“Imogene,” Brania said. “She’s your guest, would you please help her out of your coffin?”
Thrilled to have a task, Imogene jumped at the opportunity. “Ruby, give me your hand,” Imogene instructed. How wonderful it was to be able to feel someone else’s hand. Imogene assumed that the reason she could touch Ruby and Ruby could hear her was because they were in the cave. This
“straddling life and death” thing sure had its own rules. But as long as Imogene could touch someone other than Brania, she didn’t care. She was so energized that by the time she and Ruby were both standing on the cave’s floor, Imogene had informed Brania that Ruby had recently enrolled at St.
Anne’s school, she was blind, and she was Penry’s twin sister. Finally, it made sense to Brania. “So that’s why you’ve come here,” Brania said, feeling the fear unwrap its needy little fingers from her body. “To avenge the death of your brother.”
“Brania!” Imogene exclaimed. “That is no way to speak to my new friend!”
When Imogene saw Brania’s head whip in her direction, her face filled with scorn and contempt, it reminded her of the way Brania had looked when she attacked her in her dorm room. Before Brania took her first step toward her, Imogene disappeared. “Imogene!” Brania howled. “I do not have time for these games!”
The game didn’t last very long, because Imogene didn’t want to stray too far from Ruby. It was nice to look into the girl’s eyes that were the same color as Penry’s, so after a few seconds she materialized in her coffin. “Now stay there and do not move!” Brania ordered. Turning around to face Ruby, she spun so hard that her heel dug into the rock floor, a tiny cloud of dust floating around her shoe. “And you!” she barked. “Why have you come to me? I had nothing to do with your brother’s death.”
As if she could see exactly where the boulder was, Ruby walked toward it and sat down. She looked at Brania, and her bemused expression never changed; all that changed were her eyes. Gone were the blue irises, back were sockets of white.
“Answer me, Ruby!” Brania screamed.
“My name isn’t Ruby, and I have no connection to this Penry,” the girl replied. “However, I have returned because of my brother.”
Clutching her knees closer to her chest, Imogene didn’t believe a word the girl was saying. She looked just like Penry; she had to be his sister. “You’re lying! You are Ruby!”
If Ruby heard Imogene’s protest, she didn’t give any indication. She stared directly at Brania.
“Behind the picture across from the desk in your father’s office you will find a book hidden in the wall,” she said. “Give it to David and tell him that I would like him to read me a story.”
Brania realized this girl had no connection to the dead kid whatsoever. Whoever she was, whatever she was, she was only using Ruby’s body as a host, a conduit so she could walk the earth. And make contact with Brania’s father. “Who shall I tell him is making this request?” Brania asked.
Just before she left the cave, Ruby answered. “Tell him that Rhoswen has come home.”
Wasting no time Brania raced out of the cave and to David’s office. She didn’t see a trace of Ruby or Rhoswen or whatever her name was, not that she expected to. She also didn’t care that she was leaving Imogene alone. Brania knew she shouldn’t abandon her so abruptly since she was vital to the success of her overall plan, but she would make it up to her. Right now she had work to do.
Slipping inside the anteroom, Brania’s shadow comingled with the black and gray projections created by the trees outside to form a surreal landscape in the mirror. Roused from their sleep, the archangels were curious to find an intruder in their midst, Zachariel most of all, but even he was ultimately helpless to stop Brania from entering David’s office. By the way she moved, without hesitation and with purpose, it was clear that nothing could stand in her way.
Brania removed the painting and saw that its placement was more than ornamental; it concealed a small safe. With a thief’s dexterity, she turned the knob and using her preternatural hearing listened for the telltale clicks. The first number was eleven, then twenty-five and sixty-four. Such arrogance, Brania thought. Of course David would use his birthday as the safe’s combination. Although most people would not deduce that sixty-four referred to 1564, the year of his birth.
Peering into the safe, Brania saw several letters and a stack of faded parchment wrapped in strips of worn leather and marked with David’s stamp, one unfurled wing made of red wax. Pushing them to the side she saw sepia-toned photographs, money of every conceivable international currency dating back to the sixteenth century, and finally, tucked behind an ornate silver and gold mask adorned with black ostrich feathers—an odd keepsake indeed—was a book. Even if Brania had seen it in an overstuffed library she would have known it was the book Ruby, well, Rhoswen, had instructed her to find. On the faded cover was a raised marble inlay, a remarkably detailed depiction of a white rose.
“Zachariel told me I had a visitor, but I had no idea it would be you,” David said. As if of its own accord the door closed behind him as David took one step, two steps, three steps closer to his daughter, his expression slowly shifting from amused to incensed. “Or that I would find you rummaging through my personal effects.” The only reason he stopped moving was because Brania held up the book in front of her, the marble rose a stronger deterrent than a sharp-edged wooden stake.
“What are you doing with that?” David asked, his voice a low, gruff whisper.
If it hadn’t been for the flames from the fireplace that had ignited the moment David walked into the room, the silence would have been overwhelming. “I think the more appropriate question, Father, is who is Rhoswen?”
The name struck David like lightning, unexpected, quick, violent. He had known this day would come, he had sensed it for months now, but he had never entertained the thought that it truly would arrive. The day when he would have to acknowledge his past and remember the pain, the agonizing decision he had once made that brought him to his present state of glory. No! Not everything had to be revealed. Brania might be his daughter, she may be inquisitive and insightful, but she was still a woman and therefore insignificant. No, he only had to tell her enough of the story to keep her satisfied. “Rhoswen is my sister.”
“What?!” Brania cried. “How come I’ve never heard of her?”
Give her another morsel, another benign piece of information. “She died when you were an infant,” David replied as he sat in the mahogany armchair near the window, to the casual eye appearing calm and aloof. “It was heartbreaking and, like so many things that break the heart, her demise went unmentioned. Until now.”
Brania stared at her father, certain that he was telling her the truth, but also certain that there was much more to the story. “How did she die?”
Crossing his legs, David traced the seam of his trousers with his finger to keep the rest of his hand from shaking. “She was murdered.”
“Murdered!”
David was surprised to find that his hand lay still on his knee. Perhaps the memory no longer had power over him; perhaps enough time had passed; perhaps his mind had finally convinced his soul that he was innocent. “It was a barbaric time,” he said. “Murder was a common, albeit, unfortunate occurrence. And in Rhoswen’s case, random.”
So her aunt, her father’s sister, was a murder victim whose spirit just happened to be taking up residence in the body of the twin sister of a murdered student. Logically, Brania knew that was a strong enough link to connect the two, but emotionally she knew otherwise. “What’s the significance of this book?”
Blinking his eyes to forbid the tears to appear, David knew that if he looked away from the marble rose Brania would correctly presume that it was more than decorative. It was a symbol, a symbol of his past, a past he wanted to stay dead and buried. But a past that clearly had a mind of its own. “The book belonged to my sister,” he said. “The name Rhoswen means the white rose.”
All the pieces fi
nally fell into place. Brania understood why she had awakened inside a circle of white roses. There was a reason why Rhoswen’s eyes looked like two round, white canvases. Her mind racing almost out of control she realized the scope of Rhoswen’s influence was immense. The flowers that grew outside of St. Joshua’s, that had grown there for centuries, were not an anomaly; they were not formed by nature but were the product of this supernatural spirit, who had endowed them with incredible, life-altering powers. Brania didn’t know why, but she knew David held the key to unlocking all of Rhoswen’s secrets. She had never been more grateful that she had her own secret with which she could barter.
“Rhoswen said that she’s returned and she would like you to read this book to her.”
When Brania placed the book in David’s hands, it was as if she had branded him with a white-hot poker. He felt as if his flesh, his heart, even the remaining pieces of his soul were singed, and it took all his formidable strength not to let the book drop to the floor. “You’ve spoken to my sister?” David asked, sounding younger than Brania had ever heard him sound before.
“More than that,” she gloated. “I’ve seen her.”
A rumble began in David’s stomach, so loud, so forceful, he thought for sure the sound would make his body shake uncontrollably, that Brania would think he was in the throes of an epileptic seizure. His vision started to blur, his head grew dizzy, and he had no choice but to close his eyes or else risk falling off the chair. Use these frailties, David commanded himself, turn them into strengths. Opening his eyes, he imagined he was looking at a world of wonder and possibility instead of the dubious face of his daughter. “This is a sign, Brania, a sign!” he gasped. “My family is coming together just in time for Archangel’s Tri-Centennial Celebration!”
Never in all her years had she witnessed her father look so emotional, sound so affected by circumstances that he did not create. It was unsettling, and even though a part of her wished her father possessed such sentimentality, she knew the man’s psychological makeup too well. This was all an act. An act that, for the time being, Brania felt she should play along with. “It will be a wonderful reunion,” she said. Softly she touched his hand and immediately thought the gesture might be too much, but then figured if her father could play the scene to the hilt, why couldn’t she?
“I have another surprise for you,” Brania added. “I know how we can find The Well.”
This time David did almost drop the book he was holding, but before it fell from his lap he grabbed it, his fingers gripping it so tightly they threatened to tear it in two. “How? Tell me!”
Oh what a beautiful sight to watch her father beg, to see him squirm like an anxious child. “All you need to know, Father,” Brania replied, “is that your ex-lover, Edwige, plays an important role in my plan.”
“Edwige!” Ignoring her father, Brania turned to leave, the clicking of her heels echoing through the room. Silence returned only when she reached the door. “When I speak with Rhoswen again, I’ll tell her that you’re waiting for her.”
David didn’t know how much time had passed after Brania left until the strength returned to his legs, but once it did, he rose, shakily, unsteady, and without direction. Brania, Edwige, Rhoswen! He was in a daze, his mind lost in the past, his body wandering in the present. What brought the two together was the sound of Zachariel’s voice. “Control the women in your life or they shall destroy you!”
The harsh, resolute voice was all David needed to hear to propel him into action, allow him to take command of his body once again. The fury traveled like a missile from his toes to his brain, and the book was suddenly hurtling, hurtling, hurtling into the fireplace. Upon impact, the flames erupted like a raging inferno. It crackled like laughter heard within the bowels of an insane asylum; it changed color from orange to yellow to red; it shifted shape from fire to a woman’s face.
Amid the bonfire emerged a specter, the true face of David’s sister Rhoswen appearing the same way she looked the night she had died. “I’ve come home, Dahey,” the face advised, calling David by his Christian name.
He was repulsed by the sight and sound of the past, but unable to look away. David’s skin was almost as white as the apparition. “NO!” he shrieked. “This can’t be. You’re dead!”
The phantom was now a full-bodied image. Rhoswen stepped out of the flames, her body, her hair, her long gown, all white, as she floated toward her brother. “So are you,” she said, smiling impishly, “and that hasn’t stopped you from roaming the planet for centuries.”
Cowering, David clutched at his desk, holding up one hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to shield his eyes from the vision. “What do you want from me?!”
Rhoswen began to retreat back into the flames, her voice growing fainter the closer she got to the fire. “I’ll let the girl, Ruby, explain,” she said. “She’s proven to be an amazing creature and has served me well.” Even after Rhoswen disappeared into the flames, every trace of white consumed by red, she was still able to issue one final warning. “Do not underestimate her like you’ve underestimated me.”
Now that his sister was no longer present, no longer posed a threat, David found his courage. “I killed you once!” he cried. “I’ll kill you again.”
As if in response to his tirade, the flames extinguished, and the room was plunged into almost total darkness, the only light from the full moon outside. It was enough, however, for David to see Rhoswen’s book, unburnt and intact, fly out from the fireplace and land at his feet. The marble rose still white and immaculate and staring up at him like an accusation that simply wouldn’t die.
chapter 19
“I cannot believe my little sister has a boyfriend.”
“And I cannot believe you’re finding that so hard to believe.”
“But she’s only sixteen!”
“And you had already found and lost your soul mate by that age!” Michael shouted, immediately realizing his words if not his tone were rather harsh. “Sorry, Ro, but it had to be said.”
“You’re right, love, it did,” Ronan said, grabbing Michael’s hand. He then gave it a squeeze, playful, but a tad harder than necessary. “But promise me one thing?”
“Sure,” Michael replied, trying not to wince under the pressure. “What is it?”
“For the rest of the night, do not say anything that’ll remind me of Morgandy,” Ronan said. “It’s going to be difficult enough as it is to have fun. No need to make things worse.”
They continued to hold hands as they walked past The Apple Tree, remembering the first time they did so in public. They hadn’t thought about it that first time. They hadn’t been trying to be brave or make some sort of political statement; it had been natural. Their hands had found each other as they walked side by side just as their souls had found each other, even though they lived on opposite sides of the world.
Tiny clumps of snow were now piled onto the bronzed branches and leaves, making the sculpture look as if it were halfway between life and death, just like the boys who passed underneath its shade.
Michael took it as a sign that they belonged there and that it was a perfect night for a double date.
When he turned the corner, he changed his mind.
Stopping abruptly they allowed a stray black cat uninterrupted passage from the empty street into a narrow slither of darkness between two stone-faced buildings. Michael couldn’t see the cat’s face trapped within the black abyss, but he heard its hiss and realized it could be a warning that they should turn around and go home. Ronan took it as confirmation that the nagging ache he had felt in the pit of his stomach during the drive into town had nothing to do with his being an overprotective brother uneager to see his little sister as someone’s girlfriend and everything to do with his gut feeling that the night was not going to end well. “So don’t mention Morgandy,” Ronan said. “And in exchange I’ll make you a promise.”
“What’s that?” Michael asked cautiously as the unseen cat hissed once
again.
Smiling, Ronan put his arm around Michael’s shoulder and whispered into his ear. “If tonight goes as I think it will, I promise I won’t say I told you so.”
Eden was rather desolate for a Saturday night. And the town looked even bleaker since it was decorated for the holiday season. Almost every window twinkled with colored lights. Santas, snowmen, and Christmas trees had taken up residence in front of stores and on street corners. But Michael and Ronan were the only spectators, the only witnesses to the elaborate display. Despite the store owners’ efforts, early December had failed to attract many tourists. Or people had just stayed away because they knew it wasn’t going to be a night for celebration.
But then Michael looked across the street and saw that a huge, green wreath hung over the Eden Café sign. What could possibly go wrong when everything looked so festive? Glancing down the alleyway that served as a shortcut from the opposite direction to the café’s entrance, he found out that decorations were no match for destiny.
“Morgandy?!” Ronan bellowed.
Down at the other end of the alleyway Ronan saw Saoirse walking toward them holding Morgandy’s hand, her smile wilting when she heard the anger in her brother’s voice. It disappeared completely when she saw Ronan and Michael sprint from one end of the alley to the other and stop mere inches in front of them. She expected her brother to be rude, boorish, unhappy to acknowledge that his sister was growing up. She didn’t expect this. She knew that look; she had seen it only a few times before, but it still alarmed her. The way Ronan was looking at Morgandy, Saoirse knew he was resisting the urge to transform into his true image and rip a gaping hole in her boyfriend’s neck with his fangs.
“Is this some kind of bloody joke?!” Ronan barked.
Shock finally segued to embarrassment. “Ronan!” Saoirse seethed. “This is my boyfriend.”
“This is insane!” Ronan roared.
The force of Ronan’s rage scared Michael, and he realized that if he didn’t intervene there would be bloodshed. But what could he possibly say to placate Ronan? What words could possibly diffuse the situation, make it less offensive and, yes, less insane than it truly was? Morgandy was Saoirse’s secret boyfriend? Just what kind of a sick game was this guy playing? Unable to find an appropriate word to utter, Michael simply placed a hand on Ronan’s arm and was grateful that Ronan didn’t flick it away.
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