thing is: she told me you were a dark spirit and that you would grow to bring about death beginning on your sixteenth birthday. I’m sorry I never told you. Maybe I could have prevented whatever is about to happen next. Please know I understand that you would never hurt me or your father on purpose. This may just be your destiny as much as it was mine.
I hope you can read this sprawling hand writing, it’s the middle of the night and I’ve just received a call that you’re in trouble. If something happens to me, please remember this book is powerful and so are you. I believe in my heart that you are gifted like me and I know you are good. I’m sure by now the dreams have begun. Listen to your heart and to your Da and Leslie. You were and are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, Alana.
These words were told to me once upon a time and I just know they are true. Somewhere and sometime we’ll be together again.
Tears streamed down Alana’s face, soaking the page.
“How?”
Leslie looked at Cullen, then she leaned in and whispered. “We think your mothers alive but she’s trapped in the past.”
“She can’t be. She died . . . I saw her die.”
“You didn’t actually see her die, a mhuirnín,” Cullen clarified.
“I did and it was my fault.” Alana repeated herself at least three times before Leslie finally broke in.
“What do you mean it was your fault?” Leslie prodded.
Speaking the truth aloud rattled Alana, and she clamped her lips tight aware that she was once again on the verge of tears.
“Come on, Alana, you can tell us anything. We love you no matter what but we need to know.”
“I was so angry with her at dinner that night when she said I couldn’t attend the coven meetin’. I mean, I understand now why she was suspicious of Móraí, but at the time it all seemed so magical and safe. Móraí called me that night and asked if I could find the book. I’d seen Mum put it in her bag. I thought why not—she already thinks I stole it anyway. And I was curious about it, too. She’d gotten so worked up. Móraí had been teachin’ me about herbs and how they could be used in spells and I couldn’t help but wonder what was in the book. I promised myself I’d put it back tomorrow and no one would know. So I did it—I took it and Hannah’s mum picked me up.” Alana shivered.
Cullen leaned across the gap and put his hand on Alana’s knee.
“It's not your fault that your grandmother manipulated you.” His eyes, fiery green and encouraging, were intent on Alana’s face. “You trusted Móraí and the Walshes’ and they betrayed us all.”
“Why did Hannah and her mum trick us? I’ve never understood what I did to make them hate us so.”
Leslie wiped away a tear from Alana’s cheek. “It wasn’t you at all, honey. Hannah’s mum blamed Sophia and me for her husband, Sam’s death. It’s a long story and I’ll tell you later when we’ve got more time. Keep going. We need to hear your story now.”
A sob escaped Alana’s throat but she went on, as if the memory were a bubble that might pop at any time. “Móraí flipped the book open in front of me and told me to read. They all started chanting halfway through. Then the woman in the cloak picked up a large knife and cut my hand.”
Cullen tried to hide his fury but failed. “Móraí blamed yer mother for the death of yer Uncle Liam and she thought magic would bring him back. That evil Sandra woman brainwashed her and together they tried to use yer mother, too, but Sophia saw through them. My Aeval saw right through them.” Cullen’s voice broke and he had to stand and walk away to compose himself.
FORTY-FOUR
Hunedoara, Romania, 1494
The young man shouted after me, but I kept moving and to the best of my knowledge he wasn’t following. He most likely knew where I lived so I wasn’t concerned.
The cottage in the woods was surrounded by trees. Wood was stacked beneath the eaves and to the left a cow lazily munched her cud under the shade of a tree. I took in the prolific view. Then a small black cat noticed me from its position in the shade of the house and bounded forward.
Daphne. Had she been with me in every life? Was she immortal like Sandra? Given my beloved pet’s ripe old age that explained why she was still alive. I stopped to pet her. I’d held my breath for years anticipating the day Alana and I would be forced to discuss pet heaven. Thankfully, that day had never come. Now, I quite possibly knew why. I suddenly had so many questions and finally there would be answers.
I pushed open the door to the house. It was a mess; th
e cupboards were wide open, and bundles of food waited on the table.
“Hello!” I called, pulling a piece of clinging wet hair from my forehead.
Elena’s head popped up from the cellar. “Where have you been? You’re late—we must hurry.”
Then she stopped short and stared at me.
“Who are you and why are you all wet?” she finished.
For the longest time, we stared at each other. The charge made the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end.
“I asked you a question,” the woman said.
My gaze flitted back and forth between her and the voices I thought I could hear off in the distance.
“I know you,” I whispered, recalling the woman from my regression. Elena Maria Catargiu-Obrenovic—my mother. She faintly resembled my own daughter Alana and I pondered the complexity of gene pools.
She stepped out of the cellar and lowered the door as gently as if it were glass. Slowly, she straightened her slender back. “Sit, and quickly tell me what’s happened to my daughter, Sofia. You may look and sound like her but I am no fool and I can see you are not. “
“I am Sophia…” I started.
“Do not lie to me, changeling. I can see your aura and I am a very dangerous woman to trifle with.”
“I am Sophia,” I said again, more firmly. “I come from another lifetime. I need your help.”
At the woman’s glower, I swallowed my words. I had been through this once before. There was no real way to explain without sounding like a crazy person.
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered. “We’re too late.” She pushed me into the root cellar. “Whatever happens, say nothing unless you’re sure we are alone. I should never have tried to help that devilish woman.”
“Arrest her! Arrest the witch!” Came shouts from the woods.
FORTY-FIVE
Budapest, Hungary 2031
Cullen watching with an ache in his heart as his daughter barely held it together. The minute they made it into the privacy of the hotel suite, she pulled the letter from her knapsack and the flood gates opened once again.
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 86