by Tara Rose
“It’s true,” said Dakota.
The women squealed in delight and made a beeline for her, and the men all shook Bramwell’s and Kelton’s hands and clapped them on the back. The entire scene was so damn normal that Dakota nearly started to cry again.
Bramwell suggested they all go out to the sitting room, so the group reconvened in there. After Penelope, River, and Houston made sure everyone had drinks and food, Jarrett leaned forward.
“I have exciting news from Keira.” He turned his gaze toward Dakota. “But first, Chelsea has something to show you, and I know you’ll want to see this.”
Chelsea handed her an envelope that looked like it was decades old. The paper was worn, the corners were slightly charred, and it had an odd smell to it, like rotting sage or old leaves. “Read this first, and then I’ll explain what it is.”
Dakota took it from her hands and read.
Please give this to either Marie Gonzalez or Erika Saunders if found. They are both graduate history students.
She opened the envelope and took out a folded piece of paper, as battered as the envelope.
Marie or Erika, this letter is from Chelsea Barrows. I’m writing this about eighteen months after I disappeared. It’s a long story, but I wanted you to know I’m safe and alive in an alternate universe. No, it’s not a joke. Please write something back to me—anything at all so I know you received this, and take the letter to the Dungeon in Scanlon Hall. In the southwest corner, there’s a painting on an easel, covered with a burgundy drape. Remove the drape and toss the letter at the canvas. I know it sounds crazy, but please do it. The letter and canvas will disappear once you’ve done this.
Please let everyone know I really am fine. If there is a way to return one day, even for a short time so you can see me in person, I will do it. But this is where I live now and I’m very happy and quite safe. Thank you. Chelsea.
There was a space after that, and then another note written in a different hand.
Chelsea, if this really is from you, it’s a sick joke. Everyone has been really worried about you. Wherever you’re hiding, you need to come back. I wanted to take this to the police but Marie talked me into doing what you asked us to do in the note. But if you do this again, I’m going to the cops. Erika.
Chapter Sixteen
Dakota’s fingers trembled as she glanced up at Chelsea, whose eyes were alive with excitement. “That’s where I found the painting that I fell into. It’s the basement of a classroom where I was a graduate student. Everyone called it the Dungeon. People left things there, and it was like a free-for-all. You could take anything in it. It was fair game. I brought the portrait to my room before I crossed over.”
She shifted in her seat. “Marie and Erika were with me when I first found it, but they didn’t see the portrait. They were in another part of the basement. I came back later and got it. Keira found a way to send notes through the paintings. The portraits disappear when we cross over, but by tossing a note into its twin in the hall of portraits, it makes them appear again in the same place where we found them. Of course, it was only a theory that Keira and the other sorcerers came up with until I volunteered.”
“So you wrote this note to test her theory?”
“Yes. She needed someone to send a note that she was sure would be found.”
“You see,” said Abigail, “I bought my painting in an antique store, but I wasn’t sure if the owner would still be there or would even remember me. And Brenna found hers at an estate sale. She doesn’t know the people at all.”
“Since Keira had already told you that Mark and Jared sensed you were okay,” said Chelsea, “she wanted it to test it with someone who wasn’t sensitive to magick like she said Mark and Jared were.”
She hadn’t told Keira that Mark and Jared were sensitive to magick. She had either surmised it, or knew somehow.
“So the perfect guinea pigs were Marie and Erika,” continued Chelsea. “I sent the note two weeks ago, and last night it came back through the same portrait!”
“What if Erika had gone to the police instead of writing you back?” asked Dakota.
Chelsea shrugged. “Then I guess we’d have had to try something else. Keira probably would have approached you about sending a note to Mark and Jared, but this proves you can anyway.”
“Does she really believe people can go back and forth?” asked Kelton.
“I wouldn’t let any of them risk it,” said Roland. “Look at the paper. It was perfectly unmarked when she wrote the note.”
“You should write them a note,” said Kelton. “Let’s test it as well.”
“I will. This is almost unbelievable.”
“I know,” said Chelsea. “Now we can send notes back to let everyone know we’re okay.”
“But if they can only go back to the original places where we found the pictures,” said Dakota, “how will we know they’ll reach the right people?”
“We won’t,” said Brenna, “but it’s better than nothing.”
Bramwell stroked her back. “It’s more than any of you had before.”
Jarrett slapped his knees. “As exciting as this is, we have other news to tell you. Keira and the sorcerers from Dearth have already cast the spell on Enfield.” They all stared at Jarrett. “They did it last night, under the full moon. This morning, in secret, five of our guards tried to scale the wall to enter Enfield, but when they climbed the wall and removed the razor wire at the top, something very odd happened.” Jarrett leaned back and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee.
“Just tell them, Sire!” said Abigail.
They chuckled at the tone in her voice, and Dakota wanted to scream in frustration. They’d missed hearing all this because she’d had morning sickness.
“There was nothing there,” said Jarrett. “No kingdom, no homes, no castle, nothing. Simply a field where grass grew as far as the eye could see. They went over the wall but couldn’t cross the field. They said the air rippled as they walked, and no matter how far they thought they had gone, each time they turned around, they were still next to the wall.”
“Wow,” whispered Dakota.
“They walked up and down its length, testing to see if they could walk into Enfield anyplace along the wall, but the same thing happened.”
“Just like she said it would,” said Brenna.
“Does this mean the curse is lifted from our women?” asked Bramwell.
Jarrett shrugged. “We’ll find out in time, I suppose. The rulers from Wythmail witnessed the sorcerers cast the spell, and they watched our men try to walk into Enfield and fail. They have now agreed that we will no longer take brides from that kingdom to test whether our own women can now bear them with our men.”
“So everything is exactly as she said it would be,” said Dakota. “The curse is gone, and Enfield will never be a threat again.”
“It sure looks that way,” said Kelton.
Dakota leaned into Kelton’s arm on her right, and Bramwell’s warm, strong body on her left as the group talked into the afternoon and evening, stopping only to enjoy dinner together and drink wine. They offered some to Dakota, but she declined. She didn’t want to risk becoming sick again.
She placed her hands over her still-flat abdomen and wondered whether she’d have twins like Chelsea had, or if she’d have a single boy or girl. It didn’t matter. She had everything she needed, right here on either side of her, in Kelton and Bramwell. Enfield was no longer a threat, and she could now send a note back through the portrait that might reach Mark and Jared. She could let them know she was all right, and ask them to tell everyone else the same.
It didn’t seem real, and yet it was. She’d held Chelsea’s note in her hands and read it. Whatever Keira had done to the portraits had worked.
Kelton and Bramwell were real, and so were the others in this room. Dakota belonged to her princes, and that made her so happy she thought her heart would burst from joy. She didn’t need anything else in her life.
* * * *
Eight months later…
Dakota cradled her newborn daughter, Cierra, named both for Keira and for Dakota’s great-grandmother Candide, whom everyone had called Cee-Cee, in her arms. She was attending the one-year-old birthday party for Chelsea’s twins, which had been postponed by one month until Dakota felt well enough to leave the suite.
Abigail’s son, Justin, was now five months old, as was Brenna’s daughter, Paula. She sat with them and watched Chelsea, Roland, Archer, and Denver open presents for their son and daughter, who each looked like they weren’t sure what was going on, but who obviously enjoyed all the attention.
“How are you feeling?” asked Abigail.
“Still a bit tired, but better. Thank you.” Her pregnancy had been marked by frequent bouts of nausea and vomiting, and she’d been on bed rest the last few months. It was so wonderful to finally be allowed to participate in events again.
Kelton and Bramwell came to sit beside her, and took turns holding Cierra and cooing to her in soft voices. Dakota watched them, amazed as she always was by their attentiveness and the easy way they’d adapted to fatherhood. They helped her with everything.
She had never been this content or happy, and would do it all again in a heartbeat. The healer told her that her second pregnancy wouldn’t necessarily be the same as the first, but she didn’t care if it was. Dakota was so in love she couldn’t believe it most days, and this was exactly where she wanted to be, with her princes.
She had sent a note to Mark and Jared eight months ago, and one had returned the next day. They now corresponded regularly, which Dakota thought was too bizarre to dwell on, but she was grateful for it.
She had everything she’d ever wanted right here. As she gazed at Kelton and Bramwell once more, her heart filled with love as it always did. She intended to make sure, every single day of her life, that her children and her princes knew how very, very much she loved them.
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tara Rose loves to write about small towns and the quirky people that inhabit them. You’ll find engaging characters, budding romance, intrigue, and plenty of hot steamy ménage sex within the pages of her books. You never really know what goes on behind closed doors, but her books will take you there, and leave you panting for more.
When she isn’t writing, Tara spends time with her husband—her real-life hero. She loves to cook, collect antique pottery, and she will read just about anything. Tara also plays the cello, and loves decorating her house for Christmas.
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