“No, no.” Her wide mouth turned down into a regretful frown. “Get back, little one. I do not wish to kill Michael’s child, mi querida, but I will if I must.” She noticed my scrutiny and examined the pistol in her hand. “Anachronistic, I know.” She shrugged. “But a woman must have her useful things, yes?”
With a spatter of displaced snow, the bald Flint slunk from the trees holding another, larger pistol.
Flint grinned when he saw Bran. “Good work, Brandon.”
I flinched. Suspicion danced across my mind, leaving rotting pits in its wake.
Good work?
Bran sheathed his swords and ambled toward Celia. “Hello, Mother.”
“My son.” Celia kissed him on both cheeks. Her victorious smile sent my heart plummeting into my feet. “You’ve done well. How is your injury? It is good?”
Bran touched his side and nodded. “Fine, Mother.”
“Accidents will happen, my son,” she said, patting his cheek. “Now get their lodestones and bring them to me. We have a long journey ahead, and time grows short.”
Bran nodded. “Of course, Mother.”
Oh, no. Not this. Please, not this.
I tried to catch Bran’s eye, but he wouldn’t look at me. He advanced on Phoebe, ordering her to kneel. She shot quick glares at the two guns, then spit at Bran, plopping down just behind me. Collum had somehow gotten to his feet. Bran faced him.
“Your ring, MacPherson.”
“You worthless piece of scum,” Collum said quietly. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
Bran shrugged. With a sweep of his leg, he knocked the injured Collum’s feet from under him and kicked the sword from his hand. It skittered across the frozen ground as Collum crashed onto his wounded shoulder with a grunt of pain.
Overhead, the sky brightened imperceptibly. I heard Phoebe’s intake of breath behind me as she felt her lodestone twinge. I felt it too.
Bran knelt in front of me, his back to his mother. “Sorry, Hope,” he drawled. “It’s been fun, love. But I’ll need that pendant now. And, Phoebe, your bracelet if you please.”
My heart was a mangled thing when I raised my eyes to his. Poisonous words burned on my tongue. But they dissolved as Bran’s blue and green eyes seared into mine. He mouthed, Be ready.
My chest inflated. Relief thrummed through me as I mimed giving him the necklace.
Phoebe, still not understanding, wrenched the bracelet from her arm. “You bloody rat bastard.”
Bran let Phoebe’s bracelet drop into my palm, then stood and crammed the imaginary objects into his bag. “Got them, Mother.”
Carefully, I eased my hand behind my back and held it there until I felt Phoebe stiffen, then pluck the bracelet from my fist. Pink and orange flared in the east. It could only be minutes now. We just had to stay alive till then.
“Flint.” Celia sounded amused. “The Nonius Stone is strapped to dear Sarah’s arm. Get it for me, por favor.”
Impotent rage boiled through me. I wanted to rip her black eyes from her head. I trembled with it as Flint shoved me aside and ripped the dagger from Mom’s limp arm. He sheathed it, then handed it to Celia.
“Finally,” she whispered. “Finally.”
As Celia unsheathed the blade, turning it to the last of the moonlight, she gasped and reeled back. Her head whipped toward me, lips peeled back in fury.
And all at once, I knew what had bothered me about the stone back in Eleanor’s chambers. I think Hectare had realized it too. The legendary Nonius Stone was reputedly an extremely large and extremely rare black opal. This one was white.
I beamed at Celia. “Oops.”
“What is this?” she screamed. “This is not the true Nonius! The Nonius Stone is black as night, with all the colors of the rainbow contained inside. This . . . This is nothing but another lodestone. Bah!”
She slammed the dagger into its sheath and tossed it to Flint. He examined it and whistled a murky white mist. “You’re right, boss. It’s ancient. Powerful, too. It’ll be of use, no doubt. But it ain’t the bloody Nonius Stone.” He crammed the dagger into his belt, his wrestler’s shoulders bunching as he threw his hands in the air and stomped off toward the tree line. Evidently, he no longer considered us a threat. The gun in Celia’s hand rose. It swept the clearing as if she couldn’t decide which of us to shoot first.
“It won’t work, Celia.” My mother’s voice was a pallid croak as she pushed herself to a seated position. “Even if you find the Nonius Stone,” Mom said. “You can’t just go back and do whatever you want. You could change history on a fundamental level, and you have no idea what it might do to the fabric of time. You know this.”
Celia stomped toward my mother. Her dark eyes scanned the blood saturating the dirt around her. For just an instant, I thought I saw a flicker of regret cross her features. Then her lips peeled back in contempt. “Saint Sarah. With all your degrees and knowledge, you still haven’t brought him back, have you?”
Collum made a noise, but I didn’t take my eyes off Celia.
“It is your fault Michael is gone,” she spat. “If you hadn’t insisted on bringing back these stupid brats, he would never have sacrificed himself like that. If he hadn’t stepped in front of the blade I intended for you, he and I would be together now.” She shrugged. “No matter. When I find the Nonius Stone and my men alter the device, I will find him.”
Celia paused, head tilting to one side as she noted the horrified glance Mom cast at me.
Celia threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, es fabuloso. Do not tell me you never told your precious daughter the truth about herself? At least I did not raise my son on lies. Brandon knows where he came from, don’t you, hijo?”
“Oh yes, Mother,” he said. “You’ve never let me forget that, have you?”
Celia ignored him, looking from me to Mom. “Look at this girl. How she protects you. And still you lie to her. Your daughter, yes,” she said. “But not of your blood.”
A kind of nervousness rolled over me as my mother’s voice turned querulous. “Celia, don’t. Please. Not like this.”
“Mom?” The shadows that had always covered my earliest memories began to thin and dissipate. Images edged in at the corners of my consciousness.
“You had no idea my father was there too, looking for the good doctor. You didn’t even know John Dee held the Nonius Stone.” She stepped closer, whispering the words. “But I did. And I now know who she is.” Celia swung the gun toward me.
At the sound of the man’s name on Celia’s lips, firecrackers exploded inside my head.
Smoke and stamping horses. A frozen forest. Thatched roofs on fire. Shouts in the distance as a man rocked me in his arms. His long gray beard tickled my cheek as he whispered fiercely, “You must run now, granddaughter. There are men here who would take what I’ve been entrusted with protecting. They are hurting these good people who sheltered us, and I must help them. But do not fret, for I will come after you.”
Another image came, slamming into the first. A doll tucked under my arm as I raced through the woods. Someone held my hand, dragging me away from a scene of screams and blood. Cold. So cold. Then blackness consumed me as I screamed inside the rotting trunk of the nightmare tree.
Someone tore away the huge branches that had trapped me inside. I was wrenched from the darkness. Gentle hands brushed the creatures from my hair, my gown. I looked up, but his face was lost in shadow. The only thing I could see was a small, silver medallion, hanging on a leather thong. “It was my mum’s,” he said, when I reached out a shaking finger to touch it. “I took it off her after they . . . after they killed her.”
My heart refused to beat. Celia laughed, a pretty silver sound that sliced through the glade, sharp as a razor’s edge.
“Sarah’s daughter. Loved but not trusted. Too pathetic and frail to know her own truth.”
“Hope,” Mom whispered, but I was beyond hearing.
My savior pressed something into my hand. I looked down t
o see a small, withered apple resting on my palm. “Here. It’s for you.”
I cried then, because I was so hungry, so tired. I missed my grandfather, and I’d lost my doll. My Elizabeth. As the boy lifted the meager fruit to my lips, I smelled the familiar, cloying scent. Suddenly, three people emerged from the trees. A man and two women, dressed in fine clothes. The boy stood, a stick thrust out before him, protecting me.
One of the women hurried across the clearing and knelt down. “I won’t hurt you,” she promised the boy. She called to the others. “They’re starving and nearly frozen. They must’ve come from that burned-out village we passed yesterday. We can’t leave them here. They’ll die of exposure if we don’t do something fast.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, we’re going to take care of you.”
When she returned to the others, the dark-haired woman began arguing with her. The man got angry, but the first woman only said, “You take them. I’ll stay.”
The man shook his head. “Like hell you will.”
He pulled her to him, murmuring something that made the other woman furious.
As the three began struggling at the edge of the clearing, I could no longer hold myself upright. I toppled over onto my back and stared up as stars wheeled in the night sky. The boy crawled over and held my head in his lap. He smiled down at me, and I remembered the first time I’d seen him in the small village. How his face had darkened as my grandfather explained that men were chasing us. He’d held so tight to my hand as we ran through the forest. He never let go, except to put me in the tree, where he thought I’d be safe while he went to search for food. As the moon snuck out from behind the clouds he looked over to the arguing people, and I could finally see his eyes. His odd, mismatched eyes.
I blinked, shaking my head, my breath coming in little huffs.
“. . . that your daughter did not come from any orphanage,” Celia was saying. “But was brought back, along with Brandon, from the year 1576.”
The images expanded until I thought my head would rupture. A small child’s half-formed memories skittered through my mind. The gray-bearded man had been taking me back to my mother. My real mother. The lady with long, brown hair, who’d trained my hands to spin the wool. When the bad men raced into the small village, killing and burning, he’d shielded me with his body as he begged the boy to take my hand and run.
I knew that dear old face now. I’d seen it in history books all my life.
My poppy. My grandfather. Doctor John Dee.
Queen Elizabeth I’s most trusted advisor. A scientist and astrologer. Religious fanatics had hated him. Called him a wizard. But he’d only been brilliant and far ahead of his time.
And . . . according to many biographers . . . he’d been blessed with an eidetic memory.
I sat back hard, falling away from my mother.
There’d never been an orphanage. That was my mother’s lie. More memories splashed thorough in cyclical waves. A small, snug house with an herb garden out back. A crowded city. Horses. A flash of a scary white-faced queen with orange hair.
The boy.
My gaze locked with Bran’s. The pity in his eyes was too much to bear as the earth and sky switched places. Tall, bare trees spun around me like horses on a carousel.
“Hope.” My mother’s hand clutched at me, but I yanked away. She sagged against Phoebe, spent. “I had no choice. The two of you would have died. I should have told you, but . . .” Her anguished face begged for understanding. A spasm of pain racked her body. When it passed, she whispered, “I need you to know I will never regret taking you from that terrible place.”
Phoebe’s voice was aghast. “Sarah, you didn’t. You brought them back from the past? Both of them?”
“After Celia stabbed Michael,” Mom whispered, “he placed the extra lodestones on you children. Then he just ran away. He knew the Dim was coming, so he took the choice from us, you see.”
I looked at Collum. If he’d known about this, I didn’t know what I’d do. But his mouth hung open in pure shock.
“Brandon.” Mom’s voice was barely audible. “I wanted to take you, too, to raise you as my own.” Bran took a shuffling step toward her and stared down with an unreadable expression. “But when we got home, Celia took off with you so fast. We couldn’t stop her.”
Celia stepped between the two of them, severing their line of sight. Bran’s face had gone pale at my mother’s declaration.
Celia’s voice morphed into a low hiss. “You took Michael from me. You weren’t taking everything. The honorable, loving family and two children to love you? Never.”
Chapter 42
“NOW YOU KNOW THE TRUTH.” CELIA LEERED DOWN AT ME. “That your mother is a liar. But the two of you will have much time in this age to discuss it.” She glanced down at the blood. “Or perhaps not. Come, Brandon, these people are nothing to us. Without their lodestones, they dare not travel the Dim.” She snorted and gave that brittle laugh. “Perhaps Babcock would take you back, Sarah,” she said. “And when I bring Michael home, I will tell him you are happily wed.”
Bran blinked at me. There was a message there, but I couldn’t read it. Celia turned to go, then whipped back, something catching her attention.
An undulating lavender mist had begun to coalesce around Collum and Phoebe. The pendant, still clutched in my hand, twitched against my palm. I looked down to see the same purplish haze shimmering up my arm.
The Dim had come for us. Celia’s eyes bulged as she realized that her son had never taken the lodestones from us.
“Traitor,” Celia snarled as she swung the pistol barrel at Bran. “I should have left you to die in that forest.”
Before he could react, Celia leaped forward and ripped Bran’s opal cloak pin away. She danced back, Bran’s lodestone—his safety, his only sure way back to where he started—clenched in her fist.
With the gun still raised, she spoke. “I should have known you would do this. You are weak. You are nothing.” She tossed her hair back, and gave a haughty laugh. “Eh, It is no loss. You are not of my blood. I will train Antonio to stand by my side. He is my only true son.”
“No!” Anguish and rage all balled together in one horrible expression skimmed across Bran’s features. He took a step in Celia’s direction, stopping only when she trained the gun straight at his heart. Hands raised in supplication, he begged, “Mother. Please. Tony’s too young. He’s not cut out for this. You know that. He’ll only get himself killed.”
“Then, querido,” Celia sneered, “you should not have betrayed me.”
For one, brief moment I thought she would pull the trigger. That she would kill her own son where he stood. The blood in my veins turned to slurry as the second stretched into an eternity.
Then, with a disgusted huff, she turned and fled into the trees. Bran’s hands fell to his sides and his head dropped in defeat.
Beside me, Mom was trying to say something, but the pain and blood loss were too much. Her eyes closed, and she slumped against Phoebe.
“Mom?” When she wouldn’t stir, I lightly smacked her cheeks, then shook her hard. “Mom!” No response. Shaking, I groped for a pulse. It flickered against my fingertips, weak and thready.
A cold wind began to circle us. Back at Christopher Manor, Doug had flipped the switch. The Dim had come to take us home, but something wasn’t right. The fractured light that danced over Collum, Phoebe, and me turned a deep violet. But the glow rolling across my mother was a sick, putrid shade of yellow.
Horrorstruck, I remembered what had happened to Dr. Alvarez’s son. How he was sliced in two, only half of him returning when he traveled without his lodestone.
“The dagger,” I cried. “Celia took it. Without the lodestone to guide Mom, she’ll go somewhere else. Or she’ll die.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Bran, pale and alone, move to the edge of the clearing. At my words, his head came up, and our eyes met. I hesitated for only a heartbeat. Five people. Three lodestones. And though Bran stood outsi
de the glade, that still left four of us.
As I let the pendant spool out of my fist, I said to Phoebe, “tell Mom I’m sorry.”
She didn’t get it, but Collum did. He tried to tear the ring from his own finger, but the nerves in his injured arm wouldn’t cooperate. “Cameron, help me,” he yelled. “For God’s sake, get this bloody ring off and give it to Sarah. Hurry.”
Blood sheeted down Collum’s arm and streamed from his fingers. I glanced from the pendant, then back at Bran. I could see the argument forming on his lips. But we didn’t have time and he knew it. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. A silent agreement.
“Aye.” Collum nodded frantically as Bran approached. “I can’t remove it with this blasted arm. You’ll have to do it.”
“I’m sorry, Collum,” I said. “But you need a doctor.”
“What? No!” he cried, ripping at the ring.
I tossed the strip of fabric we’d cut earlier to Bran. He caught it and quickly bound Collum’s hands together, then ran over and grabbed Michael MacPherson’s sword. He shoved it into the scabbard at Collum’s belt while Collum writhed against his restraints and cursed us.
“Make it fast, Hope,” Bran shouted against the roaring wind.
The translucent cyclone began to circle higher and higher, whipping dark curls into my face, blinding me. My hands shook so badly that I could barely wrap the pendant’s chain around my unconscious mother’s wrist. When I closed her limp fingers over the stone, the soft purple light transferred instantly to her. My own skin turned an ugly mustard color. “I love you, Mom,” I whispered.
“Come on. We’ve got to get out of here.” Bran hauled me to my feet and rushed me to the edge of the glade.
The instant we passed the tree line, the muddy haze around me faded.
“Oh, Hope. No.” Tears poured down Phoebe’s ravaged face.
“Get them to the hospital as fast as you can,” I shouted. “Tell them it’s placenta previa. There’s time if you hurry.”
I tried to smile, but the muscles in my face had turned to stone. My knees wobbled. Bran’s arm came around me, propping me up as he had when we were children when we were lost in the woods so long ago.
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