Timespell (15 page)

Kaitlyn’s sobbing rose and fell among the high-pitched chatter of those on board. Ladies in elegant gowns with wide panniers whispered behind fans. One swooned at the sight of them. Angie turned her attention to Julia.
So pale.
The sight of her slack face— the very stillness of her—made Angie’s heart stop. She tried to establish their connection, but there was no answering magic in her friend’s lifeless body. She could feel nothing of her emotions. It was as if her thoughts didn’t exist anymore.

“Restore,” she whispered, forcing the scarce magic she had left to serve her. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She had taken too long to find her. She hadn’t been strong enough against the creature.
Julia, wake up.
A sob racked her body as she tried again and again to establish their connection. If she let herself, she could see into her friend’s mind even when Julia was sleeping. She could draw upon her friend’s magic if she needed to. But this stillness was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Her friend was gone.

She rocked Julia against her chest. “Restore,” she said though the well of tears spilling over her cheeks.
“Restore.”

Julia coughed once. Brown water trailed from her nose and mouth.

“Restore,” Angie repeated. “Restore!”

Julia’s chest rose in a great wheeze of breath. She coughed up more water, her limbs and body otherwise limp.

“Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”

Angie watched as Julia’s chest rose and fell in halting, unnatural breaths.
Breathe,
she willed.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Her magic couldn’t make her friend breathe forever, but she had to keep trying.

“Mademoiselle?”
A man knelt beside her.
“Êtes-vous blessé?”

She sniffed, unable to compose herself.
“Oui, monsier.”
She lifted her eyes to meet his. “My friend is badly injured,” she continued in the French she had been studying since junior high. “We need your help.”

“So I see,” he whispered. “I have alerted the Princesse de Lamballe. We are returning to the palace immediately.”

“The princess?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.
This is the princess’s own royal barge.”

Angie cast a furtive glance about the ship, then down at her prom dress. The Princesse de Lamballe. They must be in pre-revolutionary France. Their prom dresses, though made of fine material, would appear as little more than strange undergarments to these people. She needed a cover story to explain their appearance. If she could convince him that the three of them had been taken for ransom by highwaymen—

“
Mademoiselle
?”

Angie lifted her hand to her forehead, hoping she could play the part of the distressed foreigner. She didn’t know what would become of them if she couldn’t pull it off.

“I-I feel faint,” she whispered.

A
ngie sat beside Julia on the embroidered coverlet. At least she was breathing on her own, and it no longer came in shallow, halting gasps. That had to be a good sign.

“If she dies, are we stuck in the past?”

Angie clenched her jaw. “How can you say that, Kaitlyn?” She focused on the silk damask walls and forced herself to calm down, never having come so close to physical violence before.

“Chill. I only meant that if something happens to one of us, the rest of us are screwed too, right? Our powers stop working if one of us dies. The gypsy lady said so.”

Angie didn’t want to listen to her anymore. They were safe
now. But no matter how hard they tried, no one had been able to revive Julia.

Angie stared vacantly at a gold-framed painting of a sad boy and matching dog. Julia would be okay. She swallowed and held Julia’s wrist in her hand, tapping it over and over again. “Wake up. Come on, wake up.”

Kaitlyn sneezed. “You’ve got to shake her or something. Slap her across the face. Want me to do it?”

Angie glared at her before propping Julia up against her chest. Restore was a spell of healing, but it had done nothing to change Julia’s state. She battled images of Julia comatose, never waking again. Her heart iced over.

Kaitlyn sneezed again. “What is up with these dresses they gave us to wear? I’m freezing.”

Angie swallowed. “They’re shifts. Like underdresses.”

“They’re ugly.” Kaitlyn plopped down in a gilded chair, arranging her hair over her shoulders. “Do we just sit around and wait for our own clothes?”

“The girl with the dark hair said she would bring day gowns for us to use until our family could send us clothes.”

“Our family?”

“They think we’re cousins, visiting from the colonies to see the continent.”

Kaitlyn began examining her split ends. “What are you talking about?”

“It was common back then—I mean, now—for extremely wealthy colonial families to send their daughters to tour Europe. It completed their cultural education. Considering neither of you speak French, it was the best I could come up with.”

Kaitlyn shrugged a single shoulder. “Good thing one of us is a nerd.” She turned her piercing gaze on Julia. “That doctor said she might never wake up.”

Tears sprang to Angie’s eyes. “Wake up, Julia. Please.” She swallowed and whispered, “Restore,” for what felt like the thousandth time. Magic spread out from her palms in gentle
waves. She rubbed her friend’s arm, smoothing the soft skin of Julia’s mark. The intertwining swirls and symbols encircled a flaming sun. It glimmered faintly.

Angie glanced up at Kaitlyn’s emotionless face. Now that they were both rested, maybe they could heal Julia properly. “Give me your hand. We need to be connected.”

Kaitlyn let out an irritated sigh.

Even Kaitlyn couldn’t be that heartless. The Fates had chosen her for a reason, hadn’t they?

“Fine.” Kaitlyn took Angie’s outstretched hand.

Angie’s breath caught at the warmth that coursed through her body. She sent Julia some of the magic building inside her. The mark on Julia’s arm glittered, the swirls shifting and moving. “Wake up,” she whispered.

Julia’s eyes moved behind her lids.

“Send her a little more magic,” Angie said. “But try not to overwhelm her.”

Julia groaned. Her eyes became two red-rimmed slits. “Angie?” she croaked.

Angie exhaled. “She’s okay.”

“You think?” Kaitlyn asked. “She looks like a corpse to me.”

“You,” Julia whispered, her eyes sliding to Kaitlyn, “suck.”

“Stop,” Angie said, before Kaitlyn could unleash her fury. She tucked the blankets up around Julia, who curled into a ball with a vague grumble about hating exercise. “She needs rest.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Kaitlyn said, stomping across the room. “She also needs a facial and a deep conditioning treatment. Whatever. I’m ready to figure out why the hell we’re here in fairy tale land.” She riffled through a box on a delicate vanity table. “I just don’t get it. That Ethan guy is supposed to be our guardian, and so far he’s sucking at it. Not to mention the portal. How do we find it and get back to our lives so we can
really
use the magic?”

Angie swallowed thickly. “You shouldn’t look through other people’s things.”

“Whatever!”

A light tapping sounded at the door and Kaitlyn jumped. She shut the box with a snap as four ladies and two servants entered the room. Angie recognized one from the barge. She was very young, with dark, lustrous hair and matching eyes. Her gown was the kind Angie had only seen in her favorite movies, with a patterned silk bodice and scalloped skirts held up by clusters of rosebuds.

“Maria Teresa Luisa, la Princesse de Lamballe,” one of the women announced.

Angie’s lips parted. She rose slowly from the bed, studying the dark-haired girl’s face. She had a fine-boned nose and slightly pursed lips. Her large, melancholy eyes only pretended at indifference, for there was marked curiosity behind her gaze.

Angie knew the Princess of Lamballe had been one of Marie Antoinette’s closest friends. She was a widow, and in many ways the opposite to the future queen’s buoyant, radiant personality. All of this sped through Angie’s mind as she approached the young woman, trying to recall what she knew of the strict rules of decorum in the French royal court. Hopefully her story of being from colonial England would excuse the offenses they were sure to make. “Kaitlyn. Curtsy,” she whispered, sinking low to the ground.

Kaitlyn laughed. “What are you—”

Angie grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her down beside her. “And keep your eyes down.”

“
Mademoiselles
,” the princess began,
“Madame la Dauphine est tres desolee pour votre cousine.”

Marie Antoinette ... concerned about Julia? Angie shut her eyes briefly and summoned her magic. “Comprehend,” she whispered, casting the spell that helped her understand the princess’s French more clearly. Despite studying it at school, the dialect was so different. She had to be sure of what she was hearing.

The Princess of Lamballe continued, “Madame la Dauphine has dispatched soldiers to search for the rogues who overtook your carriage. She would be honored to offer you the hospitality
of Tuileries Palace for as long as you have need. The royal doctors will be returning within the hour, and Madame la Dauphine desires you to want for nothing while in her care.”

“Thank you,” Angie replied in French, hardly believing her ears. The Dauphiness of France, future Queen Marie Antoinette, was offering to help them? Images flashed through her mind, cold as steel. Marie Antoinette died—or would die in the not too distant future. Was Marie Antoinette’s fate sealed?

“Get with it,” Kaitlyn said in an angry whisper. “You’re acting weird.”

Angie snapped out of her reverie, focusing on the Princess of Lamballe’s interested gaze. Angie cleared her throat. “We can never repay the Dauphiness for this kindness.”

The princess moved closer, her eyes never leaving Angie’s. “Madame la Dauphine is renowned for her compassion and generosity. No case of unfortunate circumstances can reach her ears without her offering to help.”

“Of course,” Angie said, curious about the truth of France’s most notorious queen. History’s opinion of Marie Antoinette varied widely depending on the book she read. One author told the story of an orphaned child adopted by Marie Antoinette, his extended family placed under royal protection, his sisters given dowries. Another focused on the queen’s immaturity and out of control spending. Angie recalled the hundreds of courtiers and servants they had passed as they entered the palace—and this was only Tuileries. Versailles had thousands in residence. How much power would Marie Antoinette have, even as queen, over a system that had been in place for centuries before her arrival?

“These gowns are for your use,” the princess stated as a pair of servants placed bundles on the lion-footed chair. “It was courageous of you to jump into the river to save your honor. How did you plan such an escape?”

“I hardly remember,” Angie said evenly. “It happened so quickly.” She swallowed. If she caught so much as a hint of doubt
from the princess, she would have to act. There was a spell that could help her. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it.

“Extraordinary,” the princess said, walking with silent steps across the carpeted floor until she reached the edge of Julia’s bed. “You were on your way to Paris, were you not? You desired a glimpse of Madame la Dauphine on her Parisian debut?”

Angie didn’t shift her weight under the princess’s direct gaze. “Yes. Exactly so.”

The princess didn’t hide her smile. The sight caused a breath of relief to leave Angie’s lungs. She didn’t want to use Persuasion against the princess. The spell could convince someone to believe a falsehood for a while, and Angie had never cast it. It felt wrong on every level. If it meant allowing them to fulfill their mission and remain at the palace, she would do it. Finding the portals and stopping the creatures mattered more than anything.

“You are fortunate to have arrived in Paris in time for Marie Antoinette’s first official appearance. All of Paris has come in her honor. How adored she is. How the people crowd around her.” The princess’s cheeks became rose petal pink. She looked almost like a normal girl. Someone about to share exciting news ... like Julia right before prom. “She is so beautiful. So charming. No queen will be better loved than my mistress.”

Or more despised.
Angie kept her face carefully neutral. “I am sure it will be as your highness says.”

Julia moved restlessly in bed.

It was as if the princess suddenly remembered where she was. The sophistication returned to her like a cloak settling on her shoulders. Once again, the princess was a woman who believed in her own importance. She strode to the door, pausing in the carved doorframe like the centerpiece on a flowery birthday cake.

“Shall I send parchment for you to write a letter to your family, or have you need of a scribe?”

“Parchment, thank you,” Angie said. It was common enough for a woman not to be literate in these times. At least being able
to write was more proof to the lie about being born of a wealthy colonial family.

“Very well. You may give the footman the street to which it should be delivered. I shall leave you now. Sophie and Claudette will help you dress and attend to your needs.”

As soon as the Princess of Lamballe left the room Julia opened her eyes. “Wow, Angie, your French is awesome.”

Kaitlyn flopped onto the bed. “You’ve been awake this whole time?”

Angie rushed to Julia’s side, too happy to think about the startled maids. Julia looked so well! She could have screamed with relief, or let out deep belly laughs of sheer joy. Instead, she took Julia’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” Julia smiled and scooted up on her elbows, brushing the frizzy waves of hair from her face. “All that time spent hot rolling my hair, all for nothing.”

Kaitlyn lifted a brow. “You’re the magical genius who sent us into the river.”

“Really? After I almost died?”

Angie came between them, desperate to head off another argument. “If I understood the princess correctly, today is the day of Marie Antoinette’s Parisian debut.”