Chapter Six
June 23 , 1789- How I wish women could walk into taverns and drink! I was standing outside The Raven today, wondering if I’d ever have the courage to enter right through the front door. Mother and Father would faint dead away. How wonderfully shocked the whole world would be! And I just know all the best gossip happens inside those walls. Alas, I have my reputation to consider and there are some things a lady does not do.
…At least not publically.
From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth
Grace slowly got to her feet, dread filling her. “Oh crap…”
Just like that night in the alleyway, somehow she was back at a murder scene, reliving everything in IMAX-like reality. This was not normal. This was very, very not frigging normal . Grace’s breath wheezed in and out as she tried to get her bearings. It didn’t feel like a delusion. It felt like it was really happening. Like she was really and truly standing in the middle of another era. What the hell was she…?
“Bloody hell.” A familiar voice said very distinctly from behind her. “Either I’m far drunker than I thought or you just appeared out of nowhere, lass.”
Grace’s head whipped around, her chaotic thoughts screeching to a halt. “Jamie?”
It was really him!
Kind of.
This wasn’t her Jamie, from the twenty-first century. This was Jamie, before he became a ghost. A solid, three-dimensional Jamie, wearing an even gaudier outfit than his usual super-colorful mix of fabrics and holding a pewter mug full of ale. She gaped up at him, staggered to see him alive and breathing.
And even more gorgeous.
The flickering light from the oil lamps did great things for the shine of his hair and his already exceptional cheekbones. He tipped his tri-corner hat farther back on his head, looking like the cover shot for some Patriot-themed “Hunk of the Day” calendar. Despite her possible insanity, Grace found herself whispering the word “Wow!” under her breath. God, he looked amazing.
His eyebrows shot up when she called him by name. “Do I know you?”
“I know you .” She blurted out, staggered by the (maybe) reality of what was happening. Jesus, this was (maybe) actually happening . “We met yesterday, right over there.” She pointed to the spot where she’d fallen on the tour. In this time period, the curb was made of stone and not cement, but everything around it was eerily the same. “You don’t remember?”
“No.”
Of course he didn’t. It hadn’t happened yet.
“Strange, because you would be a difficult lady to forget.” Jamie stepped off the porch of the tavern. “I used to see the fay, back in Scotland, and I’m thinking you might be one of them. One minute the street was empty and the next you were here . Appearing out of thin air.”
“Fay?” It was so hard to think. “You mean fairies?” Oh for God’s sake… Grace nearly hit him in general frustration. “I’m not a frigging fairy, Jamie!”
“Well, what other beings just materialize out of the ether? Where do you come from? And what in God’s name has happened to your gown?” He gestured to her striped skirt. “You’re practically unclothed.”
Grace looked down at her sundress. The maxi length and spaghetti straps were perfect for a summer day back in reality, but it seemed like Jamie wasn’t sure what to make of her anachronistic outfit. No wonder. In this century, “Old Navy” meant nothing more than a bunch of British war ships.
“I…” She swallowed. “I’m just a regular human, who’s a little bit lost, alright?” Really, really lost. As in this-slightly-inebriated-pirate-was-the-only-person-on-the- planet -she-knew lost. What if she never got home?
“Lost from where?” Jamie persisted, seeing her distress. “Do you want me to fetch someone to aid you?”
“No.” She whispered with a quick shake of her head. There was no one but him. “I need you .”
“No one needs me.” The words were instant and certain, but she’d clearly captured his attention. “I can summon the Watch, if you’re…”
Grace cut him off. “I don’t want the Watch or the police or the National Guard! You have to help me, Jamie! Just stay right there and help me figure this out.” She just needed to frigging think .
He edged closer to her, at a loss as to how to proceed. “Are you hurt?”
“No. I’m just not sure how I got here. Or why. Or how to get back. Or…” She trailed off, trying to process this madness. “What day is it?”
“Sunday.”
“Sunday, the twenty-eighth of June?”
“Aye.” He checked the position of the moon. “For another hour or so. Although, if anyone should ask, I’m not one for drinking on the Sabbath.” He raised his mug at her with a wicked grin, trying to lighten the mood.
It didn’t work.
Holy cow.
Holy cow , this was honest-to-God the night Lucinda Wentworth died.
Grace was used to weirdness. Growing up, she’d lived above a store that sold chicken heads and a “magical” number-shaped pasta, which was supposed to somehow reveal winning lotto combinations. But this… This was just totally off the lu nacy charts, even for a Rivera.
Grace bent over with her hands on her knees, trying to calm her racing heart. Okay. (Peaceful green cornfields. Peaceful green cornfields.) If this was really real, (peaceful green cornfields) then she didn’t have the luxury of panic. She’d panicked the last time and it had gotten her locked up in a padded cell. (Peaceful green cornfields.) This time she had to stay calm and focus on what was important.
Like the fact that Jamie was still alive.
Grace switched her full attention to him, breathing hard. “This isn’t a delusion. It wasn’t before, either. I haven’t been going crazy, all this time. I’m… really here.” She’d actually been traveling through time, to the night of the murders, and reliving it all. There was no “maybe” about it. It was seriously happening to her. “And you’re here, too.”
“None of which explains why a fairy needs my help.” Jamie reported, still looking baffled. Who could blame him?
She gave a high-pitched laugh that bordered on hysteria. “Actually, now that I think about it, you’re the one who needs my help.”
“Aye, that seems more likely.”
Grace ran a hand through her hair, close to hyperventilating. “You’re in a hell of a lot of trouble.” She paused. “And I’m not a fairy! Jesus, can you focus, please?”
Jamie must be why this had happened. He was why she was here. Through the frantic pounding of her heart, she seized on that explanation for her current predicament. She was stuck back in time, because she was supposed to save Jamie.
Not that he deserved it.
The man wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the looming disaster. Instead, his gaze was scanning her body as if he liked what he saw. Despite everything, the heat of all that masculine focus had a hot, tight feeling building inside of her. Jamie was alive and feeling her up with his eyes.
“You’re going to aid me, then?” Having established she wasn’t in dire need of saving, he’d moved onto the business of flirting. “Well, that sounds promising. I’ve got quite a few ideas on how you can be of service.” He winked at her, not at all concerned about his own safety. When he suspected she was the one in trouble, he’d been willing to lend a hand. With regard to his own life, though, he was mind-blowingly cavalier. “I’ll get you a pint and you can regale me with tales of how you plan to rescue me from my dire fate.”
Grace waved that aside. “Just tell me… Are you one hundred percent certain that it’s 1789?”
Jamie paused, his head tilting to one side. “Aye.” His tone suggested he now thought she’d had enough pints for the day. His face grew serious, again. “On second thought, we’ll forgo the drinks and I’ll simply walk you home. You’re in no condition to be dealing with the likes of me.” He looked her up and down again with genuine regret. “Bloody shame.”
“Jamie, this isn’t a joke! You need to listen to me.”
“Oh, I’m listening to ya.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the batty woman thinks she’s come to save me and looks like a fay creature of moonlight… and I’m just going to walk her home. Why am I forever trying to be a bloody gentleman?”
“I’m not crazy.” She repeated, ignoring his muttering. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed about that, but it’s true.”
“This whole evening is becoming a bit strange.” He agreed humoringly. “I donea blame ya for being a bit confused. Where is it you live, now? Somewhere here in town?”
“No. Yes. I mean, I live here, but I don’t live here . You see?”
“Aye, that clears it all up.” He smiled like she really was batty. Or drunk. …Or possibly like he was still half-convinced she was from some alternate fairyland dimension. “Just point in the general direction of your home.”
“Trust me, we can’t walk there.”
“Well, I know it’s not exactly proper, but it isn’t safe for you to be wandering about at this hour.” He stopped in front of her and held out an elegant palm. “I’ll admit to being a bit of a cad, but I’m not a man who would leave a lady in your condition all alone on the street. There are too many bad sorts in that tavern.” He pointed towards The Raven. “This is Ned Hunnicutt’s establishment and he’s an ass. He attracts other asses around him, like flies to a latrine.”
That diverted her for a beat. “You seriously never like that guy, do you?”
“The maps he sells are bloody awful, he treats the serving girls poorly, and he waters down his ale. I’m sure he was secretly a Tory.” Jamie assured her. “Now, I just want to see you home and then I’ll be on my way. I give you my word.”
“Listen to me: I can’t go home, yet. ” Shock was fading and a new idea was forming in her mind. For the first time in years, the pessimistic voice in her head faded and optimism took its place.
The best way to save Jamie was to prevent the killings.
Maybe she was supposed to rewrite history. Maybe that was why she’d been dropped in this specific moment in time. Maybe she could really do this. Maybe it was all that simple.
Grace took a deep breath. “I have to try and stop him, before it’s too late.”
“Stop who now?”
There was no way she could answer that. Instead, she grabbed hold of Jamie’s beautiful hand, wrapping her fingers around his. “I know it sounds nuts, but you have to get out of Harrisonburg. Tonight.” In case she failed, she needed to make sure he wasn’t around to hang. If he wasn’t here, they couldn’t blame him for the murders. “Trust me. You need to get on your ship and sail far, far away. Right now.”
Except he didn’t seem eager to go.
The sparks when they touched were even stronger when they were both tangible. Jamie gasped, his face growing taunt. Desire throbbed between them. His palm twisted, so he could seize her fingers and press them tight. He seemed more stunned by the sensation of her skin against his than by her agitated words.
Grace knew how he felt. She could actually touch him and it made tears burn the back of her eyes. The connection that bound them was real, whether he was alive or dead. And right now he was alive . Really, really alive. She intended to keep him that way.
God, he really was her Partner.
What the hell was she going to do about that?
He glanced down at their joined hands, then back up to her eyes. A new awareness lit his face, like he somehow recognized her. “Who are you really?” It was barely a whisper.
Grace smiled, elation filling her despite this newest detour into weirdness. She was sane and Jamie was alive and she (sort of) had her job back. What more could she ask for, really? Positivity roared through her, reminding her of her life before the alleyway.
“I’m the girl who’s going to save you, Jamie Riordan.”
And then --Because when was she ever going to get the chance again?-- Grace kissed him. Her free hand seized the front of his super-patterny green coat and she dragged his lips down to hers. Not that it took a lot of dragging, which was gratifying. Jamie lowered his head without even a smidgen of hesitation. His lips slanted over hers, drinking deep. The man tasted like magic and oceans and wicked intent. Since she was fifteen years old, she’d been daydreaming about this pirate and he was sooooo worth the wait
Those perfect hands settled on her waist pulling her closer, a low groan rumbling in his throat. She might have started this, but Jamie was in no hurry to see it end. Strong arms lifted her against his chest, like he wanted even more of her. Grace’s feet left the ground, clinging to him as she kissed him back. All her therapist’s jabber about “unrealistic expectations” and Robert’s whining about her semi-frigidity faded to nothing with Jamie. Everything inside of her reached a flashpoint of desire. All she wanted to do was push him to the ground and lick her way down his incredible body.
And Jamie certainly wouldn’t have put up much of a fight. The guy was holding her so tight, it was a wonder she could still breathe. “Mine.” He got out hoarsely. “ Finally .”
Grace’s insides clenched at the hot words. Human or ghost, he was a pirate who took what he wanted. It turned her on to have all that possessive focus aimed her way. Whenever he looked at her, Grace could feel him claiming her and now that they had the ability to touch, there was no hesitation, at all. Large palms grabbed handfuls of her skirt, clearly wanting to rip it right off of her. He might have no earthly idea who she was, but he sure seemed interested in learning.
…Too bad she didn’t have time to explain it all to him.
If there was one person who could help her solve this case, it was Jamie. But what the hell could she say to him now that he would ever believe? Nothing. If she tried to explain it all, he’d have her locked up for her own good and eighteenth-century asylums were an even worse option than modern ones. She needed to do this on her own.
And she needed to do it now .
Grace pulled back, breathing hard. “I gotta go.”
Jamie reluctantly loosened his grip as she squiggled free. His gentlemanly instincts were warring with his desire to keep her right there in his arms. “Wait…”
“I can’t.” She backed away from him. “I gotta go , Jamie. It might already be too late.”
He didn’t bother to ask what she was late for. He was too busy following her right down the rabbit hole. “I do know you.” He said, closing the small distance of her retreat. “God, I would know you anywhere.”
Grace hesitated. “You remember me?” How was that possible?
Jamie shook his head. “I never met you a day in my life… but I’ve still been waiting for you.” Dazed blue eyes traced over her face, memorizing it. “I always knew I’d recognize my bride when she finally showed up.”
Revolutionary era pick-up lines, now? Unbelievable! “Just stay here and make sure you have an alibi until morning.” She took off running, her sandals thudding against the cobblestones. “Then, get out of town!” She called over her shoulder. “I mean it!”
Jamie didn’t seem eager to take that advice. “Where the hell are you going?” He shouted after her. “You didn’t even tell me your name!”
Grace didn’t have the time or oxygen to answer that. She hiked up the length of her dress and jumped over a hedge in her mad dash across town square. Most days, she was embarrassingly unathletic for someone named “Grace” but this wasn’t most days. She needed to get to Lucinda’s house before Jamie’s ex got herself killed.
The Wentworth mansion was three streets over and six blocks up. The quickest way to get there was to cut right through some flower gardens. One of the benefits of living in a place that hadn’t changed since George Washington was president was that time travelers didn’t need a map. It was simple for her to navigate through the familiar landmarks of Harrisonburg. Sure the houses were painted different colors and the trees were smaller and the stars overhead were a thousand times brighter, but this was still her town. She could’ve found the Wentworth house blindfolded.
She’d just prefer to find it in a car.
Grace hadn’t run full out since high school gym and her lungs really weren’t thanking her for the trip down memory lane. It took way too long for her to cover the relatively short distance across town. She was wheezing like a broken accordion by the time she shortcut-ed her way into the Wentworth’s backyard.
Instantly, she saw that Ghost-Jamie had left out a very important detail about the back of Lucinda’s house. While he’d been right about the lack of a porch under her bedroom, he’d forgotten about the rose trellis. It was attached to the side of the house, providing a perfect improvised ladder for anyone who wanted to climb up to the second story.
“Goddamn it!”
It was the worst language she’d used in years, so of course Jamie was there to hear it.
“You’ve got a sailor’s mouth on ya, lass.” He cheerily reported, coming up behind her. “I like that in a woman. Never did care for the timid ones. Much more fun when a girl swears a blue streak and drags you down for a kiss, now and then. ”
Grace spared him a sideways look, not very surprised that he’d followed her. Dead or alive, the pirate was incapable of following directions. “ You’re going to lecture me about cursing?” She scoffed. “Please.” He used the word “fuck” a half-dozen times just saying “good morning.” She did a quick scan for any footprints in the soft dirt. If she had hairspray and plaster of Paris, she could have made casts of them for comparison. For better or worse, she didn’t see any prints, though.
…Also, she doubted hairspray had been invented yet.
“And, FYI, you called me timid yesterday.” She tacked on distractedly.
“Doena recall knowing you yesterday, so perhaps you’re thinking of another dashing Scottish captain. One far less perceptive than me. Also, far less handsome, I’m sure.”
Grace flashed him an exasperated glance. “Must you flirt with every girl you meet?”
“Just the one I’m going to wed.”
“I knew you weren’t going to take this seriously. What are you even doing here? I thought I told you to go establish an alibi.”
“Aye, ya did. But I’ve got no bloody clue what that means, so I decided to join you here in the Wentworth’s shrubbery instead.” He gestured to the bushes, where they were hiding. “Besides, you never told me your name and I’d like to know what to call my future wife.”
He really was an incurable scoundrel. “Any future wife of yours could only be called ‘crazy.’” She assured him.
“Not true. I distinctly recall you telling me you’re not crazy and you don’t seem one to lie.” He leaned a bit closer. “Come on, lass. Just tell me your name. Please?”
God, he was pretty. “Grace.” She fumbled in the pocket of her sundress, refusing to be distracted by his charm, and came up with her smartphone. “I’m Grace.”
His mouth curved. “Of course you are.” He murmured. “No other name would suit you, a’tall.”
She didn’t even bother to ask what that meant. It was much darker in the past than it was in the modern age of electricity and light pollution. How was she supposed to investigate if she couldn’t frigging see? Grace clicked on her flashlight app and shone it up at Lucinda’s room. “Goddamn it!”
The window was open, white curtains blowing in the summer breeze.
“What the hell is that? ” Jamie’s tone went from seductive to astonished. He gaped at the glowing smartphone and she realized that she had zero ways to logically explain it. Ben Franklin flying a kite in a lightning storm was a long way from Apple’s newest technology.
“Okay, fine.” Grace shrugged. “I’m a fairy. Just accept the magic. And, for God’s sake, keep your voice down.” The last thing she needed was someone spotting him at the crime scene. He’d be hanged ahead of schedule.
Jamie obligingly lowered his voice to a baffled hiss. “What are you doing here, pray tell? If you plan to rob the Wentworths, I’d suggest doing it when they aren’t all home and abed.”
“I’m not robbing them, idiot. I’m trying to protect them.” Unfortunately, she had the bad feeling she was already too late. How could she be too late? The murder shouldn’t happen for hours, according to Gregory Maxwell’s book. Why would she be sent back to save Lucinda, if she didn’t have time to actually save her?!
“Protecting them from what? I’ve an acquaintance with Miss Lucinda. So if she’s in some kind of trouble, I’ve a vested interest in knowing about it.”
“Yeah, I know all about your ‘vested interest’ in Lucinda.” Grace muttered in irritation.
Jamie shot her a quick look. “There’s nothing arranged between us, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I’ve a fondness for the girl, but it isn’t a’tall serious.”
“Like I care about that, right now.” She totally cared about that. Grace sent him a sideways look and Jamie caught hold of her gaze, not letting go.
“Lucinda’s not the one I’ve been waiting for.” He said quietly. “I promise you. The woman does not belong to me, nor me to her.”
Grace shook her head, before those sincere blue eyes hypnotized her and she got sidetracked. “You and your love life are your own business. I’m just here to stop a murder.”
“You’re…?” Jamie’s expression went slack. “Wait, a what!? ”
“Keep your voice down! Look, you have no idea what’s going on, so just let me handle this and stay out of sight.” She started across the lawn, her attention on that open window.
A feeling of dread settled in her stomach. The same feeling she always got when she arrived at a crime scene. Something moved in Lucinda’s bedroom. Some one . A silhouette of black against the white curtain.
Goddamn it.
“Stop!” Grace shouted, heading for the house. “Stop right there!”
Behind her, Jamie let out a curse. “Weren’t we supposed to be keeping quiet? That surely woke the whole neighborhood.”
In the bedroom, the shadowy figure vanished. Grace heard footsteps pounding inside the house as the person fled, but she couldn’t tell how big they were or what they looked like. “Jamie, go around to the front!” They needed to cut him off before he fled. “Hurry!”
He was staring up at the window, his snarking silenced by shock. “Was someone inside Lucinda’s…?”
“Go!” Praying that the wooden slats held, Grace pulled herself up the trellis. “But whatever you do, don’t get caught here yourself. They’ll think you did it.”
“You can’t go up there by yourself, woman!”
“You think this tiny little trellis is going to support you?” Thorns cut her hands and rose pedals cascaded to the ground as she climbed. She seriously needed to get in better shape if she was going to do insane stuff like this. “Hurry!” Her arms burning from strain and her hair full of leaves, she finally managed to heave herself over the window sill and into the room .
Even in the darkness, she saw the blood.
The killer hadn’t had time to clean up the crime scene, yet. Lucinda was sprawled there in a white nightgown, already dead and gone. It looked as if her throat had been slashed. More than just her throat. Her blood covered the flowered floor cloth, pooling under her body. Thick and sticky, it soaked so deeply into the wooden slats beneath the bed that it would still be there two centuries later.
Grace bit back a scream, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped her phone.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t deal with this. It was all too much. She told Jamie it was too much. She’d failed to save Lucinda, and she was somehow back in time, and she was looking at another dead body, and she was going to lose her mind for real this time. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think .
Peaceful green cornfields. Peaceful green…
Wait.
She swallowed, her brain piecing facts together even through her shock. Wait. Was the blood already cold? The edges of the puddle were beginning to dry. She blinked rapidly, her training kicking in. It was sometime around eleven, according to Jamie, and Lucinda had been dead for over an hour. She was sure of that. That meant she must have died almost as soon as she said goodnight to her sister and went to bed.
Her killer had been waiting for her. Maybe he’d left a clue.
Panic gave way to sudden determination. If she couldn’t save Lucinda, at least she could catch who did this. This was a crime scene, after all, and she was the only one capable of investigating it.
Grace’s eyes narrowed and she quickly grabbed the camera that was still looped around her neck. Pictures. She needed pictures. Her finger repeatedly slammed down on the shutter button. Photos lit up the cameras LCD screen. The flash revealed much more than her eyes could see in the darkened room. Whoever killed Lucinda had been furious with her. Wrathful. Not only had they cut her throat, they’d stabbed her again and again.
She hadn’t been raped, though. Overkilling like this could often be a sign of a sexual predator, but Grace didn’t get a feeling of impersonal evil from this scene. This killing was all about rage and punishment. Someone had hated Lucinda. Someone who knew her. The camera picked up distinctive smears in the blood, evidence of the killer’s frantic movements.
Grace crouched down to examine them closer. Bare feet? Had the killer been naked to avoid getting blood on his clothes? That wasn’t unheard of, but it hinted at a high level of criminal sophistication. Who in this town had the smarts to…?
Something under the bed caught her eye. A book was hidden behind the mattress, impossible to see unless you were at floor-level. Maybe it was something the killer touched. Maybe she could get fingerprints. Grace leaned over to grab it, trying to make out the title in the dim light. A diary maybe? It was all handwritten.
As she flipped through the pages, her thumb brushed against an unseen drop of blood that had spattered on the leather cover. Instantly, the disorientating sensation of the world shifting around her struck again.
Just as quickly as she’d left, Grace was back in the twenty-first century.
It was as if nothing had happened, at all. She was kneeling on the floor of Lucinda’s former bedroom, surrounded by modern odds-and-ends, and Ghost-Jamie was staring at her. Only something had happened. Something that left her scared and shaken and forever un normal.
Her gaze went up to Jamie’s taunt face. “I saw her.” She whispered. There was no denying it. Lucinda’s book was still in her hand. “When I touched the blood, I went back to 1789.” And the drop that sent her forward again was still wet on her skin. “I saw Lucinda dead. I really saw her, Jaimie.”
Peaceful green cornfields.
Peaceful green cornfields .
Peaceful green cornfields.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” He knelt down beside her, looking as traumatized as she felt. “Are you alright, Grace?”
“I have no idea.” She suddenly wasn’t sure of anything. Nothing at all. She stared into Jamie’s concerned eyes and swallowed hard. …Well, maybe one thing: I’m going to prove that you didn’t kill those girls.”