A Tale of Two Centuries msssc-2 Read online

  Reyna tilts her head to study me. “You clearly crave adventure, Alessandra. But I have to wonder if you are brave enough to grasp it.”

  I wince, both at the raspy edge to her voice and the woefully accurate assessment. She is right; Cat did not inherit her fearlessness from me. Bravery is a virtue I have never quite grasped, though it has not stopped me from wishing it were otherwise.

  Perhaps this will change that.

  Though I do not know if Reyna is here to send me on an adventure or is simply asking me a question, in this moment, I choose to be brave. Or, at least to pretend to be. Steeling my spine and stiffening my shoulders, I jut my chin forward and confidently proclaim, “Y-yes.”

  Or perhaps not.

  Frustrated with my telltale stammer, I close my eyes. For all my desire to become a stage actress, that performance was severely lacking. I count to three, will my betraying voice to strengthen, and try again. “I mean to say, yes, I am.” I meet her eyes as brazenly as I can. “I am no longer the timid girl you once knew.” Palms glazed with perspiration clench at my sides and I strain to keep my expression neutral.

  After a moment, Reyna’s mouth twitches into a shadowy semblance of a smile.

  “Misto,” she says, and though I cannot comprehend the foreign word, I sag in blessed relief.

  The table wobbles when she stands, and as I watch Reyna’s bare feet glide to the wall of shelves, the glint of a golden band around her toe catches my eye. Mesmerized, I find myself wondering why anyone would adorn a part of the body hidden from the world.

  “I am sure you are wondering why I am here,” she says as my mind wanders, envisioning the scandal I would cause walking slipperless within the public square. “I admit my visit surprised me, too. After Caterina and I returned, I thought my purpose was over. But not twenty-four hours later, the goddess Isis gifted me with another vision.”

  At that, my guilty smile withers, and icy fingers of foreboding jerk me to attention.

  As Cat would say, her implausible time travel rocked my world. I have always believed in the divine and trusted in forces like fortune, fate, and destino. Since I was a little girl, I have faithfully attended daily morning mass and evening vespers, I rarely travel on Saturdays, and I never leave home without my talisman. Yet when my cousin returned to the twenty-first century, my belief in a benevolent power was shattered.

  How could anything that taunted me with ideas and freedoms I could never hope to experience possibly be good?

  Unaware of my emotional upheaval, Reyna says, “At first I did not understand it. The second vision differed so much from the first. But after consulting with my puridaia”—she glances over her shoulder—“my grandmother, I was at last able to decipher the prophecy.”

  A prophecy.

  Strange how such a simple word could send pinpricks of fear over my entire body. Wringing my hands, I watch Reyna dig through her sundry of items and wait for her to continue. When Reyna finally turns, she waves a golden object in triumph. “Ah-ha!” She palms a candle, then lowers her chin. “My vision, Alessandra, was of you.”

  The tent spins. Or perchance that is my head. A peculiar squirming wriggles in my belly—from fear or excitement, I do not know. The singular thought my fuzzy brain contains is a repeat of her words: of you, of you, of you.

  Reyna strides back to the table with a smirk, the shiny object and a small white candle in hand. She sets them down with a clank and a plop, and then gives me a wink. She lights the wick.

  The unexpected, and quite enormous, blaze knocks me backward.

  Rebounding in my chair, I watch in rapt horror the glow double, then triple in size. The core of the flame flashes blue, then green, then shocking vivid purple.

  “Th-that is not possible,” I whisper.

  Reyna does not argue. Instead, she chants. “Tatum, tatum, tatum vel.” Her eyes reduce to slits of liquid mercury. “Sit,” she commands in a low, steely voice. When I do nothing but stare dumbly at the unworldly flame, she says, “You asked for this, Alessandra.”

  At the reminder of my claimed bravery, I clamp my molars together and stuff the urge to take back my foolish declaration. For two years, I have cried out for adventure, for change. For release from the turmoil my cousin left in her wake and the knowledge there could be more in life than simply marrying well and being a submissive daughter.

  Skittish limbs notwithstanding, I do want this.

  “Is Cat content now?” I ask.

  If my question surprises her, Reyna does not show it. She nods thoughtfully. “Yes, I believe she is. Caterina’s destiny took her on an adventure that answered many questions. It did not solve them all, for only she can do that. But if you were to see her again and ask, I trust she would say the trip was worth every hiccup she encountered.”

  A laugh bubbles from within at the amusement in Reyna’s eyes. The memory of Cat’s many missteps plays before me much like the magical box of movies she brought in her satchel, and I recall her horrendous performance at a society dinner, her continual use of strange vocabulary, and the passionate way she did just about everything

  With a brusque nod, I return to my chair. “I am ready.”

  “Khushti.” Reyna does not waste a moment. She draws a steady breath and closes her eyes, rolling her head in a slow, controlled circle. Without lifting her lids, she says in a low whisper, “Close your eyes, Alessandra.”

  Bunching the fabric of my surcoat in my damp hand, I comply. Instantly, sounds grow sharper. I hear a ringing, followed by a metallic rattle. When Reyna speaks again, her voice is louder. “In your mind’s eye, I want you to visualize the happiness you called upon the stars to seek, whatever it is your heart most desires.”

  In my mind, Matteo bows before me, as he did so many times, clasping my hand and flashing his enticing smile. I had been convinced we were happy, that he would be my salvation. I was foolish, and that realization hurts worse than his betrayal. The pieces of my heart splinter a little more.

  The memory blessedly fades, but in its place springs a surprising one of the afternoon performance in the countryside. Why that memory chooses to taunt me for the second time today I am not certain, for it will do me no good. The joy and release of our fairy-tale play may be what my heart desires, but it is not my destiny. It is not written in the stars for a girl like me, born in this time.

  Even so, I watch the vision play out before me, and the sense of longing that overwhelmed me in the piazza consumes me anew.

  “Good,” Reyna says, as though she, too, can see my thoughts. “Hold tight to that vision, Alessandra. Do not let it go. But now imagine a locked door materializing in front of you, keeping you from the vision. From the happiness you deserve.”

  At her words, a heavy wooden door appears and slams shut. The faint sound of Cat’s laughter seeps through the crack underneath. Though I know it is just a vision, pain lashes inside my chest, and sweat trickles down my back.

  I have to open that door.

  An eerie breeze suddenly sweeps through the interior of the tent, reminding me of the squall from the courtyard. My auburn hair flies back and my eyes fly open. Reyna latches onto my wrists.

  “Stare into the flame, Alessandra,” she orders. Her voice is deeper than I have ever heard it before, as though it is coming through the earbuds Cat kept in her satchel with the singing box. “Concentrate. Look into the flame!”

  The wind picks up, whipping the sheath on the table and the sides of the tent, whistling around us and competing with her booming commands.

  “Do you see the locked door?” she yells, and I nod fiercely, blinking against the sting of my long hair lashing my eyes. The vision dances within the glowing flame. “Now, in your mind, walk toward it…unlock it…and step through it!”

  The scene unfolds exactly as she describes. Within the vivid purple core, I watch my palms press against the smooth wood and push open the heavy door. But on the other side, I no longer see Cat, Cipriano, or Lorenzo. I only see myself.

 
“Pour your passion into the vision!” Reyna’s voice grows louder with each word spoken. And though I want to ask why the vision changed, I do not speak. Whether from fear I messed up the spell or needing to see the vision play out, I bite my tongue and throw open my heart, letting myself feel all the emotions I have kept locked inside for so long.

  A large stage appears below the version of me dancing within the flame. A beam of light brighter than the sun suddenly shines over me, and the thunderous sound of applause breaks around me. Instinctually, I know they cheer for me. Pleasure washes through my core, and the Alessandra in the flame closes her eyes, savoring it. Triumph and rightness fill me to overflowing, even though I do not understand it. But when the girl in the vision opens her eyes again, the light no longer shines on her. The stage is eerily silent. And a young man enters the vision.

  I cannot see his face, but his clothes are like those in the colorful pictures from the future. Dark pants hug his long legs. A faded black shirt frames his broad back and strong arms. And even though I am certain we have never met, he reaches out to embrace the Alessandra in the vision. Warmth pools in my belly.

  “Send your desires to the stars!”

  This time I jolt at Reyna’s shriek, and her grip tightens on my wrists.

  Scared the image will disappear if I lift my eyes to the sky, I silently pray for the only desire I can think of in the moment and hope it is enough: I want to be there. On that stage. With that applause. And I want to be with him.

  The fact that I do not know who he is does not matter.

  “Did you do it, Alessandra? Did you speak your heart?”

  I nod frantically, and her nails embed themselves into my flesh. She tugs me toward her, chanting, “Gracious Lady Moon, ever in my sight, kindly grant the boon I ask of thee tonight.”

  Reyna repeats it two more times, each time her voice growing louder and louder until her chant echoes in my ears. The ground under my feet rumbles. The table shakes.

  Then every candle in the tent snuffs out.

  The room is engulfed in black.

  Chapter Three

  My heart convulses against my rib cage as though it wishes to leap from my chest and run back to the pleasant safety of my bedroom.

  Just like the rest of me.

  Reyna releases my hands from her painful grip, and I draw them close, shivering with panic, fear, and strangely enough, excitement. Though I have never been more scared in my life, I have also never done anything quite as thrilling.

  The table jostles, and I hear Reyna walk away, hopefully to light another candle. Gentle tinkling of crystal soon promises just that, and I tap my leg, eager for an end to the all-encompassing shadows. Her feet scuffle toward me, but before she strikes the match, a harsh, repetitive hum emanates from the other side of the tent. A peculiar deep, vibrating commotion follows, tickling the wisp of a memory. Somehow I have heard that unworldly sound before.

  Light springs to life on the table, carving a hole in the darkness, tickling my nose with the smell of burning sulfur. A third sound, a piercing shriek, comes from just outside the tent. So close, it could be in my very own courtyard.

  Throwing my hands over my ears, I crouch low in my chair. “What are those horrifying noises?”

  Reyna ignores my question. “Alessandra, the adventure that you seek is full of possibilities,” she says in a serious, thunderous voice. “But always remember where your real strength lies.”

  Tentatively, I remove my cupped palms from my ears, relieved to hear the shriek silenced, and blink up at the gypsy girl.

  Another cryptic message.

  Cat spent the whole of her time in Florence trying to decipher Reyna’s riddle about lessons to learn, yet my cousin left before getting any answers. Any that I knew of, that is. I have often wondered how it was she was able to return, if she managed to solve the elusive problem on her own, or if Reyna merely took pity.

  Then I stop and realize…I received my own message.

  I am on my own gypsy adventure!

  A sharp squeal outside tempers my enthusiasm. Wincing, I swallow nervously and look to Reyna, hoping for guidance. What she gives is an impatient nod toward the front of the tent, wordlessly telling me it is time to go.

  Well, then.

  No longer timid, my inner voice mocks. Is that not what you said?

  Rising from my crouch, determined to silence that voice, I plaster a wide smile onto my face and take a shaky step forward. Then another. And another. Soon I am just inside the tent, the fluttering flap the sole thing concealing me from the scary world waiting outside.

  Where have you sent me? I want to ask. What do I do now?

  Instead, I turn and curtsy. “Thank you.” It is not much, and my voice wobbles, but she seems to understand my distress, because she offers a small smile.

  Without another word, I slide my feet into my slippers. When I stand, Reyna is suddenly right beside me. She hands me a folded piece of soft paper. “Give this note to the man waiting outside. He will take you where you need to go.” My hand closes tightly over the missive.

  Reyna pulls back the flap, and blinding sunlight shoots through the opening. “Be brave, Alessandra. Reach out and take the adventure that you crave. On your journey, three signs will mark your time: an angel will speak, a soft-rose songstress will captivate, and life will imitate art. I will return at sundown when the third sign is revealed. Use your time wisely.” She looks deeply into my eyes as she says this, and I nod, knowing that I can live a lifetime of adventure in whatever time fate grants me. She watches me a moment more, then with a slight twinkle in her amber eyes, she whispers, “Latcho Drom, Less.”

  Before I can react to her use of my nickname, or ask what the foreign phrase means, Reyna gives my shoulder a gentle shove.

  …

  Glaring sunlight permeates the thin veil of my eyelids. Even though it is noonday, the light is exceptionally bright, at least in comparison to the shelter of the tent. I shield my brow with a curved hand and force my protesting eyes open. At the sight before me, I promptly shut them again.

  There is no need to fear, I tell myself. It is all but a fantastical illusion.

  Regrettably, my escalating pulse begs to differ.

  Sounds become crisper in the darkness. Rumbles, shrieks, wails, and hums. Unfamiliar chirps and impossible beeps. Piecing together my wilting courage, I take another peek and find nothing is as it should be.

  Where my palazzo usually sits is an enormous structure with golden doors and red columns, a metallic roof, and a massive mounted dragon. A pair of terrifying sculpted beasts guards the entrance. The ground is no longer one of cracked stone or even the damp earth of my garden, but assorted gray blocks etched with handprints, slipper prints, and a series of strange markings.

  I stare at the mysterious shapes on the stone before me and gasp as they all at once become clear: Harry Potter, 7-9-07. Rupert Grint. Daniel Radcliffe. Emma Watson.

  While a few of the letters are different than I am used to, it is as if my mind is faster than I, readily making sense of it all. Stooping to see the words closer, I set down Reyna’s missive, place my hands in the indentations below the word Emma, and marvel at the fit.

  “Reyna,” I call out, raising my voice over the myriad of noises. “What brand of crazy magic is this?”

  The voice that leaves my mouth is in a foreign tongue. My words echo back through my memory, and something pops in my ears like air escaping. New sounds trickle through my unclogged ears, people talking and singing like the music Cat played in her tiny box, but this time, I actually understand them.

  I twist my neck around, hands still pressed into the cool hollows, wanting to share the astonishing news with Reyna. But she and the tent are gone. In their place, an overwhelming crowd in varying degrees of scandalous dress swarms the square, each costume more shocking than the last.

  Exposed ankles, exposed legs, exposed stomachs…

  I avert my eyes heavenward, twin flames of heat burning up
my throat and into my hairline. Clutching the note, I press my hands against my knees and prepare to stand. The rough texture beneath my palms causes me to freeze.

  A horrible unimaginable truth tries to be acknowledged, and I reluctantly run my hands along my thighs, hoping, praying my fingers will brush against the soft, cool silk of my surcoat. But when they follow the curve of my lap and meet in the middle, mortification demands a glance down.

  Gentlemen’s trousers!

  Gracelessly and clumsily, I push to my feet, searching for a place to hide. If Mama’s friends were to see my legs encased in trousers, I could be ruined. Shame would come to our family name, and Father would be disgraced.

  Scanning the boisterous square, wildly jerking my head from left to right, I stumble over my own feet, lose my balance, and crash into a solid wall of rock behind me.

  “Hey!” the wall growls before shoving me forward. “Better watch yourself, little girl.”

  I swallow to push my heart back where it belongs and turn to the owner of the disagreeable voice which I can unfortunately comprehend. A scowling brute of a man lifts a scarred lip, exposing a golden tooth. The sun glints off a ring puncturing the middle of his nostrils, and I cringe, hearing Mama’s voice again, this time warning me never to leave home without a chaperone.

  The world is full of danger, Alessandra. Especially for unescorted females.

  It never occurred to me to ask what forms of danger the world holds. Now I wish I were more prepared. The man takes a step, and I shrink into myself, bracing for the harm to come. “My-my apologies, sir. Please do not hurt me.”

  In reply, he grunts. I wait with firmly sealed eyes, but when the pain fails to come, I crack them open and see him shouldering his way through the crowd. I wrap my arms around my stomach, as if I can somehow hold the squirming mass together, and exhale.