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“None of us can remain,” Abbie said, putting an end to this line of useless speculation. “It’s too risky for any of us to stay behind. If we do, over time, we might inadvertently change the future for those who leave.”
“How do we go back without taking that hourglass with us?” Judith asked.
“There’s only one way,” Abbie said in a soft voice, meeting her gaze. “We’ll have to convince Grandma Ruby to hold it and trigger it on our behalf.”
“If Grandma Ruby uses the hourglass,” Bran said, “what if it drags her forward along with us? Because, if it does, Mum might never get born in this timeline.”
That possibility killed the discussion. Into the ensuing worried silence, he turned onto Green Street.
“It’s all about the user’s intentions,” Abbie said, recalling how she’d used the hourglass. “The spell worked when I decided where I wanted to go, with whom, and to when. If Grandma Ruby only intends that we travel, not her, this should work to keep her here while we leave.”
“Big if,” Judith said.
“Not really,” Granny Chan said. “Intention is the trigger and power behind any spell.”
Abbie glanced at the elder witch with speculation. “The first hurdle will be to pray that Grandma Ruby doesn’t view witches the way your younger self viewed a Grimm.”
“She might.” Granny Chan sounded less certain about this point than she’d been about the power of intentions. “Not with two witches in your company.”
“Good point,” Judith said. “It would be safer if Gran and I stay out of sight while you approach your grandma.”
“Bran and Mrs. Beckwith should stay behind, too,” Abbie said. “I’ll go in alone.”
“Nope,” her brother said. “Better if I do that. Dad said I looked like his father, and the few photos we have prove it.”
Yes, their grandma might see the resemblance in Bran with his striking coppery hair, pale face, and strong, wiry frame. Meanwhile, Abbie took after her mum with her darker hair and pointed features. Also, Bran would never admit it, but like their mum, Abbie was a little taller.
Unfortunately, neither of them had Ruby’s reputed rosy-cheeked, strawberry blonde, and blue-eyed figure. Oddly, they had nothing to verify that description. Grandma Ruby had either cut out photos of herself or had never taken one. Abbie knew her mum had felt the loss of not only never knowing her mum, but not even having a picture to hold close.
At Grandma Ruby’s home, they parked outside closed gates that guarded a steep drive.
Abbie refused to allow Bran to go alone, so they both scaled the locked gate. She sensed no wards being triggered. Odd. But then, if Grandma Ruby didn’t trust witches, would she know how to use a ward?
“Use your shield,” Judith called out behind them.
Landing on the gate’s other side, Abbie waved to show she’d heard the warning. “Shields up,” she said as Bran joined her.
A light barrier instantly sprang up to surround her in a gleam that soon faded from view. As they trudged up the drive, though comforted by the shield’s presence, she didn’t sense it stretching toward Bran. “Over both of us, please,” she said. “Protect Bran, too.”
The shield didn’t budge from its position over her.
They rounded a corner and came to a level bit. Ahead, she spotted a house looming atop another rise. Great place for a security-conscious Grimm to live.
“Wait a moment,” Abbie whispered, pulling her brother behind a rhododendron bush, so they remained out of sight, and frowned at her troublesome ring. This was the second time it failed to do as she asked. Had she reached the limit of its power? Or had their traveling back in time somehow affected the ring’s responses?
“What’s wrong?” Bran asked.
“The ring’s choosing a bad time to be unhelpful.” Holding her left hand up, palm down, she repeated. “Shield both Bran and myself.”
Her shield showed no perceptible change.
“If it won’t work as you ask,” Bran said, “why don’t I stay behind your shield?”
“Let me find out first why it’s not working,” Abbie replied. “In case its shielding fails me as well and leaves us both stranded at a critical moment.”
She touched her right forefinger to her pen-ring. “Cord, find out why the pen-ring won’t follow my order.”
The cord slid out in a thin golden thread that wrapped around her ring. She sensed the cord’s magic test the edges of the ring. The ring resisted, but it was no match for a cord capable of confining a goddess.
A male voice snapped, “Desist that infernal invasion.”
Bran took a step back, looking startled.
“You heard that?” she asked him.
He nodded. “Your ring doesn’t sound pleased.”
“Too bad,” Abbie said. “We’re in a rush and don’t have time for diplomacy.”
The cord pressed into the ring and the two melded.
The ring flared up like a fountain, burning her finger as it flowed over her head.
“Uh, oh.” Bran pointed behind her as a growl sounded.
Abbie swung around and then gasped, taking a step back from the apparitions. She looked up, tilting her head to see a man atop a gelding. It was a mounted officer in red, wearing a serge jacket, blue pants, and a Stetson with a dark brown circular band. The officer glared at Abbie. On the ground beside him, an overly large white German shepherd bared his teeth and snarled.
“That looks like an RCMP officer,” Bran whispered, dragging her backward by her sleeve. “And his wolf pup.”
“You, Madam,” the officer snapped, “have a bad habit of giving irrational orders.”
Abbie raised her eyebrow at his censure. This was her ring? Then his words registered. “What’s irrational about asking you to protect Bran? We’re about to step into danger, and he needs protection.”
“Your children needed my protection, but I can no longer do so. We’re here, leaving them unprotected. You asked me to guard them and then left, taking me with you!”
“Oh,” Abbie said. “I thought you didn’t want to stay.”
“I cannot function when I’m off your finger,” he snarled in a sour tone. “I’m your defense system. I was created to be of service to you.”
“Who created you?” Bran asked.
“Not the time for that discussion,” Abbie interrupted, though she, too, was curious about that answer. Acutely aware she had already trespassed on her grandmother’s grounds, she turned back to the Mountie. Bran needed her ring’s protection as much as she did. Why did she have to explain using the ring as she wished? “What are we arguing about?”
“You shouldn’t have left your children unguarded!” the Mountie snapped. “They are now vulnerable to attack.”
His answer softened Abbie’s ire against her ring’s irascible attitude. Still, at any moment, Grandma Ruby might hear them and come out to raise this fight to a whole new level. Lowering her voice, she explained gently but firmly, “Granny Chan and Judith needed my help.”
“Then, when an attacker approached, you deliberately put them in danger by asking me to retreat.” Instead of calming, he sounded incensed. “While I was on duty, guarding them.”
“Right,” Abbie said. She’d allowed Liwei to come closer. “I don’t have time to explain my reasoning about that right now, but I promise you—what should I call you?”
He glared at her in silence and then reluctantly said, “Arthur.” He pointed to his wolf that now sat politely beside the horse, no longer growling. “That’s Alfie.”
“Hello, Arthur, Alfie,” Abbie said. “We can talk about why I allowed Liwei closer later.” As an enticement, she said, “If you would kindly protect Bran and me, we’re more likely to survive to return home. Then you can continue guarding my kids.”
He frowned, and unlike Alfie, Arthur’s aggression did not reduce appreciably. “We’re going back?”
“Yes. That’s why we’re here, to get Grandma Ruby’s hourglass to take us all home.”
As she spoke, something alerted her peripheral vision. Abbie glanced over in time to see a ball flying overhead and toward where they’d parked. With her friends inside.
“Wish bomb!” she shouted.
Bran raced toward the car, shouting a frantic, “Judith!”
“I’ll protect him,” Arthur said and Alfie barked in agreement, racing after Bran.
“No,” Abbie said. “Protect the witches and Mrs. Beckwith. I’ll take care of Bran.”
This time, without hesitation, Arthur transformed into a fiery red light and flew off toward the car.
Meanwhile, Abbie whipped her cord to snag Bran and dragged him kicking and screaming toward her.
As her brother reached her side, an explosion deafened Abbie, leaving her ears ringing and walloping her and Bran with such force, they flew toward a row of trees.
They thudded to the ground and skidded across the lawn on their backsides. Skimming between two trees, they barely missed slamming into one on either side.
Abbie lay still, sensing Arthur’s protection over her friends and the wish bomb exploding over the car. Debris flew everywhere, but the car and its inhabitants were safe. She aimed her heartfelt gratitude toward Arthur for saving her friends, and then sat up, retracting her cord from around Bran. “Judith’s safe.”
No answer.
Could her brother still be upset that she’d dragged him toward her with her cord? She had no choice. “Sorry about grabbing you.”
He didn’t respond, but then her ears were still buzzing. She poked at his unnaturally still form. “You okay, bro?” Turning fully, Abbie brushed back his hair. The back of her fingers brushed an embedded rock and her hand came away with her palm wet and bloody.
She shuddered in horror. “Bran!”
He didn’t respond.
“You’re not a witch,” a woman said, her voice like thunder to Abbie’s sensitive eardrums. “You’re a Grimm. Why are you here?”
A heavily pregnant woman stood on the level drive below, clutching another wish bomb and glaring up at Abbie. Grandma Ruby? Who else could wield that weapon?
“My brother’s hurt,” Abbie said. “Get help.” On her knees, she checked his head, and then, while supporting his neck, she gently shifted him away from the rock. Something jagged scraped against her palm and her stomach scrunched in rejection.
“What’s wrong with him?” Grandma Ruby asked.
“Depressed skull fracture,” she said, voice unsteady. “Need to stop the bleed, but can’t put pressure.” Her mind sped over her training. “Must stabilize his neck in case it’s injured, too.”
She had nothing to work with! Not true. She called out her cord and had it wrap gently around Bran’s neck, immobilizing it. “I need gauze to stop his bleeding,” she shouted. “Hurry!”
“I’m sorry your brother’s hurt,” her grandmother said, staying stubbornly on the drive below. “But you two are trespassing, and I can’t help you right now. There’s a witch nearby.”
“Don’t you hurt my friends,” Abbie snapped. She couldn’t spare the time. “Arthur, I need another pair of hands!”
He instantly galloped up. Grandma Ruby backed away with a startled gasp as the Mountie leapt off his mount and raced up the grassy slope while Alfie stayed below and growled at her grandmother.
“What do I do?” Arthur asked in a frantic tone.
“Tear off a piece of my skirt.”
He did as she ordered. Abbie gently covered Bran’s wound with the material and it immediately became soaked.
Shoving her panic down, Abbie used her cord to summon Judith. “Bran’s hurt, come!”
Running footsteps alerted Abbie before Judith came around the corner to the landing on the drive. She skidded to a stop when Grandma Ruby barred her way.
“Witch!” Grandma Ruby said the word like a curse and raised her hand to fling her next wish bomb.
“What have you done to Bran?” Judith shouted, not backing down. A fireball burst into life within Judith’s hand.
“Enough!” Abbie cried. “I need Judith’s help with Bran.”
Granny Chan and Mrs. Beckwith labored up the steep drive behind Judith.
Grandma Ruby’s focus swung to the newcomers. “What is this? A witches’ convention?”
“I can heal Bran,” Granny Chan said, halting beside Judith and panting. She placed a restraining hand on her fraught granddaughter’s shoulder. Looking directly at their pregnant attacker, she asked, “Will you permit me to help the boy?”
“Please,” Abbie begged now. “I can’t lose him, too.”
“Oh, you must allow us to save the poor man,” Mrs. Beckwith said, last to labor up and still out of breath. “He loves Judith. It would be a shame if he died before he won her back.”
Judith sucked in her breath, her gaze flying to Bran.
“He won’t die,” Abbie declared, horrified at her greatest fear being voiced. Arthur’s offer to shield Bran and her refusal replayed in her mind like a broken record player.
“He’ll be all right, Abbie,” Arthur whispered. “My shield has stopped his bleeding.”
“Oh, thank you for that,” Abbie said.
A glance back showed Grandma Ruby’s gaze swerve with suspicion from Abbie’s friends to her and then settle with grave concern on Bran. Eyes narrowing with determination, she faced Granny Chan. “Once she disarms, you may approach the injured fellow.”
Judith’s fireball grew hotter and spit sparks as she glared at Abbie’s grandmother. “You did this to him.”
Abbie was about to shout that Bran needed help, Now, but Granny Chan beat her to it.
“Use your training.” The elder witch’s tone was firm.
Abbie wasn’t sure if she meant police or Taoism.
Judith huffed out a breath of frustration, but quenched her fireball. “He’d better not die,” Judith muttered in a vengeful tone, “or you’ll regret...”
“Come now!” Abbie interrupted. “His skull’s cracked.”
Her friend clamped her mouth shut, her worried gaze swinging to Bran.
With a cautious nod, Grandma Ruby indicated they could approach Bran by stepping back but warned, “Slowly. No sudden moves.”
Ignoring that order, Granny Chan and Judith rushed up the slope to kneel beside Bran on the lawn.
“Judith,” Granny Chan said, “see if you can keep him alive while I work on his head.”
Abbie backed away on her knees, making room for them. Once Judith cast a spell that stabilized Bran’s neck, Abbie carefully withdrew her cord. She glanced down and noticed her pretty red dress was in shambles from Arthur tearing it and becoming soaked with Bran’s blood.
Please don’t die, she pleaded, using her arms to wipe her tears. Her throat choked. In sending Arthur to protect her friends, she’d chosen to save them instead of Bran. It had been a snap judgment, and she prayed Granny Chan was correct about her Grimm instincts being good.
“Hello.” Mrs. Beckwith stepped closer to Grandma Ruby on the drive below, smiling in her disarming way.
“You’re a human, like the boy,” Grandma Ruby said, sounding more curious than fearful.
Alfie had stopped growling and sat by Grandma Ruby’s feet, allowing her to fondle him behind his ears.
Abbie shook off her surprise and, still kneeling on the grassy ground beside where her friends worked on Bran, her now curious glance took in her grandmother’s enlarged belly. She did a quick calculation and gasped. Grandma Ruby was carrying Abbie’s mum.
Even knowing that, she had a difficult time taking in this fierce twenty-something woman as her grandmother. Much easier to see her as Ruby. She was also a Grimm, which meant that Arthur and Alfie belonged to her, too. So, of course, Alfie responded favorably to her.
Did Ruby realize she was petting a part of her pen-ring? Likely not. As that stunning revelation sank within her, in a bright flare, the dog and Mountie returned to Abbie’s ring.
Ruby gasped.
“You get used to that around a Grimm,” Mrs. Beckwith said in her chatty way.
Shaking her throbbing head, Abbie’s gaze returned worriedly to Bran. Granny Chan’s hand roved above his wound, shooting out pulses of energy, while Judith, her fingers swirling elegantly, appeared to be building a sheet of energy.
Was it working? Too anxious to wait to find out, Abbie sent her cord to investigate.
A thin golden light slithered out of her finger and touched her brother’s ankle. “Judith builds a light coffin.”
That was alarming. “Elaborate.”
“Judith restrains his fleeing soul while Granny Chan knits his skull and heals broken blood vessels and tissues.”
“Who is saying all that?” Ruby asked.
Abbie sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She had to have that talk about her cord’s penchant for broadcasting its answers. Still, this time, that sharing might prove helpful.
Abbie withdrew the cord from Bran’s ankle, and satisfied he was in safe hands and healing, she went down the slight grassy slope to where her grandmother and Mrs. Beckwith stood. “You were correct, earlier. I am a Grimm.”
“From where?” Ruby asked. “Europe? The Americas?”
“Britain,” Abbie replied.
“That cannot be,” Ruby said, with a firm shake of her head. “England’s my jurisdiction.”
“Hers, too, because you’re related,” Mrs. Beckwith offered.
“And I was using our Grimm cord,” Abbie continued. “That’s whom you heard. I wanted to know about Granny Chan and Judith’s healing work, so I sent the cord to find out.”
Ruby’s eyebrow rose in disbelief. “You don’t have it.”
Recalling Ruby’s reaction to the dog, Abbie knew how to prove her point. She held out her right hand. “The first time I used the cord, it embedded itself within my arm.”
Ruby wearily backed up, a protective hand on her belly, the other raising her wish bomb.
“I mean you no harm,” Abbie said in a hurry. “I can show you how it works.”
“I know how my cord works,” Ruby said. “It’s my most powerful gift. It does not speak.”
“Oh, but even I have heard the cord,” Mrs. Beckwith said with enthusiasm. “It speaks to everyone at the same time. Like being in a conference call,” she tapped her head, “only in here.”
“What’s a conference call?” Ruby asked.
“Oh,” Mrs. Beckwith said, nonplussed. “Well, love, it’s a bit like being on a party line. You must know what that is?”
Abbie laid a restraining hand on Mrs. Beckwith.
Ruby glanced at Abbie’s still extended hand and then switched her wish bomb to her left hand and held out her right. “Show me how you use it.”
Should she? Would that change the timeline? Ruby was a Grimm. She possessed the cord. This would simply show her how Abbie had extended its powers in a new way.
She pointed her forefinger and wiggled it, calling on her cord. It sprouted out of the tip and flew to wrap around Ruby’s right wrist.
Abbie’s grandmother sucked in her breath, her eyes widening in shock. The cord settled there but didn’t sink in.
“Ask the cord a question,” Abbie told her grandmother.
Ruby studied the wrapping around her wrist. “Who is this young woman?”
“Abigail Grimshaw,” the cord said. “Granddaughter of Ruby. Daughter of Margaret. Grimm Guardian.”
Ruby’s right eyebrow shot up, and her startled gaze met Abbie’s in utter shock and delight. “If my baby ended up being a girl, I planned to call her Margaret.”
What surprised Abbie was being called a Grimm Guardian. What a description. The fae queen had called her that as well last autumn. Had the cord picked it up from her?
“Enough.” Ruby released a huff of air, thoughtfully caressing her belly.
The cord released her wrist even before Abbie asked it to and retreated within Abbie’s arm. Interesting.
Ruby’s glance speared Abbie. “This means you’re from the future. And if you’re my...then he’s, my grandson.” Her horrified glance flew to Bran. “Oh no! I almost killed him.”
“He’ll be fine,” Abbie said. Despite saying that, she’d be happier once Bran woke up.