She figured there must be half a dozen pizza places in the city that delivered, and right about now, pizza sounded like just the cure for the day she’d had.
Entering the rental, she set her bags on the small kitchen table and quickly made her way over to the fireplace to turn it on. After flipping on a few switches, the fire came to life.
The flames flickered, dancing around the faux logs behindthe glass. She stood before it, the warmth seeping in through her cold-stiffened jeans and dispelling the chill. Soaking up its warmth, she searched for a pizza place on her phone. Deciding on a large pizza with bacon, feta, and extra olives, she placed her order, then strolled over to her bag and extracted her journal. She began jotting down her thoughts about the day.
As she began recounting her day, something struck her. The morning’s events eerily mirrored the incident described in the last page of the little red book she had read the night before. Just like the woman who had broken a button off her jacket, preventing it from fastening properly, Nora’s zipper had gotten stuck, and they had both found themselves caught off guard by the snow cascading from the roof down their backs. How had she missed the likeness between the two events? In that frantic moment, her primary concern had been removing the snow and finding a hot drink to warm herself up, leaving little room for contemplation. It wasn’t until now that the similarities dawned on her.
Her gaze shifted to the book resting on the side table. There was something very odd about it, beyond the absence of a title or author. It seemed to radiate a magnetic energy, much like the pull of the moon on the ocean. She found herself irresistibly drawn to it, but such a notion seemed absurd, didn’t it? After all, it was just an old book, and besides, didn’t all good stories pull you in?
Setting her journal aside, she approached the little red book. As she picked it up, a mixture of intrigue and trepidation flooded her senses. Uncertain about whether she genuinely wanted to delve into its pages once again, she hesitated, leaning forward as if to return it to the table. However, she knew that curiosity would eventually get the better of her, so she gave in and dragged the overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace, took a seat, and hesitantly opened the book.
She searched for the last page she had read the night before. When her fingers finally traced the familiar spot, she settled back against the chair, throwing her legs up over the armrest. Her feet dangled in front of the warm glow of the fire as she began to read, once again giving into the allure of the mysterious little red book.
As I explored the castle grounds, I came upon two men carving figures from ice outside what I assumed to be the ballroom windows that faced the east. The duke had spared no expense preparing for the ball, making it a lavish event to be talked about well into the coming year.
The cold had quickly worked its way into my shoes, and I could feel the frosty chill nipping at my toes. I ventured back to the small cottage and found my grandmother just as I had left her, sipping tea by the fire and embroidering.
“How was your walk?”she asked, looking up from her work.
“Beautiful, but cold. The grounds are beautiful.”
“Indeed, they are,”she said, pulling the needle up and through the fabric.
“Gran, was last night the first time you’ve seen the duke since you saved his wife and son during childbirth?”I asked, a question that had preoccupied my mind during my walk earlier.
“No, my dear,”Gran replied, her eyes reflecting a distant memory.“I tended to the duchess many times over the years, but it has been some time since we have seen each other.”
“How long has it been?”
“Let me think. Their son, James, had to have been around fifteen the last time I was here, so right around five years, give or take,”she said, continuing to work her needle.
“James is my age?”I inquired, a bit surprised.
“Yes, born at the start of the year during a horrible ice storm.”
I sat there for a moment, digesting this new information. I hadthought the duke’s son to be much older than myself. Hoping that Gran would continue with her story, I sat silent for a long moment. However, instead of continuing she focused her attention back to her embroidery.
“What is it that you are working on?”I asked as I walked over and peered down at the small piece of fabric in her hands.
“A stomacher for your ball gown,”she said as she pulled the needle through the rich emerald-green velvet.
It was a beautiful Celtic knot woven through the fabric with golden thread.
“What does the knot signify? It’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it. This is the trinity knot, the ancient symbol for life, death, and rebirth. It can also be used as a powerful protection charm and to bring you a bit of luck,”she told me.
There had always been whispers throughout the village that Gran was a witch, and in moments like these, those whispers felt more like truth.
“It should look quite fetching under the gown the duke sent over,”she told me.
“Gown?”I scanned the room but found nothing.
“It’s on your bed. One of his servants brought it by while you were out.”
I hurriedly entered my room to discover, resting upon my bed, a sizable box adorned with a rich blue silk ribbon tied in a bow. I eagerly untied it, letting the ribbon fall to its sides as I lifted the lid of the box. Nestled within was the deepest red velvet gown my eyes had ever seen—its hue so deep, it resembled the most opulent garnet. I lifted the gown from its nest and laid it upon the bed, studying it with a sense of awe. Never before had I possessed such a lavish gown. Dresses such as these were customarily reserved for those fortunate enough to hail from nobility. Even though my mother married well and was considered part of the gentry, a dress such as this was well beyond our means.
“It’s quite lovely,”Gran said as she stepped up beside me to lookdown on the exquisite gown.
