Present Day

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It was exactly five-thirty in the morning when I finally cast aside any remaining doubt that all of this was real. After stewing over my therapist’s parting words for the better part of the day, I returned to Laurel’s apartment more ready than ever to dive back into the research I’d been obsessed over since the moment Laurel left for Scotland. Mr. Crinkles lay curled up on the far corner of my bed, surrounded by the empty wrappers of one-ounce pieces of chocolate that I’d recklessly strewn over the top of my mattress. Over the six-plus-hour study session, I’d nearly eaten my weight in chocolate. The candy, combined with the extra-large thermos of coffee I’d guzzled, had me near caffeine overdose. My feet seemed to bounce on their own as I reviewed my sources one more time. The book on The Isle of Eight Lairds, which had mysteriously appeared in my sister’s path, was now excessively highlighted and worn from use. The four credible websites I’d found on the subject were all open on different tabs of my web browser for easy reference, and the recorded documentary was paused on its most fascinating part on my bedroom television.

The movement of my feet shook the bed. Mr. Crinkles stirred, opened his one green eye, and glared at me as if to say, Stop it, human, or I will cut you. He would, too. He could leap faster than I could move out of the way, and his claws were like little razor blades. The moment I stopped fidgeting, he closed his eye and went back to sleep. Careful not to disturb him again, I pushed myself slowly off the bed so I could burn off the excess caffeine by pacing the room.

I’d combed through every page of the book three times, watched the documentary on the subject twice, and knew every word on each of these web pages by heart. Each and every source held some piece of information that made it impossible to deny what my heart already knew. My sister and her best friend, Marcus, truly were in the past. They were both meant to be there. And—if the book’s footnote about a marred woman, along with one very quick mention of a one-eyed black cat in the documentary was to believed—so were Mr. Crinkles and I.

Every bit of it was absurd, but I knew in my bones it was true.

I paced back and forth for the better part of an hour, until I heard the quiet movements of my mother in the kitchen. Knowing that I couldn’t take another day of eggs Benedict, I took a quick glance in the mirror and rumpled up the sleeves of my pajamas so it would look like I’d just rolled out of bed before I went to the kitchen to stop her. She couldn’t have looked more surprised to see me up and about.

“Kate. Did I wake you? I thought I might run over to the gym down the street and get a short workout in, but if you’re up, I can go ahead and make you breakfast first.”

I walked past her to the cabinet and reached inside to grab a box of cereal.

“No need. Honestly, just something simple will be perfect this morning. Enjoy your workout.”

There was something resembling guilt in her expression as she left, and I quickly took on the feeling myself.

Everything that I’d learned overnight affected her, as well, and I’d done a remarkable job keeping it from her. If Laurel and I were destined to live in the past, surely she was, too. We were her world. She couldn’t bear being away from us forever. And if my mother would have to come with me, then surely David would have to, as well. Marcus’ dad was as attached to his son as our mother was to us.

Overwhelmed and slightly dizzy from all the caffeine and sugar, I set the box of cereal down on the counter and went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. There was so much I needed to do, and I didn’t have a clue where to start. A nice, long, hot shower was in order to get me prepped and ready for the very busy day ahead.

I needed to take care of everything as quickly as possible.

Otherwise, I knew I’d talk myself out of it.

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The shower was a disaster. The hot water helped clear my head, but doing so only made room for all of the doubts and questions my research had unearthed to come rushing to the forefront of my mind. None of it made sense. Even if somehow it was all possibly true, what was I supposed to do about it? By the time I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my body, I was shaking with anxiety. The moment I stepped back into my bedroom, there was a knock at the door.

Looking through the peephole I saw an elderly woman smiling up at the door.

“Umm…hold on just a moment, ma’am. Let me put on some clothes.”

Her gaze flickered to the peephole. I swear she could actually see me.

“Ach, no need, lass. I know what a naked woman looks like. I’ve the same bits myself. Though nowadays, they’re a little softer and droopier than yers are, I reckon. Open the door. I need to speak with ye this instant, before yer mother returns.”

Suspicion washed through me, and I found myself hoping that she was who I so desperately needed her to be.

“Who…who are you?”

“Lass, ye know who I am. ’Tis Morna. Open the door, please.”

Pinching the towel closed with what was left of my right arm, I glanced down to make sure I was covered and opened the door. She stepped inside without hesitation and had no qualms about making herself at home.

“’Tis a lovely apartment. Ye decorated it, aye? Ye have wonderful taste.”

“Yes, I did.” I stared after her with a sense of astonishment. I’d spent days trying to piece things together. I couldn’t believe she was here.

“I’m sure ye are wondering why I’m here.”

I laughed uncomfortably as I wondered if she’d read my thoughts. “Yes, though I really am pleased to see you. I have a lot of questions for you.”

She nodded and moved to sit down on the couch. “Aye, and I’ll answer what I can. First though, do ye have any tea?”

Nodding, I went to turn on the kettle of water and get us a couple of cups. By the time I returned to the living room, Mr. Crinkles was curled up in Morna’s lap, purring like crazy.

“Kate, who is this handsome young man in the photo with ye and Laurel?”

Mr. Crinkles watched me with his one green eye as I moved to sit across from Morna.

“That would be my boyfriend, Dillon.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me and said nothing for a long moment. When she did speak, her tone was admonishing. “I dinna see him while watching ye. Not at all.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Aye.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him in a few days. We’re supposed to go out tonight.”

“I doona mean visibly, lass. I mean in yer heart and mind. Ye doona think of him unless someone else brings him up. There are only two reasons a woman distracts herself from thinking of her man—either she loves him too little, or too much, and she doesna wish to experience how either of those realities make her feel. Which is it?”

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew it was this sort of thing my therapist had been talking about. Thinking about Dillon made me uncomfortable. So, most of the time, I didn’t think about him. I enjoyed my time with him when we were together, but I never felt as if my life was missing anything when he wasn’t around. If Morna was right, and there were only two reasons that I would distract myself in such a way, I knew it wasn’t from loving him too much.

It must’ve taken me too long to answer. For after a brief moment, Morna gently leaned forward and placed a hand on my knee.

“Ye should let him go, lass. Yer life is about to get much more complicated. If ye doona love him, there is no room for him along this new path.”

For the first time in months, I felt tears threaten to build up in my eyes. I quickly shook my head to push them away.

“How is Laurel? Is she really in the past?”

Morna righted herself as she nodded and gently began stroking Mr. Crinkles’ back. I couldn’t believe he was sitting there so contentedly.

“Aye. She’ll be calling ye tonight. ’Tis why I needed to speak with ye this morning.”

“Calling me? From the seventeenth century?”

“Aye. I sent her a way to speak with ye, for I canna speak with her myself.”

“Why?”

“Because she would ask for my help, and I would be too tempted to give it, which I canna do. ’Twould doom not only her but every man that lives in the castle with her.”

I repeated the same question. “Why is that?”

Morna sighed, and I could sense that whatever she was about to tell me had been weighing on her for some time. “Ye’ve done a fine job of piecing things together, but there is one piece yer information got wrong.”

“Just one piece? If that’s all, then I’m pleasantly surprised. Which part was wrong?”

“The prophecy given to Machara by her father was no prophecy. It was a curse. He dinna tell her what was to be, only what could be. He cast into existence a way for her to be defeated—a way to end her immortality.”

I thought back on all I’d read about faeries over the past days, and Morna’s revelation made sense. Faeries didn’t die easily, if ever, and all that I’d read indicated that, at some point, Machara would—or perhaps the right word was could—be defeated.

“Why would her own father create a way for her to die?”

“I canna tell ye that, lass. All that I know, I learned from a friend long ago. He is no longer around to give us any more answers than we already have.”

Something sad flashed in Morna’s eyes at the mention of her friend, but she quickly masked it with a smile when she noticed my stare.

“This friend…is he the reason you’re involved with this at all?”

“Aye. I often meddle in the lives of my kinsmen, but not verra often do I meddle in the lives of strangers. I share no blood with any on The Isle of Eight Lairds, but I made a promise to one who does that I would help in the only way Machara’s father’s curse would allow.”

She paused and I allowed the silence to linger between us. I sensed she was readying herself for a longer story.

“Raudrich—yer sister’s beau—is the grandson of a man who once loved me verra much. Long after I’d left the time I was born in, I sensed Hamish calling to me in my sleep. He was near death and needed to see me one last time, so I went to him. On his deathbed, I learned of Machara and the havoc she’d wreaked on The Isle of Whispers.

“Hamish was devastated that his young grandson had been called to a life of such restriction. Raudrich’s powers made it necessary that he become one of The Eight, but Hamish dinna want the boy to be trapped in a life without choice. He couldna leave the curse to chance, so he asked me to use my skill to gather a group of women strong enough to defeat her.”

The details of the curse ran through my mind. Suddenly, I understood.

“But you can’t tell us how, can you? Because you’re not entirely mortal, and Machara can only be defeated by mortal women.”

Morna’s whole posture relaxed as she leaned back into the chair and let out a big sigh.

“Precisely, lass. ’Tis not that I doona wish to help Laurel, ’tis only that if there is to be hope for any of ye, I canna do so.”

“All you can do is get us each back there and leave the rest to history.”

Morna’s eyebrows scrunched together in what I could only describe as a look of concern.

“Aye, and no, lass. Aye, all I can do is get ye back there, but suggesting that any of us ‘leave the rest to history’ makes it seem as if the end result is predestined. That insinuates that ye have nothing to worry about.”

That was honestly my understanding of the situation. The stories about the Isle were already legendary—history already knew how this would turn out.

“Isn’t it? If not, how can you explain the books and the documentary?”

Morna laughed and shook her head, which immediately worried me. “That would be nice, aye? But alas, time is much more fluid than ye are capable of understanding. ’Tis verra possible, in truth ’tis verra likely, that Machara will best one or many of ye. If she does, if ye doona defeat her, then the stories and documentaries ye’ve seen in yer time will simply change to match what happens then. Nothing is set, Kate. How this turns out is up to each of ye lassies who will face her. All I can do is choose worthy opponents for her and keep my fingers crossed that each of ye are as brave and wise as ye seem to be.”

“I’m beginning to think I would’ve preferred not knowing all of this before I went back.”

She stood and began to walk toward the door.

“Ye needed to know. Yer faith in how ye believed things would turn out would’ve made ye reckless. Fear, in this case, is good. But doona ever doubt yer bravery, Kate. Ye have that in spades. Now, I must be on my way, but I need to tell ye a few last things. First, I know that yer mother and David must come, and I believe that is fine, though ’tis up to ye how ye plan on getting them there. Second, I would welcome ye at my inn and would be happy to send ye back via my spell, but when yer sister calls ye tonight, she shall offer ye a better way. Such a journey willna only be easier, but ’twill allow ye to be surrounded by people who can help yer mother and David adjust to the shock of what they will learn when they get there. Either way, I’ve no doubt that we will see each other again.”

She leaned in to kiss my cheek in farewell, and then paused as she started to pull away.

“One last thing, doona tell Laurel I was here. Feign ignorance to anything she tells ye that coincides with what we have discussed. She still has her battle to fight. It willna do for her to know I was here.”

I agreed and watched her until she was safely outside my building.

It seemed a very long way to travel for a conversation that could easily have been had on the phone, but then again, for a time-traveling witch, I supposed the journey from Scotland to Boston was no trouble at all.