Saint’s Grove, Virginia
1883
Isaac slouched in the high-backed armchair situated before the fire, though the cold stone of grief in the pit of his stomach kept him from feeling its warmth. Dangling from his fingers, an empty decanter hung precariously over the carpet. If he dropped it, the glass would shatter, but there remained none of the brandy that had been inside. He’d drained every last drop, and still, he could not sleep, could not find peace, could not stop seeing Aurora’s face fixed in an expression of shock with the gaping slash in her throat below it. He’d washed his hands countless times, yet still saw bloodstains when he studied his palms. He had burned the clothing he’d worn as she lay dying in his arms, yet, every shirt he pulled onto his shoulders became damp and sticky, awash in crimson gore.
He was losing his mind. There could be no denying that, and he doubted he’d ever be able to collect his wits. Without Aurora, there seemed to be no reason to try. His parents had sent his brother to try to coax him out of the stupor he’d been living in since he’d stood next to a hole in the ground and watched a box containing Aurora Barton’s body being lowered into it.
After a few days of attempting to convince him that rising from bed and resuming his work would do him some good, Reginald had given up and returned to Charleston, likely to inform their father that the warehouse would never open for business unless someone else was sent to finish the job. Mason would be angry, as this had been the first task he had entrusted Isaac with once he’d returned from Shaw with diploma in hand.
Yet, how could anyone expect him to function after what he had lost? He could barely draw air into his lungs and expel it … yet somehow, continued to do so over and over again.
He wanted to die.
Yes, that was the solution. Death would solve everything. Soon enough, he’d be reborn and in his new existence, he could find her again. Their past history made it a certainty. They had been robbed of their chance to be happy in this life, but there was always the next one, and the next.
Standing, he gripped the glass bottle in his hand and crossed the room toward the brick fireplace. Hesitating only for a moment, he dashed it against the mantle, causing it to shatter, the pieces cascading to the floor. He fixed his gaze on the slivers littering the carpet, offering him sweet salvation.
It’s almost over. I can end it now.
Crouching, he reached for one of the larger glass shards. Pausing for a moment, he wondered if it would be quicker to slash at his wrists or jam the glass into his throat.
Before he could make up his mind, the sound of his bedroom door opening and closing startled him.
His palm stung as he turned, reflexively clenching his hand around the glass. Despite the fire, the corners of the room remained in shadow, and he could not see who had intruded upon his solitude.
“Who’s there?” he called out, uncertain why he should care when all he wanted was to be left alone to die.
A shadow pulled itself away from the darkness, taking on the form of a woman. Petite and ripe with curves, she wore a thin silk nightgown that revealed more than it concealed. A tumble of red curls hung to the small of her back, a match for the rouge she’d used to paint her lips.
Surely, she had intended to provoke his lust with her get-up, but all she’d managed to stoke was his rage. All thought of ending his life fled when he found himself face to face with Aurora’s murderer. The glass fell from his hand and he stumbled drunkenly toward her, fingers itching to wrap around her throat.
“Edith!” he spat. “What the hell are you doing here?”
His words slurred as the large quantities of liquor he’d drunk began to have an effect, making him unstable on his feet. He reached out to steady himself on the chair he’d occupied and choked back bitter bile at the sight of the woman who had ruined his life.
Frowning, she studied him as if confused by his outburst. “Why wouldn’t I come to you in your hour of need, Isaac? I’ve come to offer you comfort.”
“Comfort?” he barked, the word coming out on a harsh laugh. “You are as delusional as you are evil. What on Earth possessed you to come here, thinking I’d want you after what you did? Get out! Get out before I strangle you!”
Folding her bare arms across her chest, she took another step toward him, seemingly unruffled by his threat. “If you would calm yourself, then you might see that I did what was necessary. You want me, Isaac … you have since the night we met, don’t you remember? That woman stood between us, so I removed her permanently. You are free now.”
He glared at her, the force of his anger causing him to tremble. “I do not want you, nor have I ever done anything to lead you to believe that I did.”
Clenching her jaw, she continued to advance on him, her eyes growing wide. “No! That isn’t true. You did!”
“I never—”
“You did!” she insisted, balling her hands into fists and stomping one foot. “I sat crying at the train station and you came to me … you gave me your handkerchief and asked me what had happened.”
“A simple act of kindness,” he muttered. “One I will regret until my dying day … which I intend to be today, if you would just leave me alone.”
Screaming in rage, Edith raised her hand and closed the distance between them. Her palm never touched him, yet still, some unseen force lifted him from his feet, throwing him across the room. He landed on his back just in front of the fireplace, rendered motionless. Struggling against the invisible weight keeping him captive against the carpet, he remained helpless as she crossed the room and straddled him, sitting on his abdomen and glaring down at him.
“You think I am going to let you kill yourself so that you can find your way back to her, you ungrateful wretch? Think again.”
Shock caused him to go still. “What do you know about that?”
Leaning closer, she slapped him with enough force to leave heat blossoming in his jaw. The urge to murder her with his bare hands flared deep in his gut, and he vowed to do so as soon as he could use his hands again.
“I know far more than you ever will,” she ground out from between clenched teeth. “I also know that no man offers a woman anything without an ulterior motive. You are all the same! Do you think you are the first man to sit beside me and speak kind words? They all wanted something from me, just like the men before them, and so did you!”
“If men have abused and lied to you in the past, then I am truly sorry for that,” he said, hoping that reasoning with her would gain him some peace at last. “But I am not one of those men, and I never wanted to be.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and her chest heaved as she seemed to struggle to draw breath. “You’re no different … I offered you everything and you threw it back in my face. And for what?”
“For love,” he whispered. “For her.”
She slapped him again, harder this time. “No. You will not do this to me, not again.”
Sliding up the hem of her gown, she revealed a garter trimmed in black silk ribbons. Shoved through the lacy band was a sharp dagger glittering in the light of the fire. Isaac ceased fighting, willing her to draw the knife and end his misery.
As if having heard his silent plea, she retrieved the blade and held it high over her head. “I would have given you the world, Isaac. With the power I possess, you would have wanted for nothing. But you continue to spurn me after all I have done to prove my love to you. Very well … if that’s the way you want it, then so be it.”
He closed his eyes and waited for her to plunge the blade into his chest. He prayed for it with all his might.
Instead, she lowered her head until her mouth pressed against his ear. Her voice bit at him in a harsh whisper.
“You will never see her again,” she rasped, her tears wetting his cheek as she rested her face against his. “She will be reborn over and over, but you will remain trapped in this life for all eternity … a true immortal. You will never know love again, nor the taste of her lips, or the warmth of her bed. If I cannot have you for my own, then neither will she.”
He opened his eyes, finding himself in control of his body once more. Yet, he could do nothing to halt the blade as she jammed it into his side, thrusting it deep between two of his ribs …
Anika shot to her feet as Isaac began to thrash on the bed, groaning and writhing as he seemed to fight against some unseen force. Despite this, his eyes stayed closed as if he also remained trapped inside a dream.
“What’s happening?” she asked, glancing up at Flora, who stood on the other side of the bed, holding a bowl in one hand and a knife in the other.
“I induced a dream of the night he was cursed,” she replied, her voice remaining calm as she bent over Isaac. “This is what we want … help me hold him down. I have to do this now or never.”
Realizing the urgency of the situation, she threw herself onto Isaac’s upper body, attempting to pin him down. He lay flat beneath her, but jerked in spasms as if having a seizure while Flora lifted his shirt to expose his abdomen. Bending over him, she pressed the point of the knife against the scar slashing between two of his ribs.
“What are you doing?” Anika demanded, gazing from the blade pressed against his skin to the bowl Flora held containing the hilt and a combination of herbs she could not identify.
Meeting her gaze for a fleeting moment, Flora pinched her lips together and sighed. “This is necessary. Whatever you do, don’t move, don’t scream, and do not try to stop me.”
Anika barely had time to register what the witch had said before the knife sank into his skin, forging a path along the original wound. She bit back a scream as his blood spilled from the slit Flora had made, splashing into the bowl and staining the hilt. Dropping the knife, Flora reached for a towel and placed it in Anika’s hand.
“Apply pressure to the wound.”
She obeyed, pressing the towel against Isaac’s side as he began struggling toward consciousness, his eyelids fluttering as he mumbled incoherently. On the other side of the bed, Flora began to chant as she held the bowl, sprinkling a powder-like substance over Isaac’s blood. Anika sat in silence, hand shaking as she pressed the towel against Isaac’s wound with as much strength as she could muster. It seemed as if Flora went on forever, chanting while Isaac continued convulsing and writhing on the bed.
When Flora had finished, she urged Anika to remove the towel. His blood stained the white material, but the flow had slowed considerably.
Reaching into the bowl, Flora pinched some of the bloodstained herbs between her fingers and, without preamble, shoved them into the slash she’d made in Isaac’s skin. His convulsions stopped and he went still, his breathing returning to normal after what sounded like a long, low sigh of relief.
Sagging onto the bed beside him, Flora released a similar sound. “It’s done. The curse is broken.”
Wrinkling her brow, Anika gazed down at Isaac’s face, calm and still as he continued to sleep. “That’s it? It’s over? How can you be sure?”
Meeting her gaze, Flora shrugged. “I completed the ritual, and have no reason to believe it didn’t take. The only way to know for certain now is to see if he can be killed, which I would not recommend while he’s on this side of the rift. Besides, it’s only a matter of time, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Anika asked.
Flora gestured toward Isaac, who still slept soundly. “The man is almost a hundred years old, honey. Now that the curse has broken, Nature will take its course. He’s dying.”
Isaac reached down to absently scratch Mr. Butters’ head as he stared at Anika’s television set without seeing. He’d muted the sound at least an hour ago, allowing his mind to wander. He wasn’t sure when the cat had made its way onto his lap, but he let the animal stay, finding his presence comforting.
Anika had gone to bed with his promise to join her soon, though he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep if he tried. Despite having accomplished his goal, there remained the issue of Edith. The witch was still alive, and during the deep sleep he’d experienced while Flora worked to break his curse, he’d been reminded just how malevolent she could be. Could he honestly return to 1935, leaving her here with Anika? The body of Lisa, which she had possessed, was young. Edith would have an entirely new lifetime during which to hunt down and kill Anika yet again. It was only a matter of time before she would return to the antique shop looking for the hilt, which they still had in their possession. What if, at the end of the week when the rift between worlds closed, Edith was still here inside Lisa’s body?
Just the thought of her being close enough to ruin their lives again put him on edge. He could never truly rest until he felt certain she could never hurt anyone again.
When he’d awakened after the ritual, it was to find the old witch seated at his bedside.
Still a bit drowsy and feeling weaker than he had in weeks, he’d tried to sit up and found himself dizzy. There’d been a slight pulling sensation at his side, and he’d glanced down to find that a clean white bandage lay over his scar, which felt as if it had been reopened.
“You’re going to want to take things slow,” Flora had said, gesturing toward a tray laden with tea and a light dinner beside him on the nightstand. “I sent Anika to the kitchen to eat, after I promised to try to feed you once you woke up. Try to eat and drink something. That will help you regain your strength faster. Though you’ll never be as strong in this life as you once were. You are, after all, an old man.”
He had grinned, picking up a delicious-looking sandwich and taking a hearty bite. “So, it worked.”
She’d nodded. “Yes, it worked. I realize no one asked my opinion, but I suggest you destroy the hilt before you leave this place, then get yourself back to your side of the rift.”
Pausing to chew, he thought of Irene. “Sorry, but I can’t do that. There is more that must be done.”
With a sigh, the witch shook her head. “You young people can be so stubborn.”
Cocking a brow at her, he smirked. “I’m not positive, but I’m certain I’ve got a few years on you. Besides, as long as Edith is alive, I am not safe, and neither is Anika. She mentioned that the relic has the power to destroy her. I need to know if it’s true.”
Leaning forward in her chair, Flora ran a hand over her short hair, making it stand on end. “Edith has maintained her youth and vitality by possessing the bodies of young women. Because of her extended history with the relic, her existence is now tied to it. The Anthame alone possesses the power to take her life.”
“So,” he mused aloud, “the relic has to be reassembled in order to be used against her. What about the person she’s possessing? Will she be harmed in the process?”
Flora shook her head. “The Anthame will recognize Edith’s essence inside the young woman. The blade will purge Edith but won’t harm Lisa. The wound won’t even last as long as it would if you stabbed her with a normal dagger.”
“Then that’s exactly what I’ll do,” he declared.
“It’s far too dangerous,” she countered. “You run the risk of Edith getting her hands on it before you can use it against her. I am not going to be happy with you if you undo all of my hard work and get yourself cursed again.”
He had met her gaze, ensuring she saw that he meant every word he was about to say. “Edith will never hurt me or anyone else I love ever again. You can be certain of that.”
“I hope so,” she had hedged. “I like you, Mr. Parker. The Animas Immortalis are an important part of the spiritual world, and it is imperative that the two of you are reunited, for good. In the words of my daughter, ‘don’t fuck it up’.”
They had laughed together, and Isaac had found it easy to envision Ember saying the words herself. Flora had given him all the time he needed to eat and gather his strength, before Anika drove him back to her apartment.
Anika hadn’t talked much on the way home, seeming content to allow him to rest. Still, he knew her well, and understood that they had a lot to talk about in the morning. She was going to want him to go back to 1935 right away. He doubted she would be happy with him putting himself in danger to kill Edith, especially now that he was mortal again.
Flora had warned them both that his strength would continue to wane as his body began to succumb to his advanced age. After crossing over the rift, it would not take him long to die.
Isaac was not afraid of this eventuality. In fact, he welcomed it. However, there was still the matter of Edith to take care of, and he did not intend to leave that loose end undone.
“You would want me to do everything I could to keep her safe. Wouldn’t you, Mr. Butters?”
The cat simply stared at him with his piercing yellow eyes. Then, he blinked and licked his lips, and Isaac decided to take that as an affirmative answer.
“You’re a man, so you understand,” he murmured, giving the cat another stroke before setting him aside and rising to his feet.
He stretched, already beginning to experience aches and pains he hadn’t noticed before the ritual. Deciding he might be able to get a few hours of sleep with Anika to curl up next to, he began making his way toward the bedroom.
Her screams greeted him on the threshold.