“Precisely. I think she even gave an example of learning compassion. She told a story of someone who chose to have a disability.”
He dropped his head and finished his meal, and I took the opportunity to speed-read his translation.
“So they don’t bother to incorporate happiness because they have that in heaven and know they will have it again,” I mumbled, more to myself than to Bill.
The restaurant was packed. I wondered momentarily if anyone could hear us.
“Sophia?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay? You look like I lost you.”
“No. I’m fine. Just paranoid these days. You were saying?”
“Time, to spirits, moves much faster, so they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Sort of; that explains the sadness in so many people’s lives. It’s definitely a hard truth to learn though. I mean, once we’re here and living the plan on earth with no memory of heaven or the purpose of these so-called lessons.”
“Yes,” he agreed, pushing his plate to the side. “The most interesting part of the doctrine is about the revolving door. You see, occasionally spirits come across a magical pocket that can trap them, and they get lost instead of returning to heaven.”
“A magical pocket?”
“You’ll have to read about it. It was really quite fascinating; I wish I had more time to dedicate to it.”
Bill paused as the waiter returned to clear away our plates. The Muzak version of a song about the devil sounded softly from the speakers discreetly hidden in the ceiling, and a chill ran down my spine.
“Oh, and the scroll is extremely interesting. Wherever did you find it?” he asked, rummaging through his briefcase. “It was a warning to stay away from whatever it was attached to, a stone of some sort. I wrote down the translation for you,” he said, handing me a piece of paper. I read the page before folding it up and placing it in my pocket.
Beware: This Stone is powerful in every way. Accept its energy and all its power at the risk of your soul.
I shuddered, thinking how I’d used the stone. Had I risked my soul? Was that why I was in this predicament? Leslie had said this passage would unlock the curse. No wonder it frustrated the Heron-Allen family.
“Sophia?” Bill said, bringing my attention back to him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. Thank you so much for all your help, and for dinner,” I said, giving Bill a hug before he walked me to my car. The fog had really rolled in, and I was dreading the drive home.
“No problem. I’m only sorry we had to make it such a quick meal, but I have an infinite number of papers left to grade.”
I nodded in understanding. “Can I ask you one more question?”
“On top of that one?” He smiled. “Of course.”
I fiddled with the chain around my neck. “Who do you think wrote it?”
There was a stony silence. Bill’s gaze slid around the parking lot and then back again.
“I don’t know, but I was able to uncover one other woman who wrote about it. However, I do hope you’ll fare better than she did.” He turned, regarding me sardonically. “Although you could hardly do worse.” And with that he vanished strangely into the fog.
When I returned home and opened up my tablet, I searched for the woman Bill had so mysteriously alluded to. A female journalist named Ann Switzer had written about the jewel in a novel, Through the Eyes of a Spirit, and had been murdered after it was published.
Guess I won’t be contacting her for help.
I yawned and pulled up the website Leslie had shown me earlier. Then I turned my attention to the note, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind the words. How could this warning unlock the curse? Burned out, I tucked the paper away.
Some of the sites linked to reincarnation websites. One author in particular, Alesandra Brun, resonated with me. Alesandra was the name of the speaker Bill had mentioned. I leaned my head back against the pillow, closing my eyes and rubbing the bridge of my nose. A headache threatened to emerge as I felt myself being pulled deep into the cave of sleepy bliss. Flashes of brilliant jewels began to flutter across my mind like fireflies landing and sparkling from within the elephant-carved case. I gazed in a mirror—a beautiful tiara sat atop curly blonde ringlets. Then I sat alone in a threadbare room, holding a family portrait of Gigi as a child. The images flipped back and forth like an old black-and-white movie reel. I struggled to keep up. The canopy of a lone Victorian house silhouetted in a garden at twilight; a fluid rustle of an invisible stalker hiding in the bushes; the smell of a car explosion and burnt rubber. Then I was curled up at eighteen, reading in the window seat of a room, believing I was alone but feeling vulnerable in my new surroundings—right before a man rushed out of the closet, knife in hand.
“W—Who are you? D-daddy?”
“Shut up and sit back down,” the man had said, grabbing the book from my hand and tossing it.
I sat up, a scream ripping from my throat, just as a knock sounded on the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I wandered onto my terrace, feeling exhausted. Leslie followed, coffee in hand, apologizing for waking me. The weather was fair, though cool, even for an early autumn morning. Looking out at the pool and watching the sunbeams dance on the water, I couldn’t help but think of my nightmare. I’d been shown more of what I now recognized was Aunt Zafira’s death than I’d ever seen before. It was awful, as if I hadn’t been dreaming at all but instead reliving an old memory.
From the doorway, Leslie broke into my reverie. “Have you given any thought to what the Heron-Allen family said about the key to unlocking the curse?”
I looked up, startled. “Yes.”
“That would explain the bags under your eyes.”
Trust Leslie to notice.
“No, the bags are indicative of something else.”
She paused. “I heard you scream. Are you still having those bad dreams?”
That was an understatement. More like living a nightmare.
“Yeah.”
She shook her head, taking my cue that I didn’t want to rehash. “Anyway, again, sorry to barge in on you this morning, but I wanted to let you know I came across something that might be helpful.”
“Oh, yeah? What?”
“I think the answer is Esfand seeds.”
I looked at her, dumbfounded. “The answer to what?”
“To unlocking the curse of course. The passage was written in Persian. In Persian culture, they used to pound the seeds and soak them in water for two days…”
I was tired. I gave Leslie an unamused, get-to-the-point glare.
“Sorry. Long story short, it makes a juice that functions as invisible ink.”
“Invisible ink, really? I never would have thought of that. How do you make it visible?”
“That’s a good question. I haven’t gotten that far.”
Invisible ink was so childish. So cliché. I thought of an old mystery episode I’d once seen, and an idea sparked. “Do you have a lighter on you?”
“No. Why would I have a lighter?”
I gave her a look. Leslie’s pot-smoking habits rivalled dear old Granny Greta’s.
“Oh, right. It’s like early in the morning,” Leslie said defensively.
I pivoted on my heels and headed for the kitchen, with Leslie closely in tow.
I switched the burner on and grabbed the note off the table, bringing it as close to the heat as I dared.
“Whoa. What are you doing? You’re going to ignite that paper.”
“Shh. I have a hunch.”
I began to notice some distortion on the paper as it grew hot. As I continued heating it, the message darkened to a brown colour. Letters began to appear. Aspand bla band . . .
I loo
ked at my watch. Bill would be in class, and I hated to ask him for another favour so soon.
“It’s a Persian spell-prayer,” said Leslie, tinkering with her phone.
“How do you know that?”
“I just searched it. Only the last line is missing—the one about the bad burning in fire,” she said, passing the phone to me to read.
This is Aspand, it banishes the Evil Eye
The blessing of King Naqshband
Eye of nothing, Eye of relatives
Eye of friends, Eye of enemies
Whoever is bad should burn in this glowing fire.
She was right. “Huh. Maybe it just didn’t heat up enough, or maybe the juice they used to write it with broke down.”
I saw my breath as I unlocked the car door. I was glad I’d had the sense to pull on my oversized knit sweater and scarf before leaving the house. Grabbing my grey fringed bag from the passenger seat, I took one last glance around and scolded myself for being nervous.
A thin, brittle-looking woman with sharp cheekbones and jet-black hair pulled back in a tight chignon answered the door.
“I have an appointment,” I said, admiring her expensive suit. Judging from the bracelet she wore, I’d say she wasn’t the housekeeper. She took me to a beautiful sitting room with, oddly enough, leopard-print antique furniture and plush white throws.
“You’re the woman who called,” she said in a frosty voice. “My mother doesn’t usually see people at the house. Please wait here.” Then she turned on her Gucci heels and promptly strolled out. I peeked around the room, admiring the antique clock in the corner. A collection of shiny stones on one of the bookshelves drew my attention. I moved closer and pinched one between my fingertips, rolling it around.
“Sophia.”
I jumped and turned around. An older lady of about seventy stood in the doorway, frowning.
“It’s you! You’re the psychic from the store.”
“Please don’t touch my crystals, they’re personal.” She studied me as if seeking to know how many I had touched.
“I’m sorry.” A sheepish grin tugged at my mouth as my fingers absently curled around the charm on my chain.
“You’re the girl with the malignant spirit attached to you,” she said calmly as she strolled into the room. She set down a tray of tea and biscuits, as if she’d just commented on the weather.
“Yes. I’m sorry for running out on you the other night. I was a sceptic up until recently. Your name is Ms. Brun, right? You have a lovely home.”
She nodded. “Let’s sit down. Please have a cup of green tea.” She sat back and crossed her arms.
“Honestly, I’m really sorry about the other night. I’ve just been so scared lately. I feel like someone’s always watching me. When you got so excited over the book, I was frightened.”
“It’s all right, dear. I understand. I didn’t mean to spook you. You don’t have to tell me where you saw the book.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s in the archives at the library. I’m a librarian.”
I had also seen it in Rochus’s house, but I wasn’t about to explain that.
“I also found a note in my great-grandmother’s belongings in the same Persian script, warning me of a curse.”
“So you know magic has been strategically hidden all over the earth by the devil to tempt us.”
“No. I wasn’t aware of that part.” I reached for the tea pot and poured myself a cup.
“Where do I start? Let’s see. Spirits on the other side write a life plan. This usually involves a group to make sure we stay on track with the lessons and goals we each want to learn. We are then sent to Earth to learn and understand. When the lessons are complete, we return to the other side through the revolving door. However, there are some spirits who find and become mixed up in the devil’s hidden magic.”
She paused, pouring herself a cup of tea before slowly selecting a cookie. I took the opportunity to grab one as well. I needed to keep my hands from shaking.
“They become obsessed, warped by delusions of power. When they die, instead of returning to heaven to regroup and evaluate, they choose to return to Earth, forced to experience the same lessons they’ve just failed at. This becomes a curse for the souls tied to the fallen soul.”
Everything she was saying made sense and checked out with what Bill had said.
“Those souls then have two options: they can sever the tie, damning the soul, or they can continue the circle, destined to relive the same mistakes until the lesson is finally learned. I’m afraid this is your story, darling. You are tied to a soul who has coveted the power of the throne; he became obsessed with the cursed Purple Delhi Sapphire.”
I almost choked on my cookie, sputtering its remains into a napkin. She looked at me queerly and went on.
“As I was saying, he became obsessed with the cursed Purple Delhi Sapphire in your first life, discovering that it held magical powers that would allow him to achieve his political agenda.”
“What political agenda?”
“I don’t know exactly. I see the symbol of a snake. I see the plotting of death in the monarchy. It looks to be a secret society fighting over the rule or territories of a kingdom. In refusing to learn the lessons and follow the plan decided by you and the group prior to coming to Earth, he has damned you and the other souls tied to him. Everyone has been forced to go round and round, stuck in the same nightmare, while he attempts to gain possession of the gem, always murdering you, the owner and the object of his affection, sending both of you into the next life. I can tell you that in the following two lives he becomes even more obsessed with it, understanding that the sapphire alone offers him the power to time travel. If he can get his hands on the jewel, he can travel back, ensuring his place on the throne although he failed the first time. The only way to break the curse is to stop the cycle. You have to sever him.”
“How?” I exclaimed.
She made a derisive sound. “There is an incantation. It was written on the stone. You only need say those words to him while he is touching it.”
“There are no words on the stone. I’ve seen it—it’s tiny.”
“Perhaps they were rubbed or scratched off. Or maybe the gem has been altered.”
“It was. You’re right. It was made into a jewellery set.”
“You must travel once again through the thread back to the beginning. Find the original jewel and you will find the incantation.”
I cursed my Opa in that moment, not only for accepting it but for changing it. Sapphira’s murder flashed in my mind. Could Viktor have done it? If that was the case, why would he have saved me in the first place? I thought of the hidden diary and the map I’d seen tucked into the back of it.
“I don’t even know how to get back. And Sapphira was murdered. How do I avoid being killed?”
Her expression transformed, and she eyed me with avid interest. “I don’t know, my dear, but you do. All I know is it’s someone close to you.”
“But who?” I asked, jiggling my knee in irritation.
“Someone you trust and perhaps love or will love. It’s unclear.” She glanced at the clock and then back at me. “I’m sorry. Nothing else is coming to me. In every life he has gotten lost; if you do not sever him, then he will follow you for all of your lives and ruin every experience and lesson that you ever hope to learn. He is a lost soul, and you must forever trap him in the jewel he so loves.” With that she stood up and left the room.
I drew a breath and released it. Scanning the room, my eyes settled back on the bookshelf. The sparkle of her crystals once again caught my eye, and then I realized why. The book behind it was facing out and had a large image of the underwater cavern I’d travelled through. I read the title: Explore the Islands of the French Riviera. I cursed myself for almost missing it. Thank you for the gentle nudge, Rochus.
> Hurrying to my car, I started thinking about what to do. The shift in the air set my teeth on edge, and I looked over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I had to stop being so paranoid. If Liam was still in town, maybe I should take Cullen up on his offer and have him stay with me after all.
I unlocked the doors, sliding into the driver’s side before I turned to investigate the backseat, assuring myself I was alone. I turned on the radio—loudly. Music was a good way to drown my anxiety. I drove, humming to the tune of an ’80s remix about dreams, all the while reminding myself that I was safe. Yet somehow I felt like I was being watched.
Arriving home without incident, I forced myself to walk at a normal pace. I desperately needed a drink. I unlocked the front door and flipped on the light, stepping inside. Gigi’s sweater still hung on the hook from her last visit. My heart ached for her.
Though the entrance hall was empty, I felt watched. I listened. Raindrops murmured against the windows, as though the house grumbled of the moist wood rot and dampness that permeated its elderly skeletal structure. All was quiet, and yet an ill-omened hush seemed to scratch at my neck, like Daphne sharpening her claws.
I’m just being paranoid.
My gaze swept the living area, and I froze in my tracks. The place had been trashed, furniture shoved aside and strewn about. Kitchen drawers were dumped upside down. Oddly enough I was reminded of a story Gigi once told me about Grandpa Eugene’s jewellery store being ransacked.
Panic gripped me. What was I waiting for? What did I expect to hear? I was fearful to make a sound, a sudden move, terrified that something concealed waited for me in the shadowy recesses of the room. I had to force myself to take the first stride.
The cushions were torn and the tables toppled over. Someone had been here looking for something.
I flung down my purse and barrelled back toward the door, narrowly missing the elephant statue lying on its side. Every moment I anticipated a blade between my shoulders. I was almost to the door when I heard he footsteps rush up behind me a split second before I was grabbed. A coarse sack was pulled over my head.
The Temple of Indra’s Jewel: Page 15