Chapter Thirty #3
“Nothing.” Cleo put a hand on his cheek. “You’re a little pale yourself.”
“Rough ride. We good?” he asked Sonya.
“Yes. It’s Clover now.” Because she knew this would take the biggest toll, she shut her eyes. “We need to go to the bedroom. Where she had Collin and my father. Where she died.”
Clover’s understanding came through with “In the Name of Love.”
As they walked to the bedroom, a scream sounded on the third floor.
“She missed the seventh ring,” Cleo said as something boomed like cannon fire.
“We need to see Clover and Charlie, the birth of Collin Poole and Andrew MacTavish. We need to be there, take back what was stolen so we can return it.”
When the mirror came, Owen saw movement in the glass, and the flash of fire, heard music—“I Only Want to Be with You.”
“Watch your backs,” he said to Trey and Cleo. Grabbing Sonya’s hand, he pulled her through just as the fire in the now roared to life.
Cleo pulled the sage stick from her pocket, lit it. “I put protection in every space Sonya laid out. If it’s not enough—”
“We’ll handle it.”
For the second time, Sonya saw her father’s birth, heard his first cry.
“Well, Jesus” was the best Owen could manage.
“It’s my dad. Charlie’s holding my dad.” Streaming tears blurred her vision. She wanted to touch, just once to touch the tiny new life that would grow into the man she’d loved so much.
For a moment, she swore the infant looked at her with her father’s eyes. Reaching out, she brushed a finger over the soft cheek.
“Man, I’m sick with sorry, Sonya, but you have to get the ring.”
“I know. I will.”
As she put her hand over Clover’s, the tableau froze.
Or so she thought.
Clover’s hand moved under hers. Her head turned and she offered a weak smile. “Did you come to see the babies? Me and Charlie have two beautiful boys. Hey, you’ve got Charlie’s eyes. You, too.”
“I know. They are beautiful, and so are you. I’m sorry. I have to take this for now. I’m going to get it back to you.”
“I’m so tired,” Clover said as Sonya took the ring, slid it onto her right-hand ring finger. “But I have to nurse the babies. They need me. I’m going to be such a good mom.”
“The best.”
The exhausted eyes cleared for a moment. “She’s coming soon. You have to hurry.”
Before Sonya could speak again, Owen pulled her back through the mirror.
“She knew.” Sonya covered her face with her hands. “She knew.”
Trey put his arms around her. “Eighteen minutes flat. We need to keep going.” When he started to pick her up, she pushed back.
“No, I can walk. I will. She knew, and she told us to hurry. It’s the ballroom next.”
Fires roared in every room, and lights flickered on and off. In unison, the dogs growled when they reached the third floor. Jones turned with a guttural bark toward the door where hard red light pushed through into an outline.
“Jones!”
At Owen’s sharp command, the dog snarled once but followed.
Breathless, more than a little dizzy, Sonya began to call the mirror before they reached the ballroom.
“We need to go back to Lisbeth’s wedding day. To where the band played and people danced. We need to take what was stolen from her so we can give it back.”
The mirror waited.
“If you need a minute.”
“No.” But she squeezed Cleo’s hand. And this time, she led Owen through.
Lights gleamed while women in glorious gowns danced with men in formal black suits, in shirts with stiff white collars. Sonya saw Owen Poole, the proud father, beaming while he led his young, beautiful daughter in a quick fox-trot.
“I’m so happy, Daddy. It’s the happiest day of my life.”
“I know I have to give you back to your husband again.”
“My husband!” And throwing back her head, Lisbeth laughed. “I’m a wife.”
“But you’ll always be my little girl.”
“It’s going to happen soon,” Sonya remembered.
They had to wind their way through the dancers, then through servers who passed glasses of champagne.
When they reached Lisbeth, Sonya tried not to focus on that shining young face, but on the ring that rested on her father’s shoulder.
The music stopped, as did all movement.
“I’m sorry, Lissy.” She slid the ring off the bride’s finger and onto her own.
They’d barely started back when the music sounded again. Sonya stumbled through a pair of dancers. She caught herself, but thought she’d lost Owen.
She stopped, looked behind her.
“She’s coming. Go!”
Through the laughter, the dancers, then the screams, Sonya ran. She caught a glimpse of Dobbs gliding into the ballroom as she and Owen all but fell through the mirror.
And into a ballroom where cracks had begun to form on the walls.
When Sonya swayed, Trey hooked an arm around her waist. “She’s taking it up a notch.”
“We saw her, she was just coming in.” Owen spoke leaning over, head between his knees as the dogs whined and licked. “A little space, guys. Time?”
“Eight-twenty-three.”
“Weird. That took longer over there than the other two.” He straightened. “Still good?”
“Good enough. We stay here this time at least.” And here where it seemed the floor rocked under her like the deck of a boat in an angry sea.
“For Agatha. We want to see Agatha on her wedding day. We need to go back to the ballroom on that night, before she died. To take what was stolen from her so we can give it back.”
She heard Dobbs’s scream of rage as the chandeliers began to sway. “Please be careful.”
Candlelight filled the ballroom. The music, more refined, drew couples into a waltz. A young Owen Poole, now groom rather than father of the bride, danced with Agatha.
The bride, regal, aloof, looked very pleased. Her wedding ring shot fire.
“He’ll ask her to go sit with Jane, his twin. Pregnant over there.”
“I see her. You holding up?”
“I’ve got to. Pretty queasy now.”
“I hear that.”
As Owen led Agatha toward Jane, Sonya swayed again. “Sorry. Room took a big spin.”
“I can get this one.”
“I have to. You know that.”
She felt more than half drunk as she started over. Her ears rang, and for a second, her vision doubled. Before movement stopped, she reached for the ring.
Agatha jerked as if struck, then froze, eyes wide, lips parted.
“Sorry,” Sonya muttered, and pushed the ring onto her finger.
This time she and Owen hooked arms and, weaving, made it back to the mirror.
“Shit, here we go.”
He went down to his knees when they passed through. Trey managed to catch Sonya before she did the same. “They all fit,” she said as her head spun. “Whatever finger I put them on, they fit. Funny. A little sick.”
“Little’s relative,” Owen managed. “We may need a bucket before this is done.”
“They’re bleeding. The walls are bleeding.”
And the doorbell bonged, fog had begun to creep. A war sounded from the third floor.
“How much time?”
“That might’ve been the longest twenty-one minutes, fifty-six seconds of my life. And you both need to take a few more. You’re sheet pale now.”
“Here. I ran down for these.” Cleo passed Sonya a Coke, knelt to hold the other to Owen.
“Might sick it right back up.”
“You won’t.” She brushed her hand over his clammy face. “Four down, three to go. Then the real work begins.”
“You kill me, Lafayette.” But he drank. “Bedroom next, another push-the-babies-out deal. Jesus, why do women ever agree to that?”
This time Sonya didn’t object when Trey carried her, nor did Owen object to Cleo taking some of his weight as they went down.
Now the door of the Gold Room glowed red, and had begun to pulse.
“Marianne.” In the bedroom, Sonya bore down as Trey set her on her feet. “We need to see Marianne when she gave birth to her twins, Owen and Jane. We need to…”
“Take what was stolen from her,” Owen finished. “So we can give it back. I’ll hold you up, cousin. You hold me up.”
With a nod, Sonya went through with him into the room where a roaring fire heated the air and candles flickered for light.
And two women attended the one crying out in pain.
“Jesus Christ, there’s gotta be a better way.”
The midwife knelt on the bed between Marianne’s legs. The infant Owen, already delivered, squalled.
And the newborn Jane slid into the midwife’s hands on a shrill cry.
Weeping again, she couldn’t help but weep, Sonya walked to the bed. This time when movement stopped, she wasn’t surprised when Marianne looked at her.
“Poole green. Your eyes. Who will mother my babies when I’m gone?”
“Their father will love them as he loves you. I have to take the ring, Marianne.”
“They’re Owen and Jane.”
“I know. I’m from them. We’re from them. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
“Save my babies.”
“They live good, long, happy lives.”
Sonya stepped back as the midwife cupped the infant. With five of the seven rings on her fingers, she turned to Owen. They held each other up as they went back through.