The Sorcerer's Lady: Destiny's Devices, #4

By Debra Dier

From award winning author Debra Dier comes the fourth book in the Destiny Devices Series, a romantic adventure with a touch of fantasy. In The Sorcerer's Lady, an Irish Sorcerer travels a thousand years to claim the woman of his destiny. Romantic Times finalist for Best Historical Time Travel Romance.

This edition includes minor revisions to the original story. 

"Debra Dier takes myths and turns them into a magical, mystical world…Here is laughter and love wrapped up in a marvelous, memorable story."—Paperback Forum

Victorian debutante Laura Sullivan couldn't believe her eyes; Aunt Sophie's ancient spell had conjured up the man of Laura's dreams—and deposited a half-naked barbarian in the elegant library of her Boston home. How in the world could she explain the arrival of the captivating Viking? Although she could not deny an irresistible attraction to the infuriating brute, he was hardly the proper blue blood her father expected her to marry. 

A powerful sorcerer, Connor had traveled through the ages to reach his soul mate, the bewitching beauty who had captured his heart in dreams. But Beacon Hill wasn't ninth-century Ireland, and Connor's powers were useless if he couldn't convince Laura that love was stronger than magic and that she was destined to become The Sorcerer's Lady.

"Debra Dier always brings something new and special to the genre…"—RT Reviews

"A marvelous tale…A Keeper!"—Rendezvous

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dierington Press
• Release date: Jul 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393238904

Debra Dier

Debra Dier is the bestselling author of sixteen critically acclaimed romance novels and short stories. Her work has earned her a place in the Writer's Hall of Fame. Deb was born and raised in Niagara Falls, New York. Although she always knew she wanted to do something creative in life, well-meaning family members talked her into doing something in a much more practical light. She received a BS in Information Systems Management and headed down a career path that included writing computer code and designing computer systems. It wasn't exactly what she had in mind when she thought of a purely creative career. For some mystifying reason, she was put on a fast track in that career and became a manager of other programmers and analysts in a large corporation at a young age. It was then she decided to try her hand at writing something other than computer systems. After her first novel, Surrender the Dream was published, she took the plunge into writing full time. She has never regretted that decision. When her daughter was a toddler, Debra decided to take a short hiatus from writing to concentrate on all things motherhood. There wasn't a task she didn't take on, including making Halloween costumes, volunteering for room parent every year, and becoming a Girl Scout leader. By the way, her idea of camping is staying at a three star hotel. Not precisely the roughing it kind of girl. At the urging of her daughter, Deb has found herself sleeping on a mat in a tent in the wild, and in a plywood cabin she lovingly referred to as rent a shack. It is amazing what we will do for our young. Deb lives in the mid-west with her family, their two Irish Setters who often make appearances in her books, and two cats who keep asking for starring roles. To all of her readers who were afraid she had died or retired and were not quite sure what would be worse, she hopes you are pleased with the updated versions of the older books. To everyone who wants something completely new, she intends to get back to her new series very soon.

Book preview

Prologue

Éire, A.D. 889

There is no need to be embarrassed, Connor. We are fortunate none of your other abilities are impaired. Indeed, I would say it is a miracle you have any abilities at all. Aisling glanced from her nephew to her sister, one golden brow curving upward. Given your bloodline.

Ciara’s cheeks flushed under her younger sister’s gaze. There is nothing wrong with his bloodline.

Connor crossed his long legs and leaned against the tall back of an oak throne chair, studying his mother and his aunt over the steeple of his fingers. They stood face-to-face in a golden pool of light spilling from the hearth, both tall and slender, their shoulders stiff with indignation.

Your marriage has produced one child with abilities, and from all indications five mortals.

Ciara lifted her chin. I suspect the others have abilities, they are simply a little slower to develop.

Aisling shook her head, clucking her tongue in disgust. It would seem our blood doesn’t mix well with that of your potent Viking. As I recall before you married, I did mention the folly of following a reckless heart.

In ways we are fortunate the other children were not as gifted as Connor. Raising a boy with his abilities without letting his father know of my legacy hasn’tbeen an easy feat.

If you had married your own kind, you would not have needed to keep your true nature from a mortal.

I couldn’t help falling in love.

How long can we keep diluting our bloodlines before the power dissolves into mist?

Love is stronger than all the power we possess!

Nonsense!

Flames danced on the stone hearth behind the women, flickering higher with their rising anger. Even the flames of the candles danced to the rhythm of their rage.

"We are the Tuatha De Danann. We once ruled as powerful sorcerers in Atlantis and here in Éire. Aisling twitched the medallion she wore on a golden chain around her neck. And now we are hunted, shunned, feared. We hide our powers, for fear of being destroyed."

And I suppose I am to blame for destroying our people.

If we don’t alter this path we are on, the future will see few of us on this earth. Aisling stared into the fire as though she were looking beyond the flames into the future. In a thousand years, there will exist only a handful who truly understand the ancient ways, and a scattering of children who don’t even know they possess the power of Mother Earth.

The cold chill of winter seeped through the stone walls of the tower room, setting intricate tapestries shivering on the walls, seeping into Connor’s blood. Aisling’s gift of divination was powerful. What she foresaw would come to pass if something was not altered. Yet he could not turn his back on the woman in his dreams to marry one of the Sidhe, to do so would be to sacrifice his very soul.

"If you are so concerned with our bloodline, why is it you have not chosen a mate, Aisling? Is it because you cannot find one of the Sidhe who will have you and your sharp tongue?"

Aisling twitched her pendant between her fingers, the emerald eye of the dragon carved into the ancient gold medallion winking in the firelight. Careful, Ciara.

And what shall you do, fill my bed with toads, as you did on my wedding night?

Aisling smiled. Perhaps.

It was you!

Connor sighed, weary of this argument. With a wave of his hand both women floated upward toward the thick beams of the ceiling, like butterflies gently taking flight, scarlet and ivory, emerald and gold, their gowns fluttering as they lifted.

Connor! they screamed in unison.

He looked up at the two women who hovered three feet above the floor. They were as different in coloring as midnight and morning, his mother’s black hair as dark as Aisling’s was light. Yet both women shared delicate features and skin as smooth and unlined as a ten-year-old child’s; the passing of time meant little to his people. Like two angels they hovered in the room, staring at him, silvery blue eyes shimmering with rage.

Get us down, young man! Ciara shouted.

So, it seems I have your attention once more. Connor tapped his fingertips together, smiling up at them. I realize my destiny is not nearly as important as your argument. But I had hoped the two of you might help me sort through my problem.

Both women glanced at each other, guilt dampening their anger. They had gathered here tonight to decipher the dreams that had been plaguing Connor since he was a boy.

He does make his point. Ciara forced each word past her lips as though they were pennies pried from a miser.

I have never turned my back when Connor needed me. Aisling tossed her hair over her shoulder, the cascade of silvery blond curls shimmering below her hips, swishing against the scarlet silk of her gown. I was there for him even when you were too busy playing mortal wife to teach him the ancient ways.

Ciara crossed her arms at her waist, the gold trim of her wide emerald sleeves glittering in the firelight. I appreciate the time you spent with my son, but if you think I shall...

Connor lifted his hand. The women glided closer toward the ceiling.

Very well! Ciara shouted.

Enough, Connor!

Think you can behave? Connor asked, halting the upward progress a foot from the ceiling beams.

Yes! both women shouted.

Connor snapped his fingers. The women floated in swirls of emerald and scarlet silk to the rushes that covered the floor.

Impossible Viking, Aisling said, the smile tugging at the corners of her lips spoiling the severe tone of her voice. She smoothed the wide scarlet sleeves of her gown, as though she were repairing her dignity, before withdrawing a piece of amber from a gold silk bag dangling from the thick gold chain she wore around her waist.

I should do the reading, Ciara said, reaching for the amber. I am not at all certain why he wanted to see you about this.

Aisling clutched the talisman in her hand. Because you have never been as good as I am at divination. And since you have been suppressing your powers, you are blind.

Ciara lifted her chin. "I can certainly...’’

Connor waved his hand. Ciara glided upward.

All right! Ciara glared at her son. I shall give her the first reading.

Thank you. Connor gently lowered his mother to the floor. Ciara flicked her emerald skirts as she marched toward the opposite end of the long oak table, firelight glittering on the golden threads running through the shimmering silk. She sat in a carved oak throne chair and pouted.

Later he would appease his mother. Now he needed to know the answers lurking in the shadows beyond his reach. He watched, uneasy with what she might see in his destiny as Aisling held the amber before the flames. His gift of precognition had never been strong, and when it concerned his own future, he was painfully nearsighted, a fact Aisling attributed to his tainted blood. Do you see anything?

Patience, son of Magnar, Aisling said, reminding him of his Viking heritage. She stared deeply into the precious amber she held before the flames of the stone hearth, the ancient talisman half the size of her palm.

Connor pressed the tips of his fingers together, conjuring in his mind the image of the woman who had haunted him for so many years. Why hadn’t he been able to find her? In the past year he had searched every sanctuary and village scattered around the world. He hadn’t found a trace of her. He was beginning to believe the woman lived only in his imagination.

In a time of trouble, she will call to you, Aisling whispered.

The breath settled in his lungs as she spoke of his destiny. Then this woman I have seen in visions is real.

You have always known this woman was real, Connor. Aisling looked at him, her eyes piercing him as though she looked straight into his soul. Light twisted like flame itself through the golden amber she held, illuminating a smile as mysterious as her powers. From the day you were five and she first came to you in your dreams, you knew you would find her one day.

The dreams had been with him for twenty years, since the night a girl with green eyes and hair the color of warm honey had come to him while he slept. Since that night, when the pull of the moon was most powerful, one night in every earth cycle, she came to him.

They had played together as children, in a valley he had never found on this earth. Through the years, as she blossomed into a woman and he grew from boy to man, the bond had grown between them until his need for her was elemental, like the air he breathed. Somehow, he had to find her. Somehow, he had to claim her, in a way he had never claimed her in his dreams: completely, irrevocably.

Carved as from the finest marble, she glows and shimmers, ice in sunlight, Aisling whispered, her dark voice seeping into every corner of the large room. Yet embers simmer deep within her, waiting for the breath of a lover’s kiss.

Connor released his breath in a long sigh. They were connected, he and this woman he had seen only in dreams, bound together like links in a golden chain. She was his. He was hers. And somehow, he would find her. Nothing would keep him from finding her.

Be forewarned, Prince of Wexford, this maid will know you and deny you to her own heart. Aisling smiled into the amber as though she gazed upon a beguiling child. The cold hand of logic is her master now. Still, when the river of time bends back upon itself, logic will yield. In this you will find your triumph, or your defeat.

When shall I see her?

Aisling looked up from the amber, a smile curving her lips. Come, dark warrior. See your destiny.

In long strides Connor crossed the distance. Rushes scented with pine and herbs stirred beneath his boots, their fragrance melding with the spicy scent simmering from melting candles.

Look into the amber, Aisling whispered.

Connor did not touch the gem; to do so would be to disturb Aisling’s link with the vision. He stared into the golden depths of the amber, seeing the shifting shapes of the flames beneath, searching for the face of the woman who wove through the fabric of his destiny like a golden thread through a rich tapestry. She was his Edaina, his soul mate; of this he was certain.

Flames danced in the amber, sparking light that darted like golden petals and blossomed into a living image. Connor drew a deep breath as he stared into the lovely face that haunted his dreams. Golden waves framed the ivory oval of her face. Tears shimmered in her eyes like dew welling on the first tender leaves of spring. He felt the pain within her sinking into him like the talons of a falcon.

"Why do you weep, my Edaina?"

To know your answer, you must abandon all else and travel further than you have ever imagined. Aisling twisted the amber, dissolving the image of the woman Connor knew in his soul, leaving him craving the sight of her. If you go to her, the faces of your family will live only in your memory.

What nonsense is this, Aisling? Ciara stood, staring at her sister.

Your son must choose. His family or this woman he sees in his dreams.

Ciara crossed her arms over her chest. What game are you playing?

I speak only the truth.

A truth of your making. My son is not going anywhere.

Connor smiled as he looked at his mother. I have to find her.

Ciara lifted her chin. You would leave us?

What did your parents say when you told them you intended to marry a Viking? Connor asked.

But that was different. I was… Ciara hesitated studying her son.

Connor’s chest tightened with emotion as he held his mother’s gaze and saw understanding swell with tears in her eyes.

I think you should take time to consider this, Connor.

In his mind Connor saw the faces of his father, his brothers and sisters, a vise squeezing his heart when he thought of never seeing them again. Still, he knew what he must do. Tell me how I can find her, Aisling.

Aisling smiled, seemingly satisfied with his response. When her need for you reaches into the mists of time, she will summon you to her side.

The look in Aisling’s eyes told him she knew more than she was saying. He had the sense of being manipulated in some subtle way. Yet it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding his Edaina. When will I be with her?

Aisling smoothed her fingertip over the amber. Soon.

Chapter One

Boston, 1889

Come to me.

Laura Sullivan hesitated on the threshold of the library. The turmoil that had brought her looking for her Aunt Sophie dissipated as she stared at the slim, dark-haired woman standing in the center of the room. What in the world was her aunt doing?

Sophie Chandler stood with her eyes closed, her hands outstretched toward the wall across from her. Come to me, she said, her voice unnaturally deep, as though she were trying to draw the words from the tips of her toes.

Laura looked at the wall, wondering who her aunt was summoning. Although the glass doors to one of the walnut bookcases built into the paneled walls were open, she could see nothing to command save the leather-bound volumes that lined the shelves.

Sophie opened her eyes, her expectant look dissolving into a frown. Oh, bother.

Is something wrong? Are you all right?

Sophie glanced at Laura, her frown replaced with her quick smile. Nothing, dear. I’m quite fine.

Sophie fluttered toward a wing-back chair near the hearth, muttering something about books that wouldn’t cooperate. She plucked an open book from the burgundy velvet-covered seat and stared at one of the pages.

Is that the journal Ridley found last week?

Yes. The journal of Rachel Paxton. Sophie ran her fingertips along the upper edge of the scarlet leather binding the book. It’s remarkable.

The journal had been found when a floorboard in the wine cellar had given way beneath their butler’s foot. I’m certain poor Ridley doesn’t think it’s remarkable. He was limping for days.

Poor man. But think of what he found. This journal is more than two hundred years old, and it scarcely looks worn.

Paneled walnut shutters were tucked behind the burgundy velvet-drapes at the windows. Laura crossed the room, drawn to the windows and the quiet beauty of the snow that lay beyond. There was a full moon tonight, as she knew there would be, round and lush, shimmering silver in a black sky.

Would he come?

In her mind, with every logical thought, she wished he would stay away. Yet in her heart, she begged for him to come, to whisk her away from reality. Still, she knew the problems of this world would not go away even if she chose to ignore them. A decision hung over her neck like a blade. A decision she would have to make. Soon.

Looking at this journal, I wonder just how it could manage to look so untouched after so many years.

The iron box it was in, I suppose.

Perhaps. Then perhaps it’s magic.

Laura glanced at her aunt. Better to believe in the iron box.

"Listen to this: The power of the Earth Mother shall reside in each generation descendant from me. Sophie read from the journal she held. To my descendants this book of enchantments is bequeathed, for only with their power can they be enacted."

Aunt Sophie, you don’t really believe all that hocus-pocus.

Think of it, Laura. Rachel Paxton was our ancestress, a direct line through my mother. Your great-grandmother was a Paxton. Sophie’s expressive blue eyes grew wide. I remember Grandmother had an uncanny way of seeing things in her dreams, predicting the future. Now I understand.

You don’t really believe she could predict the future?

She was right too many times for it to be coincidence. Sophie stared at the journal. "Why, we could have the power of the Earth Mother inside of us, just like Rachel."

Careful, Aunt Sophie. Rachel was burned at the stake because she believed she was a witch.

A white witch. And it says in the journal that those with the power of the Earth Mother cannot harm anyone with their magic. Rachel was only trying to help heal a neighbor who had broken his leg. Sophie shook her head as she stroked the old journal. Poor child. She was barely twenty years old, with three young children, when they snuffed out her life.

Yes, it was unfortunate. Laura stared through one square pane of glass into the gardens behind her home, where the roses and flowers lay sleeping beneath a thick white mantle. If only answers to her questions could be found written in the glittering moonlight scattered upon the rippling snow. Pity Rachel believed in enchantments and all that nonsense.

Nonsense? Sophie sounded startled by Laura’s common-sense attitude. Have you never believed in magic?

The chill of winter crept through the windowpane and seeped through Laura’s emerald cashmere gown, a pale reflection of the chill in her soul. I believe in what I can see and touch.

But there is so much more to the world, things just beyond our reach, mysteries as old as time. We all have a little magic inside of us.

Do we? If magic truly existed in the world, she wouldn’t be facing the decision she must make.

Think back to when you were a child, Laura; remember what it was like to play make-believe with your friends, when you could look at a tree and imagine it was a knight in shining armor. That magic still lives inside of you.

Laura pressed her hand against the windowpane watching the heat of her skin radiate across the glass. I never played make-believe.

Never?

Never. That wasn’t entirely true. Still, how could she explain to Sophie that she had played such games in her dreams, with a boy who had existed only in her imagination? Mother needed her rest, not a noisy child running about the house.

But you must have gone to play with other little girls?

Laura shook her head. You know how frail Mother was. Quiet now, your mother is resting; she had heard those words every day of her life.

"Yes. I know exactly how frail your mother was."

There was a tone in Sophie’s voice, a subtle shading of disgust that startled Laura. She glanced back at her aunt, searching her expression, seeing only a gentle concern in Sophie’s face. Mother was afraid I would catch some illness and bring it home.

I see. You spent most of your time alone.

Laura cringed at the pity she could hear in Sophie’s voice. She didn’t need anyone’s pity. I was allowed to visit with Ilene’s daughter from time to time.

She was hardly your age.

I enjoyed the time we spent together.

Sophie shook her head, her lips drawn into a tight line. I should have visited you more often, my beautiful child.

I read and studied. I assure you, my childhood was well spent.

It’s never too late to learn how to believe in magic.

Laura slid her fingertip over the windowpane, smoothing the steam that had collected in the shape of her hand, beads of moisture sliding like tears down the glass. I believe you are an incurable romantic, Aunt Sophie.

I suppose I am. Sophie laughed, a sound that rippled with the crackle of the fire on the hearth in the quiet room. For instance, I believe there is one special person in the world for each of us. Two halves separated before birth. And somehow we are meant to find each other in our lifetime.

Laura turned to look at her aunt. Sophie was watching her, a keen understanding in her dark blue eyes. Sophie knew her better than Laura’s mother had ever known her, but then Eleanor had never tried to know her daughter. And what happens if you never meet?

Sophie smiled, the curve of her lips hinting at a long-suppressed sadness. She was thirty-nine and had never married. In that case, as my Aunt Millicent taught me, we plunge forward and try not to think of what might have been.

Did you ever meet him, that special man?

Oh, yes. Sophie’s gaze flickered to the portrait above the mantel before resting once more on the journal she held open in her hands. The glance had lasted an instant, only an instant, but it was enough to reveal a lifetime to Laura. But I am afraid it was the wrong time, the wrong place. I was far too young to catch his eye. And by the time I was old enough, he was married.

Laura glanced to the portrait hanging above the mantel. The painting had been done thirteen years ago, when her father had been thirty. From the confines of a carved rosewood frame, her father gazed down at her with dark brown eyes, his thick, dark brown hair framing a handsome face that could capture the hearts of many a romantic maiden. Had he captured Sophie’s heart?

Sophie had left her family home when she was nineteen, to live with her widowed Aunt Millicent in New York City. Laura had always assumed Sophie had gone to keep Great-Aunt Millicent company. Yet suddenly she wondered if there had been another reason Sophie had escaped Boston.

Do you still love him? Laura’s breath stilled in her chest as she waited, both afraid and anxious to hear the answer.

It doesn’t matter.

Are you certain? Perhaps it’s not too late.

Sophie waved away Laura’s words with one slender hand. Enough of me. It’s you I’m worried about.

There is no need to be worried about me. Laura glanced out the window, watching the wind carve patterns in the snow.

Your father is a man who wears responsibilities as men once wore armor. He still feels an obligation to my father, God rest his soul, for taking him in after his own father died. Father raised him like a son, gave him the hand of his daughter in marriage, and the helm of a great shipping company. And for that, Daniel feels a great responsibility. Even though I suspect Father had his own reasons for his kindness.

Sophie was quiet for a moment. In the glass Laura could see her aunt staring up at the portrait above the mantel. I know how much Daniel wants an heir, someone to carry on the Chandler tradition. I hope you don’t feel pressured to marry someone who might not be right for you.

Father has mentioned how much he would like me to marry. But I’m certain he doesn’t mean to pressure me into anything.

From what I have seen, he scarcely spends enough time in this house to tell you anything.

It was true; her father was little better than a stranger. He has a business to run. A business Laura owned. A business her father expected Laura’s husband and children to run one day.

I’m afraid the business has become his life.

There were times when Laura wondered if his office had become a sanctuary, a place to be free of a wife who had been little more than a ghost, and a daughter who craved his attention. And then there were times when she wondered if he hoped for an escape from the crushing responsibilities of his business. She knew his only escape from Chandler Shipping would be if she married and her husband took over the business.

Philip Gardner spent a long time with you in the parlor after dinner.

Laura nodded, realizing there was no avoiding the decision confronting her. He asked me to marry him.

I’m not surprised.

When Father returns from New York tomorrow, Gardner wants to ask for my hand.

What did you tell him?

I told him I wanted to think about it.

Good. It gives me at least a little time to talk you out of the idea.

Laura turned to face her aunt. Why do you not like Mr. Gardner?

I don’t think he is right for you.

But he is from one of the finest families in Boston.

I’m certain he hasn’thesitated to elaborate on his breeding.

Laura pursed her lips, searching for Philip’s attributes. He is very handsome.

If you like that smoother-than-pudding look.

He is…responsible.

Sophie crinkled her slim nose. Stuffy.

Aunt Sophie, he is a respected gentleman, one of the most suitable bachelors in the city. Any woman would be honored to become his wife. Laura hugged her arms to her waist, feeling chilled suddenly. I’m amazed he would even find an interest in me. After all, I must be the oldest debutante in the history of Boston.

You are one of the most beautiful debutantes Boston has ever seen. Now don’t shake your head. All you have to do is look in the mirror to see the truth of what I’m saying.

Laura glanced at her father’s portrait, remembering how anxious he had been for her to enter society after their period of mourning had passed. Father was worried I would be an outcast because of his lack of family. You know how thrilled he was when Gardner took an interest in me.

In the eyes of this town you are a Chandler, Laura. Our family is one of the oldest, most influential in the city. Never let anyone make you feel less than what you are.

The responsibility of that name sat upon her shoulders like an iron yoke. I want you to know you truly helped ease Father’s fears when you agreed to come home to sponsor me.

I’m afraid your father knows how it feels to live in this town and not carry the right surname, even though he is worth a dozen of those blue-blooded Bostonians. Sophie glanced up at Daniel’s portrait, the look in her eyes whispering of wishes that had never come true. Boston is a society more concerned with who your great-grandfather was than who you are.

I know. And she knew how much it meant to her father to see her settled properly, with one of those proper blue-blooded Bostonians. Philip Gardner’s blood was as blue as it came. I’m certain you will like Mr. Gardner when you get to know him better.

I know his mother well enough, and he is every bit as arrogant as she.

Laura shivered when she thought of Gardner’s mother; she had all the warmth of a granite statue. But she was one of the most influential women in Boston society.

It has only been two months since you entered society, you need to take your time, Laura.

I’m twenty-three years old. I cannot keep waiting for a man I see only in my dreams.

Is there a man you see in your dreams? Sophie asked, her voice far too gentle; it spoke of a woman who understood the magic that could be found in dreams.

Laura didn’t want to talk about him. She was certain people left imaginary friends behind when they stepped over the threshold from childhood. Yet he was still with her, a boy who had grown into a magnificent man in her dreams.

For twenty years he had come to her one night every month, when the moon was at its fullest. She had always believed they would find each other in the world outside of the mystical valley where they met. Yet they never had.

Dreams.

Fantasies.

Foolishness.

It was useless thinking about a man who didn’t exist. And yet she knew his face, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand. She knew him in ways she had never known another human being. Did he live only in her imagination? I learned a long time ago, that dreams don’t come true.

Marriage lasts a lifetime. Think very carefully. You will live each day with your husband. Share his bed, bear his children.

Each word pulled the knot of apprehension tighter in Laura’s chest, squeezing her heart. She knew everything her aunt said was true. And yet she also felt the weight of responsibility laying across her shoulders. Not all marriages are love matches.

They all should be. Every woman should wait until she meets that special man who fills the empty places in her.

Laura drew a deep breath. I’m afraid I don’t believe in fairy tales.

Well, I do. And if I have anything to do with it, you will have your happy ending. Sophie leafed through the old journal as she spoke. Now where did I see that?

Laura frowned as she watched her aunt search through the journal. Aunt Sophie, just what are you looking for?

An incantation.

An incantation?

Sophie nodded. One to bring to you that which you most desire.

Laura stared at her aunt. You are teasing me.

Not at all. Sophie rested her finger on a page near the center of the book, studying the words for a moment before she looked up at Laura. I intend to bring him to you.

Who?

The man in your dreams.

Laura released her breath in a long sigh. You cannot be serious.

Sophie waved aside Laura’s words. Be still, dear.

Sophie stared at the open book, her lips moving as though she needed to feel the shaping of the words as well as to see them printed on the page.

Laura shivered at the sound of the wind whispering against the windowpanes. She watched her aunt, admiring her determination even as she wondered how anyone could live to be thirty-nine and maintain such innocent beliefs.

Laura’s mother had been Sophie’s older sister. Yet the two women bore little more than a nodding resemblance in looks, and had been complete strangers in temperament.

Although her health had never been robust, Eleanor had become an invalid after Laura’s birth. She had spent each day in her sitting room, reading, doing needlepoint, staring out at the gardens, not wanting or needing company. And finally, fifteen months ago, she had passed away in her sleep, congestion of the lungs draining her last reserves of life.

Sophie had returned to Boston three months ago to help launch Laura into society. A bundle of energy, vibrant with life, always finding light where others saw only darkness, that was Sophie. There had been no discussion about when Sophie might return to New York, and Laura hoped there never would be, even if her aunt did have the ridiculous notion she was a witch.

Sophie glanced up, pinning Laura in her dark blue gaze. Laura caught her breath. Never had she seen her aunt look so intense, as though the fate of the world rested upon her slender shoulders. Sophie believed, with all of her heart and soul. Sophie believed every word that was printed in that journal; Laura could see it in her eyes.

Faith radiated from Sophie, the kind of faith that pulled people through when life was crumbling around them, a faith strong enough to penetrate Laura’s defenses and touch the dreams hidden deep inside of her. Laura held her breath, watching Sophie, waiting, wondering if the power of faith could move mountains.

Sophie spoke, her voice singing like crystal touched by a blade. Hear me, Lady of the moon. Your pull is great. You move the tide. Now bring Laura’s beloved to her side.

The words rippled in Laura’s head like a distant echo, both familiar and strange all at the same instant. The fire from the carved walnut fireplace cast a golden glow behind the dark-haired woman who repeated the incantation over and over again, each time the words coming from a place deep within Sophie, a place where innocence dwelled, sheltered and nourished through the years.

Sophie fell silent, her eyes closed. Laura waited, the fine hair on her arms tingling beneath soft cashmere. Click, click, click, click. The pendulum of the grand-father clock standing against the wall across from Laura marked the seconds as they passed.

She stared at her aunt expecting...what? Did she really expect the man of her dreams to materialize out of thin air? She released the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. She was falling under the spell of Sophie’s enthusiasm. It certainly could be contagious, this faith in make-believe nonsense, especially when she wanted so much for it to come true.

Aunt Sophie, perhaps we should retire for the evening. It’s getting late and...

Sophie raised her hand, silencing Laura. She drew a deep breath and spoke the incantation, her voice vibrating in the room.

In her mind, Laura conjured the image of the man she had known since she was a child. Lost in the rhythm of Sophie’s voice, Laura silently repeated the words: Hear me, Lady of the moon. Your pull is great, you move the tide. Now bring my beloved to my side.

Sophie spoke the incantation three times, the ancient spell rippling in Laura’s brain, the words silently shaping her lips. Even when Sophie stood silent, the words seemed to hover in the air.

Laura held her breath, staring at the journal in her aunt’s slender hands. The scarlet leather had captured the glow of the fire, that was all, Laura assured herself, the only reason the book seemed to glow with a light all its own.

The wind whipped against the windows, rattling the panes. Laura started with the sudden sound. She pressed her hand to her racing heart, stumbling toward her aunt. The fire blazed on the hearth, flames leaping upward, as though the wind were coaxing the fire to escape the bounds of the hearth.

Something is happening, Sophie whispered. Do you feel it?

Laura couldn’t speak. The air pressed against her like lover’s arms, wrapping around her, warm, seductive. A fragrance drifted in the air, the smell of pine and herbs, the pungent scent of burning candles. Yet there were no candles in the room.

The electric lights in the crystal-and-brass fixture overhead flickered; they pulsed with a brilliant glow before fading to black, all the energy draining into the room.

Moonlight streamed through the windows in a brilliant column of silver. So beautiful. Laura couldn’t look away from the light, even when the fear inside of her begged her to flee. As she stared, particles of light gathered, glimmering, shimmering, coalescing, as though a celestial artist were shaping the light, gathering the brilliance, sculpting the sparkling glow.

Oh, my, Sophie whispered.

Laura couldn’t form a single word.

A figure materialized from the sparkling light. A man. Tall. Broad shouldered. Laura stared, each beat of her heart