“Let’s release these together,” he says. “To honor their memory and let go of guilt and regrets.”
“Okay.” I smile, wondering if he regrets being with me and the chaos it caused with his sister. Tears fill my eyes as I gaze up at the transparent glass dome, marveling at the endless expanse of the cloudy sky above and the silver rain tapping against it. “How are we gonna let them go?” I ask. “There’s a dome above us…”
“When are you gonna trust me?” He grins impishly.
We raise our arms to the sky, our glowing balloons reflecting the love, loss, regrets, and sorrow we’ve kept bottled inside. The turquoise one passes through the shimmering dome above us first, the other one following. They float through the silver rain, going higher and higher, past the moon, looking for the heavens.
Peace washes over me as I see them soar.
“Grace,” I breathe, my heart aching with love as my balloon drifts among the stars, “I’ll never stop loving you.”
We stand side by side, our hands clasped together. “Dad.” Malcolm’s voice is ragged. “Alex, I love you,” he says. “I wish you peace.”
As our balloons become distant specks in the sky, I feel a sense of comfort that replaces some of my guilt. Love transcends time and space. Love frees you.
“Malcolm,” I say, turning to face him, heart full. “Thank you.”
“Always,” he replies, with a breathtaking crooked smile as he brushes away my tears. “But Emma. I must tell you something. It’s hard as hell to say this but—”
“Don’t.” I kiss him, not wanting to hear anything that would take away from this amazing moment. His eyes flash with desire and dangerous craving, making me wonder if he’s struggling to fight the bloodlust. I breathe into his mouth. Holding him close is a test of my willpower, my strength. And his. His silky tongue massaging mine, his fingertips on the small of my back, it drives me crazy. Makes me want all of him. But touching Malcolm is like touching a razor’s edge, each movement at risk of drawing blood. Still I’m drawn in, hopelessly, deeply, and with every kiss, I battle the urge to bite his tongue off. The danger and desire are intoxicating. When I think I’ll give in to the darkness, I stop myself. I pull away to give us both a breath to regain control before kissing him again. He grips my hips. The invisible dome above us shatters. Shards of gleaming crystal rain down. I cover my head, but they dissolve before falling on us. Suddenly, we’re soaked by a relentless river of rain. My hair swells wild and curly, like a black cloud of insecurity that makes me feel flawed. Embarrassed.
Malcolm puts his palm on my cheek, and I flinch; the urge to slap him comes fast. But I force myself not to, because I love him. I won’t let the curse’s dark urges rob me of this beautiful moment, of his wonderful touch. I paste a smile on my face.
“See?” He runs his hand through my wild curly afro. “It’s beautiful,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful.” And kisses me in the rain once more.
When I open my eyes, I see wings flutter by a skyscraper in the silver rain, massive and black. Raven’s wings.
I gasp.
Another large raven swoops down and lands on the wet lavendertablecloth by my golden roses. Its beady red eyes glare as it flaps its wings, pushing the candlesticks to wobble and fall onto the potatoes, splattering gravy over everything. Malcolm’s body stiffens in my embrace. His chalky brown face becomes as pale as a man who’s seen his own ghost.
I guess the romance is over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREEEmma BaldwinMANHATTAN, 2104
We rush inside. “Let’s get out of here!” Malcolm says, ripping off his suit and quickly changing into dry clothes.
“One second,” I reply, eager to get more information from the computer before we go, in case we end up in a time before the internet and technology. I may discover information that can help us defeat Sabine or at least help us stay hidden from her.
My damp fingers shake as they press down on the rune-etched keyboard. I inhale sharply. A blue digital face blossoms once again above the keys, rows of ones and zeroes shimmering into shifting facial features.
“How may I assist you?” it asks.
“Tell me about Sabine Blanchard,” I command, despite the fear pumping inside my heart.
The digital face whirls, morphing into a blur of black and white before solidifying into an online historical database entry, floating ghostlike above the keyboard. I read it aloud: “‘Mysterious Bride Arrives in Grand Belle Island.’
“In the past, young women from France were often sent to the New World as brides for wealthy planters. One such case involved SabineLeClerc, a young woman from a poor family in rural France. Historical records indicate that a financial transaction between her family and a planter resulted in her marriage. Sabine’s story reflects the complex blend of power, economics, arranged marriage, and personal tragedy in colonial history.”
Sabine was sold like property, like my ancestors, and banished to a new world. The injustice of it all squeezes my heart, but it doesn’t make me condone her actions. The computer reads me her story.
Malcolm tosses me an oversized T-shirt. “Change quick. Or pneumonia will get you before the witch does.”
I quickly peel off my dress, still staring at the image above the keyboard. It changes, revealing a blog post.
“Legend has it that Sabine was in a loveless marriage when she made a pact with an ancient deity of the woods. The mystical abilities she was granted helped make her a figure of terror, able to see through time and manipulate reality. Her story continues to fascinate paranormal enthusiasts and historians to this day because she left behind a trail of unexplained phenomena.”
So her power was born from desperation and a pact with darkness? My eyes flutter toward the computer as I jump up and down, wiggling into dry pants.
