When he spoke, he couldn’t even hold up his head. It took extreme effort even to get a word out.
“Balthazar is using us. You’re trying to help him, but he’s too dark and evil. He threw me in here because I became a threat to his plans. You need to get away from him.” He paused to catch his breath. “Layla is dead. Balthazar killed her. He slaughtered her in front of my eyes. I need you to save yourself.
“Layla and I found a way to help me. You must go and look for a man named John James. Time travel to the 1700s. John James is the only one who can help you.” Phlegmy coughs erupted from his throat.
“How can I find John James?” I clutched the candle holder so hard my knuckles were white.
Malik waved his hand at me, still consumed by his coughing fit. “1700s. Americas. John James,” was all he managed to say.
I raced up the dungeon stairs and hastened to mybedroom, where I prepared for bed. It took me nearly an hour to gather my composure. But when Balthazar pounded up the stairs, I had calmed my breathing and erratic heartbeat.
Balthazar flung open the bedroom door, which crashed against the wall.
I jerked in alarm. “What’s the matter?”
“You’ve been talking to him, haven’t you? I could smell you in the dungeon.” His face was a rictus of malevolence.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I drew the bedding up to my chin as if it could shield me from Balthazar’s wrath.
“Whatever he told you—it was all lies!” Balthazar rushed toward me.
I drew away from him when he sat on the bed.
“Look at me!” he bellowed.
I shook my head.
“Look at me!”
Again, I shook my head.
Balthazar took several long, deep breaths, and then his hand landed on my shoulder.
“My beloved, I am sorry I frightened you.” He caressed my neck and jaw. “I’ve missed you so.”
He rolled me to face him and started kissing my cheeks, jaw, nose, and eyelids while murmuring sweet, tender phrases to me.
I had to relax and yield to him. He couldn’t know I was planning on leaving him tomorrow when the moon was full.
His nimble fingers unlaced the front of my nightgown, and he slid his warm hands beneath the fabric.
I pretended to relax and respond. But inside, I was terrified. I cried out his name when I pretended to orgasm and tore at his back with my fingernails, the way he loved.
He slept with me the entire night, no doubt fearful of letting me out of his sight.
But the next night, I sliced my hand with my dagger, intoned the words from my bedroom, and left him again, praying he wouldn’t find me.
December 15th, 1783
I have landed in the Americas. A group of uniformed marauders found me as I was wandering through a forest. They heckled me and taunted me. They tried to force their way inside me, but I beat them off. This angered them, so they struck me repeatedly, shouting things I didn’t understand. They left me for dead, galloping away on their horses to let me rot.
Bruised and broken, I managed to find a stream and quench my thirst, but I was so hungry. A man in a wagon found me staggering across the Plains, tired and famished. He took pity on me, helped me into his wagon, and carted me to his home.
“Do you think that’s Philip?” I asked, glancing at Emily.
“It could be. The date lines up. Turn the page.”
I did—but my breath hitched as I noticed the jagged edge where a page had been torn out.
