Chapter Two

I’ll always love you and make you happy, If you will only say the same. But if you leave me and love another, You’ll regret it all some day.

Elain was vaguely aware of being carried into the house, of being laid out on the couch, surrounded by the warm, comforting smell of citrus and clove. Mmm. It smelled like her cinnamon rolls. She should make some icing soon, so that she could take them to the bakery… but her eyelids were so heavy, and the couch was so comfortable…

She must have fallen asleep, for distant voices stirred her from strange dreams of gingerbread houses and mushroom rings, but she faded out again before she could place them.

The seat cushion beside her dipped, and Elain let out a soft moan. Oh, Rufus. He was probably hungry, and she couldn’t feed him cinnamon rolls. Maybe he’d tolerate his diet kibble if she gave him some scrambled eggs to go with it. She needed some breakfast before she went mushroom picking, anyway…

When she finally managed to open her eyes, she was met not by a grumpy orange tabby with a pink nose and white whiskers, but big brown eyes with long, baby-doll lashes that were inches away from her own.

Elain sucked in a sharp breath and jerked back against the cushions.

The little girl—Rosie, she remembered suddenly—ducked down below the couch so that only her fingertips and ginger curls were visible.

Elain swallowed hard as she remembered where she was, and willed her rapid heartbeat to slow. “Uh, hi,” she rasped.

Rosie peeked up at her with those wide, shy eyes, then whispered a tiny ‘Hi’ in response.

Elain tried to smile. “You’re Rosie, right?”

The girl nodded, but almost imperceptibly.

“My name is Elain,” she managed, though her mouth felt like sandpaper. “Is your daddy here?”

Another nod.

“Can I talk to him?”

Someone in the other room must have heard her, for Lucien appeared in the doorway to check. “She’s awake,” he called over his shoulder, but he didn’t sound happy about it.

And he was supposed to be her husband. If anything, he should have been the one kneeling at her side, clasping her hand as she slowly regained consciousness… or perhaps she’d seen too many movies. Perhaps his indifference was why she’d left, but deep down she knew that wasn’t true. Not when she knew what his idea of a good morning was, with his lips on her shoulder and his hand sliding down her thigh…

Lucien snapped his fingers. “Come on, Rosie,” he coaxed in his Irish brogue. “Back to the kitchen with ya. Leave her be.”

Elain pushed herself onto her elbow. “She’s not bothering me,” she tried to insist, but Rosie got up anyway. “I don’t mind if she stays.”

Lucien frowned at her. “I mind,” he said coolly. “Come on,” he told Rosie in a gentler tone. “You still have half a sandwich and some lemonade left. Off with ya now.”

As Rosie trotted past in her checkered blue dress, he touched her curly head with such fondness that Elain was surprised. Then again, who wouldn’t be protective of a child with a stranger in the house? Even if that stranger was supposed to be his wife…

When he noticed Elain looking, his soft smile turned sorrowful, almost pained, and then it was gone.

“Vassa will want to have a look at your leg,” he said gruffly, then disappeared through the doorway.

“It’s fine,” she called after him, but of course he ignored her. She huffed in frustration, then looked at her dirty, scraped knees and bracken-speckled socks. She grimaced. It looked bad, but it was nothing that a hot bath and a couple of band-aids couldn’t fix. However, since she was still wearing her hiking boots, she didn’t know if her ankle was sprained or swollen or just sore from her fall. Maybe whatever magic had brought her here could fix her ankle, and maybe bring her a glass of wine while it was at it.

Vassa appeared a moment later, carrying a dinner tray and looking like one of those vintage advertisements in a magazine, from her pinned, bobbed hair to her belted blue dress complete with heeled white oxfords.

“Oh, no,” she cautioned, rushing over as Elain swung her feet over the side of the couch. “Please, you must rest,” she said, setting the tray on a small table beside the couch. “You are not well.”

“I just forgot to eat breakfast,” Elain said, waving dismissively as she settled back against the overstuffed pink floral couch. “I’m fine.”

Vassa pursed her lips disapprovingly. “It is more than that,” she chided, then reached for something on the tray. “Here,” she said, handing her a glass of pale liquid with beads of condensation running down the side. “Drink this.”

Elain accepted it, but cautiously. “What is it?”

“It is lemonade,” Vassa said, sounding surprised that she would ask. Her accent, Elain guessed, was Russian, or some kind of Eastern European. God, she felt so ignorant.

Although her sandpaper tongue begged for a taste, Elain hesitated to drink. “Were we friends, before?”

Vassa’s furrowed brow softened. “Yes. Good friends,” she said gently. “Now, drink up, before you faint again.”

As Vassa returned her attention to the tray, Elain took a small, cautious sip. If sunshine could be squeezed into a glass and sweetened with sugar, it would taste like this. It tasted like the first day of summer vacation, of running barefoot through the backyard sprinklers with her sisters, and of picnics in the park.

Before she knew it, the glass was half gone. Elain licked her lips and sighed. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Vassa smiled, then offered her two white tablets. “Aspirin,” she explained, tapping her temple. “For your head.”

Elain touched her brow, then winced when it twinged. “Did I hit my head?”

Vassa’s furrowed brow returned. “You do not remember? Juri tried to catch you, but you fell.”

Elain accepted the tablets, then placed them on her tongue. “Thankths,” she said blandly, then took a swallow of lemonade to wash them down. She grimaced and set the near-empty glass on the tray. “And I suppose Lucien just stood back and watched?” she said bitterly.

“No,” Vassa said, sounding surprised again. “He carried you into the house. He is very worried about you.”

Elain snorted. “I couldn’t tell,” she muttered, but she found herself blushing. She hated that he felt obligated to care for her when it was clear he didn’t want her there.

“He said you are favoring your left leg,” Vassa offered, adjusting her skirts to kneel on the rug at Elain’s feet. “I will look.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Elain said, jerking her foot back, then regretting it. “Ow.”

Vassa gave her a reproachful look, then began untying Elain’s bootlaces. “I was a nurse during the war,” she explained as she worked. “Juri can tell you. That is how we met.”

Elain suddenly wished she had paid better attention in history class. “Which war? Oh, wait. Maybe I shouldn’t be asking you that.”

“Why not?”

Elain shrugged. “I don’t know,” she stammered, and braced her leg as Vassa gripped the boot heel. “In case I change the future or something? Ow, fffff—nng. Never mind.”

Vassa gave her a wincing smile as she set aside the offending boot. “You can ask,” she said kindly as she took Elain’s sore foot in her lap to roll down the sock. “I do not think that telling you about the past will change the future. Otherwise you would not be here.”

“But I don’t remember being here,” Elain pointed out.

Vassa pulled off her sock and paused. “It is very strange,” she remarked.

“What? My foot or me being here?”

Vassa chuckled and met her gaze. “Your foot is not strange,” she said, patting it gently. “A little swollen, perhaps, but it does not appear to be broken.”

Elain winced as Vassa gently squeezed her way down her calf and ankle, checking for breaks. “Should I go to the doctor?”

Vassa looked up in alarm. “No! I mean, not yet,” she amended. She wet her lips and explained, “You have been gone a long time. If people see you, they will talk. We must decide what to tell them.”

Elain swallowed. Bud Beddor was a bit slow, but he wasn’t stupid. Once he told his wife about finding Elain on the side of the road, it was only a matter of time before the whole town heard about it. And in a place like Ashwood, that wouldn’t take long at all. “How long was I gone?”

“A year.”

That was strange. Jurian said she’d gone into the woods after her father’s funeral, but that was five, no, six years ago. Then again, her waking dreams had only gotten worse in the last year… Elain rubbed her aching temple. If there was a connection, she couldn’t see it yet.

Vassa touched her other leg. “Do you need to lie down?”

Elain shook her head. “No. But I’d love a bath. Can I do that?”

Vassa examined her ankle again. “I would like to wrap it, but it can wait,” she decided. “You should eat something,” she added, nodding to the tray.

There was an egg salad sandwich there, along with a roll of bandages and a bottle of iodine.

Although her insides cringed at the thought of using iodine, Elain managed a smile. “Thank you,” she said honestly, and took half of the sandwich.

Vassa removed Elain’s other boot while she ate, then joined her on the couch and told her how she and Jurian first met. She shared little about herself, except to say that she had lost her parents when Germany invaded the Soviet Union, and she found work as a nurse. Two years later, in the thick of the war, when she was just twenty-one, she met Jurian.

He was six years older than her, and an American at that, but he spoke German, and some Russian, which was how he had come to be in the same hospital as Vassa in the first place.

“Many of your American men would flirt with me,” she said, smiling to herself. “But Juri was different. He liked to play games—how you say—crossword puzzles, and he asked me to find some.” She shrugged. “I told him they would not be in English, but he said he did not mind. He said he liked the challenge.”

Elain smiled. It was kind of surreal, listening to her own great-grandmother talking about how she’d met her future husband, but she couldn’t deny that it was a sweet story.

“It became a game, between us,” Vassa went on. “I would give him the first word, and then he would try to finish the rest before I finished my rounds. Sometimes he won, sometimes I did. Sometimes, he could not think of words through his pain, so I stayed with him until it passed.”

Her blue eyes clouded at the memory, then she shook her head. “There were other days the paper was lost or late, so he would make up his own puzzles to pass the time. He liked to—as you say—quiz me, on my English,” she said with a fond, distant smile. She touched the square setting on her wedding ring, then showed it to Elain. “That is how he asked me to marry him.”

Elain gasped. “What? That’s so sweet,” she gushed as Vassa beamed. “I’d never heard that story before.”

Vassa’s smile grew sad as she took her hand back and fiddled with the wedding band. “When Juri brought me to this country, I knew no one,” she said softly. “After he hired Lucien, it was better, but… still lonely. No one really understood what it was like… Until you.”

Elain’s smile faded, and she shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “I still don’t understand how any of this is possible. I mean, you’re my great-grandmother,” she said haltingly. “Where I come from, World War Two is something we learn about in history books. It’s not something that you can just—go back in time to witness.” She sighed and ran a hand over her bandana, removing it. “What year is it, anyway? Can I ask that?”

“It is 1951. August the first,” Vassa added as an afterthought.

Elain realized she was staring, then covered her face with her hands. “I have got to be dreaming,” she mumbled.

Vassa came closer. “You said that the first time you came here,” she said gently, and touched her shoulder. “I promise you are not dreaming.”

Elain peeked up at her between her fingers, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I just… magic isn’t real,” she complained, throwing up her hands. “It was August when I left. How can it still be August, but a different August?”

“It was August then, too,” Vassa offered.

Elain squeezed her eyes shut and scrubbed at her face, as if that would wake her up. “What year was it again? The first time, I mean.”

Vassa thought back. “1945,” she said. “You were here for five years. And then you were gone.”

“Gone?” Elain repeated. “Just like that?”

Vassa nodded sadly. “We thought you found your way back, and left.”

“Without saying goodbye?” Elain asked, and she was surprised to hear her voice crack.

Vassa nodded, and rubbed at her ring with her thumb the same way Elain did… That is, if Elain had a ring to rub.

Elain chewed on her thumbnail instead. Her father had died six years ago, in July, but the funeral wasn’t until August. She remembered going to the woods to be alone, but she didn’t remember falling back in time, or falling in love, or even falling over mushrooms.

She shook her head and blinked back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said tightly. “I don’t know why I would do that. It’s not like me to just… disappear.”

Except she had done just that. When would someone notice that her car was missing from the driveway? Who would find it, seemingly abandoned at the edge of the woods? Would it be Nesta? Or Clare? How long would they wait to tell Feyre, hoping against hope that Elain would come back? How long would it take for Graysen to cool off before he came back to hassle her about selling the house, only to find her gone? Who would feed Rufus? Oh, Rufus…

Suddenly she was crying, and Vassa opened her arms and let Elain cry into her shoulder. Her perfume was the same one that scented the linens inside the cedar chest that rested at the foot of Elain’s bed at home. The smell only made her cry harder.

“Shh,” Vassa soothed, stroking her hair and rocking her as she would a child. Even though Elain was in her early twenties, and Vassa was—now—not much older, it helped.

“I’m sorry,” Elain snuffled as she broke away, and dabbed at her wet cheeks with her dirty bandana.

Vassa smiled kindly and offered her a box of tissues instead.

Elain breathed a laugh, and accepted it with thanks. At least there were still tissues, and aspirin, and glasses of lemonade in this timeline. And indoor plumbing, come to think of it. She could be a lot worse off.

She sniffed and dabbed underneath her nose. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “This is kind of a lot to take in.”

“Of course,” Vassa said kindly. “You will feel better after you have a bath. Then I will wrap your foot, and you can sleep.”

Elain glanced around the wallpapered room, looking for a clock somewhere on its striped walls, and patted at her pockets for her phone. “What time is it?”

Vassa checked the delicate golden watch on her wrist. “It is nearly two o’clock, now,” she said.

Elain tried not to think about Isaac Hale and the basket of mushrooms that she was never going to deliver, lest she start crying again. No one would even be able to call her to check, since it would be another seventy-two years before she bought the phone in the first place.

She fought down the sudden, crazed urge to laugh.

This was absurd. Just because she was stuck in the past now didn’t mean that she’d be stuck there forever. She’d made it back once, hadn’t she? Even if she didn’t remember how, she could figure it out. She made up her own recipes all the time; how much harder would it be figure out the steps to time travel?

She pressed her fingers to her lips, narrowly avoiding another crazed giggle.

Vassa, who had been completely calm throughout the course of their—rather strange—conversation, was watching her warily now.

Elain carefully folded her hands in her lap and pasted a bland smile on her face. “I think I’m ready for that bath now.”

That seemed to mollify Vassa, for she nodded and called for Jurian.

Elain wondered how closely he’d been listening in for how quickly he appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, meelaya?” he asked Vassa, which Elain guessed was an affectionate term.

As Vassa replied in her native tongue, Elain found herself wondering what sort of pet names Lucien might have called her… then quickly dismissed the thought.

There was no use finding out if she was only going to leave again. She would be sure to bid him a proper goodbye this time, but she had no intention of getting attached… or reattached.

And since Lucien was still in the kitchen, hiding out, it seemed he felt the same.

Jurian clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. “Well, Lainey,” he began affably, then caught himself and put his hands behind his back. “I mean, Elain. Do you remember where the bathroom is, or would you like a tour?”

Elain pointed. “It’s down the hall, to the left,” she recited. “Right?”

“Left,” Jurian said, then gave her a small wink.

Elain rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help her smile. There was something of her dad in her great-granddad, after all. They had the same twinkling brown eyes, and the same errant curl falling over their foreheads. Even if she didn’t intend to stay long, with him there, it felt a little bit more like home.

Lucien was another matter, but she’d think about that later.

When she struggled to get off the couch, Jurian offered his hands to help her stand. She faltered when she saw he was missing the first finger on his right hand; he’d been wearing gloves before, and she hadn’t noticed.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he promised, noticing her unease. “Besides, it turns out I’m a natural lefty. So the bastards who took my finger can keep it.” He pointed with his middle finger to the gold band on his left hand. “I got a beautiful wife out of it, so I think that’s more than fair.”

Elain’s heart melted as they smiled fondly at one another, so when he offered his hands again, she accepted his help with thanks.

As Vassa gathered up her boots and socks, Jurian swore, startling them both.

He was looking over their shoulders and out through the living room window. “It’s the Beddors,” he explained grimly.

“Oh,” Elain said, remembering. “Bud said Annie was going to bring a pie later. I… guess it’s later.”

Jurian and Vassa exchanged worried glances.

“What shall we do?” Vassa asked softly.

Jurian pushed his hair back from his forehead as he looked out the window. “We can’t just send them away,” he replied. “They’ll talk.”

Elain followed his gaze to the now-familiar red truck as it pulled to a stop by the front porch steps. Not two hours ago, she’d wished that Bud had stayed; now she just wanted him to leave.

“How well does this Annie person know me?” she asked nervously.

Jurian and Vassa looked at each other again, but didn’t answer.

“Vassa, you take Lainey to the bathroom,” Jurian declared. “I’ll go outside and stall.”

“Stall?” Vassa and Elain said at the same time.

Jurian half-turned. “Uh, delay,” he amended, shooing them away from the window.

Vassa quickly nodded, then trotted down the hall, carrying Elain’s boots. Elain, who was barefoot, limped after her as Jurian threw open the door.

“Hey, Bud, back so soon?” he called out, and shut the door behind him.

Elain didn’t hear Bud’s answer.

When she made it to the bathroom, her boots were already tucked underneath the white pedestal sink. Vassa was busy pulling fuzzy striped towels and bottles of soap from the shelf.

“You will be all right by yourself?” she asked Elain as she placed them on the stool next to the clawfoot tub.

Elain leaned against the tiled wall and nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted. She was less concerned about her ankle than she was distracted by the décor. Not much had changed in the old-fashioned bathroom, except the grout between the greenish tiles was white instead of gray, and the accessories were royal blue instead of sunshine yellow.

“I will not be long,” Vassa promised, quickly checking her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. She fluffed her bobbed curls and straightened the lines of her dress. “But take your time. I will tell you when it is safe to come out.”

“Safe?” Elain echoed as Vassa trotted to the doorway.

Vassa paused. “Annie is good woman,” she said slowly, and carefully. “But a gossip. We will tell her that you are not well, then, when she is gone, we have time to decide.”

“Decide what?”

A small crease appeared between Vassa’s brows. “Where you will stay.”

Elain was glad for an empty bathtub. It gave her time to think as it filled up.

The cast iron clawfoot tub was a permanent fixture in her version of the house, too. It was simply too heavy to move, and besides, she’d always thought it was charming, even as a little girl. It made her feel like a princess in a faraway land; which, in a way, she kind of was. That is, if princesses took bubble baths.

As pleasant, lavender-scented foam filled the tub, Elain emptied her pockets and put the contents on the shelf. She wondered what her great-grandparents would make of her smartphone, or if her past self had already tried to explain how it worked, but failed. Then again, a flat cordless box that made telephone calls and connected to resources around the world was no less believable than falling seventy-five years into the past. It was a wonder they hadn’t had her committed to an insane asylum or something. Because unlike the world she’d come from, those places still existed.

Elain shivered as she unbuttoned her top. She used it to cover up the rest of her dirty clothes, which she folded and stacked on top of her boots. It seemed wrong to put them in the cloth-lined hamper; just like her, they didn’t belong.

Her ankle was starting to ache from the strain of hobbling around, so she sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub to shake out her ponytail, then piled her curls on top of her head and secured them into a messy bun. As carefully as she could, she swung her legs into the water and lowered herself into the frothy, steaming depths. She hissed as the soapy water stung her open cuts and scraped knees, but as soon as she rested her back against the angled wall of the tub, she was in heaven.

With a grateful sigh, she sunk down until the bubbles reached her chin and all she could hear was the sound of lapping bathwater. Puckering her lips, she blew gently and sent a clump of iridescent bubbles fluttering into the air. She smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a bubble bath; at least, not without the cat yowling at her in dismay.

Her smile faded. She had to believe that Rufus would be okay without her. Nesta and Clare would never let him starve. They were part of the reason he’d gotten so fat in the first place; not that Elain was entirely innocent.

She lifted her gaze to the window above the bathtub. Where there was an oak tree in her time, there was only open sky now, blue and cloudless. Although she appreciated the view, she missed her tree more, so she closed her eyes and turned her face away.

Today was August 1st. What had started out as a trip to gather mushrooms had turned into an actual trip through mushrooms. If Elain hadn’t disappeared seventy-five years into the past, Clare might think it was hilarious. Elain didn’t have it in her to laugh.

It was so strange. Magic wasn’t real, yet here she was, taking a bath in her great-grandparents’ house while they chatted up the neighbors. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time, either. Six years ago, perhaps to the day, her past-future self had shown up, and Jurian and Vassa had taken her in despite, well, everything. Somewhere along the way, she’d met Lucien Vanserra and married him. If her dreams were anything to go by, they were in love. They were happy. So why, then, after five years together, had she left him behind? And how could she have forgotten him so easily?

Well, not so easily as that, she remembered. She’d had so many dreams of him, of being with him; his breathy chuckle in her ear, the warmth of his hand at her waist, his lips fondly kissing the top of her head as she whipped up yet another concoction in the kitchen… but when she turned to look at him, his face was out-of-focus, or in shadow.

Before today, she knew him only as the man of her dreams. His name, if he had one, was forgotten the moment she stepped across the threshold into the waking world. But she could feel it, the shape of it, how it rested on the tip of her tongue, if only she could snap her fingers and remember…

Lover.

Husband.

Soulmate.

Elain’s head lolled, and her breathing slowed. She didn’t remember falling asleep.