A Stroke Of Magic Part 4

She entered and closed the door behind her. Kneeling in front of me, she grasped my hand. Like me, she had our mother's brown hair and eyes. But she had been blessed with the curvier body, and was about two inches shorter than my five feet eight inches.

"Shouldn't the morning sickness be over with by now? I thought once you hit your second trimester you'd be feeling better," she said.

"That's what all the books say. My doctor says it's different for everyone. If anything, it's gotten worse."

"I'm sorry." She hesitated a beat. "You're going to need to tell everyone soon. You can't keep it quiet that much longer. Grandma already knows."

"I sort of figured that one out. Did you tell her?"

"Nope, not me. But she's known almost since the beginning, I think. She was making baby booties a few weeks ago."

Baby booties? Great. Grandma Verda was not normally the stay-at-home-and-knit sort of gal. If everything earlier hadn't been enough to seal the deal, that was. Really, I was lucky she hadn't told my mother yet. "I heard you guys talking. Who's Miranda?"

Elizabeth's cheeks paled. "You must have misunderstood. We were just wondering if you were okay or not."

"I distinctly heard the name Miranda. 'Fess up, sis."

"That's just someone Grandma wants to introduce you to."

I stared at her. That wasn't what I'd heard, was it? No. But prying secrets out of my sister before she was ready to tell was an impossible feat. "I don't believe you, but it doesn't matter. I should get back out there."

She left and I splashed cold water on my cheeks. I kind of wished I'd made my birthday wish earlier, when I had blown out the candles on my cake. Nothing crazy. Just a simple one. I whispered it now: "I wish everyone would go home."

A warm s.h.i.+ver slipped across my skin, followed by the sensation of b.u.t.terfly wings flapping around in my belly. Then came tingling, as if someone were running her fingers ever so lightly up my spine, that made me s.h.i.+ver again.

Whoa. Okay, that was more than a little strange. I sat back down and waited to feel it again. Nothing. No more b.u.t.terfly wings. Goose b.u.mps appeared on my arms, though, even under the heavy weight of my sweater, and I tried to rub them away. I'd read enough books to realize I'd just felt my baby move, and instead of the happiness most women probably experienced at that moment, I was flat-out terrified.

For the first time since the little line had turned pink, I truly understood that another person lived inside of me. I didn't have a husband, or even a boyfriend, to lean on. I didn't have a plan. I didn't know how to be a parent, or how to do all the things I was going to need to do. Right then, in a millisecond, my world s.h.i.+fted again. I ignored the tears weighting my eyes. I ignored the s.h.i.+vers that refused to stop.

Somehow, I needed to find control. And with that control, maybe I wouldn't be so freaking afraid of what was going to happen. I forced myself to breathe slowly, and, bit by bit, the fear receded and my s.h.i.+vers abated.

I stared at the door. I didn't want to walk through it. Yet again, I wished everyone would leave and go home. My family meant well, and I loved them, but I needed some s.p.a.ce. I wanted to curl up on my couch with a blanket and close my eyes. I wanted to pretend that my life wasn't on the wickedest, tallest, topsy-turviest roller coaster ever invented.

Because I had zero choice, I pulled myself upright and returned to the oh-so-fun birthday celebration. Elizabeth and our mother were cleaning up the food and dishes, my brothers were taking down the streamers and balloons, and my father was straightening the living room. My grandmother and Vinny were standing by the front door. When Grandma Verda saw me, she beckoned me over.

"We're going to take off. Vinny's tired," Grandma said, patting her beau's arm as she did. The older man smiled but didn't say anything.

I gave her a kiss on her soft cheek. "It was nice to see you."

"We'll get together soon. You, me, and Elizabeth." Another sharp-eyed stare. "We need to talk. When you're feeling better."

She didn't say anything about her present, or the pregnancy, and I was grateful for it. It didn't matter that she knew. I wasn't ready to confront her.

Once they drove off, I went to help my mother and sister with cleanup duty, but they were already done. As were my brothers and father, with their tasks. In fact, less than fifteen minutes later, after more kisses and hugs, I was completely alone.

Wow. My family had never before fled so quickly from anyplace, especially not all at once. This was one wish I appreciated coming true.

With my soft, fuzzy blue blanket and a big fluffy pillow, I curled up on the sofa. Closing my eyes, I pushed everything else away. Sleep was my savior. When I slept, no worries, no sickening fear of how I was going to manage, no remembrances of the man I'd thought I loved revealing himself to be a complete jerk, intruded. It was just me, warmth, peace, and bliss.

I'd barely closed my eyes when I caught a whiff of something. Flowers? Being p.r.o.ne to allergies, I didn't tend to keep flowers around, so I was probably imagining things. But then the scent grew stronger and tickled my nose. A tingling, almost p.r.i.c.kly sensation crept from my head to my toes, as if my body were telling me to pay attention. But to what?

I opened my eyes. A pale light s.h.i.+mmered in the middle of the room. Tightening my hold on my blanket, I sat upright. The light grew brighter and colors bled into it; a soft rainbow s.h.i.+mmied and danced all around. And just as in my dream, excitement ran through me. This wasn't scary, not one little bit.

Entranced, I watched and waited. In my dreams, she stepped right out from the center of the light and walked toward me. Antic.i.p.ation had me scooting to the edge of the couch, my eyes never leaving the light. A warm breeze, filled with the scent of flowers, touched my cheek. And then, suddenly, there she was. She had long, billowy chestnut hair, dark brown eyes, and she wore a dress that seemed to capture the colors that swirled around her.

She smiled, and the light grew even brighter, but I could still see her clearly. Rationally, I knew I should be afraid. What was happening in front of me should have had me running from the room screaming. Instead, I felt weirdly at ease-comfortable, even.

"h.e.l.lo, Alice. I've waited such a long time for this." Her voice skimmed over me, through me, and the sound of it was as joyful as ringing bells.

"Are you an angel?" I asked.

Another laugh. "Not hardly. I am your great-great-great-grandmother. We need to talk about something vitally important."

My mouth moved, but nothing came out.

"I won't be able to stay long. Listen carefully, and take my words to heart. Your daughter is special. She'll need to be raised in a home of pure love, and she'll need the guidance of one particular man. Your soul mate. It is of the utmost necessity that you find him before she is born, so you can secure her future. Your future."

I tried to process everything she said, tried to make sense of her message, but at that moment, I couldn't. "Who are you? How do you know these things?"

"I already told you. I am Miranda, your great-great-great-grandmother. Your sister and Verda have the answers. Talk to them, but don't forget what I said, Alice. You need to find your soul mate-there's no time to waste!"

Then, as if someone had pulled the plug, she, the scent of flowers, the breeze and the colors disappeared, gone as quickly as they'd appeared. I closed my eyes for a second and then opened them again. Yep, everything seemed to be pretty much back to normal, as if I'd imagined the entire episode. Except for one tiny thing. My heart thumped, my breathing came fast and uneven, and goose b.u.mps coated my skin. A rose petal floated in the air directly in front of me, as if held up by an invisible hand, and slowly weaved its way to the floor. When it landed, I leaned over, picked it up, and then stroked my finger along it, feeling its velvety smoothness, proving to myself it was real.

My baby moved again, another flutter of b.u.t.terfly wings. As if she were equally entranced by what had just happened. Something so odd. So mystical. Awe-inspiring, even. And she'd called herself Miranda.

I trembled as I mentally replayed the whole scene. Soul mate? My daughter?

I had questions. Tons of them. And I knew who to get the answers from. My sister and my grandmother had a heck of a lot of explaining to do. It appeared Grandma Verda was right-we would be talking soon.

Tonight, if I had any say in it.

Chapter Four.

"Elizabeth, it's Alice again. You need to call me back ASAP. No matter what time it is," I said into the phone. This was the third message I'd left for my sister in the past several hours, and honestly, annoyed didn't begin to express my feelings. "It's about Miranda, who appears to be a ghost, and who said you and Grandma were the people to talk to. Call me back."

Not knowing what else to add, I hung up the phone and returned to my prior position of staring at it. As if by sheer force of will I could make it ring. It so wasn't happening. I'd even tried wis.h.i.+ng she'd call me back, but no dice. If wishes were real, why were mine so fickle?

Tiredness seeped in and I yawned, but I didn't allow myself to give in to exhaustion. As much as I wanted to sleep, I needed to be awake and alert when my sister finally phoned. But I needed to do something. Sitting around doing nothing made the entire situation worse.

Grabbing the remote, I flipped on the TV and channel surfed for a minute. When nothing caught my interest, I shut it back off. I hadn't called my grandmother yet. I thought about doing so now, even though I'd wanted to talk to Elizabeth first, but one glance at the clock changed my mind. While my grandmother often stayed up late, Vinny was always in bed early. He'd had a heart attack not that long ago, and I didn't want to disturb him. But, dear G.o.d, I wanted answers.

Now that several hours had pa.s.sed, I'd begun to doubt what I'd seen. What I'd experienced. Maybe I had fallen asleep and dreamed the entire episode. But then, just like before, I saw the rose petal now sitting on my coffee table. I picked it up again, holding it between my thumb and index finger. How could it feel so normal? You'd think something appearing out of thin air-on the heels of a ghostly woman-would somehow feel different. But it just didn't.

It bothered me, and not just because of how it had appeared, but because in the several hours since it had showed up, it hadn't changed. Fresh and soft, supple even, as if it had been plucked from a rose mere seconds earlier and wasn't several hours old. All things being normal, it should have been drying out by now, the edges curling up, the texture becoming brittle. But it wasn't. Not that any of this was normal, but this one little detail bugged the h.e.l.l out of me.

I sat on the couch, tucking my legs underneath me, resting my head on the cus.h.i.+on, not really lying down but not fully sitting up, either. My finger and thumb still pinched the petal, so I dropped it into the palm of my other hand. Deep red against the pale white of my skin, it stood out, and as I watched, it seemed to lose shape until it was no longer the petal from a rose. It pooled in my palm, warm and liquid, then spread, easing into the creases between my fingers, slipping through to drip onto my denim-covered legs in a plop. Then another. Like the soft sound of a slow rain against a window.

Plop. Plop. Plop.

The color changed from red to dark purple as it oozed into my jeans, merging with the blue fabric. This, whatever this was, felt familiar. Anger came first, then sadness, and together, they became an empty, clawing pit of emotion that I'd never before experienced yet somehow recognized. I closed my hand into a fist, the warm stickiness of the melted petal against my skin.

Pain came, sudden and swift, down the center of my palm. Opening my hand, I saw a cut from the bottom of my thumb that stretched diagonally across, meeting my little finger. Not deep. Not jagged. But enough of an injury to explain blood. My arms trembled and my stomach sloshed.

I tried to swallow the sickness away, to no avail. Again, I noticed the stickiness on my palm, and a tremor of fear skittered in. What was happening? Why was it happening? My brain s.h.i.+fted through all of the various possibilities, trying to piece it together, trying to make sense of it all. The room dipped and twirled around me; the walls elongated and stretched, morphing themselves into another shape, another place. Oh, G.o.d. Another time. Don't ask me how I knew this, because I can't say. I just knew.

With a sudden yank, it was as if I separated from myself, as if two parts of a whole were split down the middle and pulled apart. One and the same, but not. I floated upward, and weirdly it seemed I was in two places at once: hovering in an unknown s.p.a.ce, and also sitting below me, directly within my view.

The pain in my hand disappeared, and when I looked, the injury was gone. I wanted to believe this was the dream. This wasn't happening. But it was too real, and it was happening, to me and to the woman below me, who sat on the ground, in a tentlike shelter, with just enough light to see her clearly.

In the s.p.a.ce of two heartbeats, I knew she wasn't me. "Miranda," I whispered. Her hands, which had been slowly rubbing her rounded belly, stilled, as if she'd heard my voice. "Miranda?" I said again. "Can you hear me?"

Long dark hair hung loose, flowing around her face like water. She tipped her head up, gaze searching, shoulders shaking. Lightning flashed bright and hot in her eyes as they explored the small s.p.a.ce. "Mama? Is that you? You can't stop me. He deserves to be cursed, for all he did, for all his lies. For my pain. For my baby."

She shook her head as if refocusing, slanting her gaze downward. In front of her were several objects lying in an uneven row on the bare ground. She picked up the object on the end-a knife-opened her hand, and lightly cut the skin from thumb to pinky, like I'd just seen on my own hand. Really it wasn't more than a deep scratch, but the blood bubbled out and the pain returned once again and I curled my hand into a fist.

"No," I said. "Stop."

This time she didn't hesitate, didn't turn her head to search the shadows. She held her bleeding hand over a bowl. Plop. Plop. Plop. It dripped slowly, not in a gush, into the bowl, and as it did, her lips moved silently. I couldn't hear her, but I knew to the depths of my soul what she was doing. And why she was doing it. Power hung in the air, as heavy and forceful as an oncoming storm, and I wanted to tell her to stop. I wanted to tell her not to curse the man who'd hurt her, the father of her unborn child who hadn't lived up to his promises, like Troy hadn't. It wasn't worth it, even if I understood the agony she felt. But when I opened my mouth, nothing issued forth. I'd been silenced; I no longer had a voice.

With a shaking hand, the one she hadn't cut, she picked up a hairbrush and pulled strands of hair from it. Holding them over the bowl, her body swayed and her lips moved. Light and color swirled around her, and I knew-just knew-that the second she dropped the hair into the bowl, the die would be cast. And that it would be a mistake of such magnitude, it could never be corrected.

I screamed soundlessly for her to stop. The power grew stronger, rus.h.i.+ng through the little tent like fabled giants crus.h.i.+ng people beneath their feet. I closed my eyes. I didn't know why I was being shown this, but I didn't like it and I didn't want to see any more.

My baby moved, as if to say Hey, Mom, what do you think you're doing? Not the flutter of nearly weightless b.u.t.terfly wings, but a solid kick with way more pressure behind it than was even possible at this stage. I laughed at the surprise of it, at the strength of it, and as I did, the power in the room evaporated.

Oh-so-slowly, I peeked through half-opened eyes. Miranda still sat there, her body tight, frozen. Her mouth hung open, her complexion drained of color, and a whipcord of tension emanated off of her. One hand remained clenched over the bowl; the other rested on her stomach. I waited...watched...compelled by the unknown to somehow comprehend. And with a slow, deliberate movement, she pulled her arm back and dropped the hair-not into the bowl, but to the ground.

A breath of relief slipped out and I began to relax. Miranda tipped her head to the side, waiting for something. A sign, perhaps. I continued to watch, sure there was more I was meant to see. More I was meant to experience. She dumped a jug, spilling water onto her hands, was.h.i.+ng them briskly, as if she couldn't clean them fast enough. At that moment, my baby-her baby?-kicked again, even more forcefully than before. She gasped, cradled her arms around her stomach. Tears rolled down her cheeks, fast and furious, in a flood of emotion.

Wetness on my face surprised me. I brushed the tears away with my fingertips, and as I did, a heady swirl of sensations swept into me, through me. Once again, I was her, but I was still me too. This time, a light of hope took center stage, instead of anger, instead of retribution. This hope mixed with happiness, and while the sadness still existed, it wasn't the all-consuming, gnawing pain of earlier.

Miranda stood and paced the small s.p.a.ce, her arms never leaving her stomach. Even if I couldn't feel what she felt, the expression on her face, the brightness in her eyes, would have told me all I needed to know. Whatever hex she'd almost placed on the man who'd hurt her, who'd abandoned her, was forgotten. Now, all that was in her mind, in her heart, was her unborn baby. A daughter. Her daughter.

Through Miranda's mind, I saw her daughter as a baby just born. And then, I saw her daughter, and then the next. This last daughter was my great-grandmother, whom I only knew from pictures; and then came my grandmother, my mother and my sister, along with other women I didn't recognize but somehow knew to be family, connected to me in some form or fas.h.i.+on. They all appeared before me at lightning speed, in a vision that didn't make any sense. At the tail end, another baby appeared, and I saw her grow into a little girl. She had big brown eyes and chubby cheeks, and a smile that melted my heart. In barely a breath, I knew who she was.

My daughter.

I hadn't thought I was ready to see an image of my child, but now? I wanted to stare at her, memorize every detail, and pull her into my arms; but the vision abruptly ended, leaving me with an ache-an empty place deep inside-and it hurt like nothing I'd yet known. Miranda's lips moved again. The power returned, and while it was just as strong as before, it didn't scare me. It didn't fill me with foreboding or urge me to scream out warnings. Instead, it washed over me in a hazy glow, like a rainbow appearing after a storm on a sunny day. This display of power had an enchanted feel-without darkness, without evil.

As her lips continued to move, the colors grew brighter, the power stronger. I watched, once again completely enthralled. While I couldn't hear her voice, I heard her thoughts as if she spoke them directly to me.

A gift, from daughter to daughter, to be pa.s.sed on through the generations. The gift of magic. My gift. My magic. My daughters. My legacy.

Somehow, I understood that this was the message I was meant to hear. But even with that knowledge, I couldn't quite grasp it fully. It hovered there like a pesky mosquito I couldn't squash, evading me at every turn. Before I could give it any further thought, the scene below me changed yet again. The colors and the energy still swirled together, like a rainbow whipping around at top speed, but the colors strengthened in hue to a brilliance I couldn't see through. s.h.i.+elding my eyes with one hand, I tried to see past the glare, past the brightness, to no avail. My eyes watered, the wetness seeping out, dripping down my cheeks.

Ringing filled my ears. Loud, obtrusive, it went on and on. I cringed at the sharpness of the noise and moved my hands to cover my ears. At first I didn't recognize the sound, because it didn't belong in this place, in this time. The second I realized what the sound was, everything in front of me, everything around me, stopped, as if I'd hit the pause b.u.t.ton on my DVD player.

The energy pulled at me, tugged at me, and with one hard yank I was only myself again, on my couch, clutching the rose petal in my fist. The phone still rang, blaring through the room incessantly. My sister? It had to be. And for that, I was grateful.

With a trembling hand, I reached for it. "What took you so long? You won't believe what happened." My voice came out in a rush, the words merging so that they were almost incomprehensible. I inhaled deeply and gave it another go. "I need you to come over here now. No ifs, ands, or buts. Just do it." After a thought I added, "Please."

When she didn't answer immediately, my exasperation climbed to a whole new level. "Are you there? Why didn't you tell me about Miranda? And the gift?"

Still no reply. And really, the fact she hadn't answered should have been enough to clue me in that I'd been mistaken about the caller's ident.i.ty. Sadly, it didn't. I was too preoccupied for coherent thought. "Elizabeth?"

"Have I phoned at a bad time?" The s.e.xy Irish drawl held a bit of humor, along with a touch of concern.

Heat rushed my face, embarra.s.sment that somehow had become the norm around this man. "Oh. You're not Elizabeth. Sorry, Ethan," I managed to mumble. "What can I do for you?"

"You sound a little a distracted. Are you all right?" The timbre of his voice helped soothe my agitation. Not something I expected, but I appreciated it.

"I'm fine. Just-um-a little busy at the moment. What's up?" My phone beeped, signaling another call. This time, it was my sister. Finally. "Oops, I have another call. Can you hold for a sec?"

"Of course. Take your time," he said.

I pushed the b.u.t.ton. "I've been waiting forever for you to call."

"Sorry, sis. My cell ran out of juice and we were at Nate's parents' this evening. You said something about Miranda?"

People who didn't know my sister as well as I do wouldn't have heard more than a faint twinge of curiosity in her voice. But after years of sharing-and keeping-secrets, I heard the Oh my G.o.d, I've been wanting to talk to you about this forever. And that little nuance calmed me even more. She would have my answers. She would understand the weirdness. I was sure of it.

"She showed up here tonight. A lot of crazy stuff happened that I'd rather talk to you about in person, so when can you come over?"

"What kind of crazy stuff?"

"Elizabeth! You've been holding out on me. You and Grandma. Don't you think I should have known our great-great-great-grandmother's ghost pays house calls to her relatives? And drags them out of their time to visit her in her time?"

Elizabeth sighed, long and plaintively, as if she'd been the one secrets were kept from. "I know we should have told you, but I didn't expect her to just show up. What did she say? And what do you mean she dragged you to her time?"

"Like a time warp. Seriously. I visited Miranda in her time." My phone beeped again, reminding me that Ethan still waited. "Hold on. I was on the other line when you called."

"Okay. But are you sure this time-warp thing really happened? You are pregnant, you know, and hormones can do crazy things. Maybe the visit from Miranda spooked you enough that you dreamed the rest?"

"Just hold on!"

I switched back over. "Hey, Ethan. I think this call might take a few minutes. Can I call you back?"

"Actually, all I wanted to know was if we could go to Frosty's tomorrow after dinner, instead of at two. Does that work for you?"

I was about to say yes, but then I figured I'd better check with Elizabeth first. A nice, lengthy, face-to-face chat with her and my grandmother was most definitely in order-not to mention way overdue-so I didn't want any scheduling conflicts. "Um. Probably. Let me make sure, though."