 
### CURSE OF GOLD

### a Counting Curses novel

### By Jen McConnel

CURSE OF GOLD

By Jen McConnel

Published by Jen McConnel

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Jen McConnel

Cover Designed by Paper and Sage, 2016

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, locations, and events are products of the author's mind, or have been used in a fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the right of all trademark holders for products mentioned in this work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or to actual events, is purely coincidental.

License Statement:

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Excerpt from CURSE OF STONE

Copyright

Thank You

About the Author

### CHAPTER ONE

Riley held her breath and counted to three.

When she opened her eyes, the wood-paneled hallway had stopped spinning, but her stomach was still rioting. She took another deep breath and sank down onto the strategically placed bench outside her advisor's office. Dropping her head between her knees, Riley focused on remaining conscious. Bottle red hair brushed her face, but she didn't bother to push it away. Riley knew what it felt like to hyperventilate, and she was dangerously close to it. She wasn't sure any student had ever passed out while waiting to meet with her advisor, and Riley didn't plan on going down in King's College history as the flighty American who couldn't handle the pressure of defending her thesis. She smiled grimly at the thought. _I've already made enough college history._

Getting a grip on her rebellious stomach, Riley slowly stood up. She crossed the wide hallway and raised her hand to knock on Dr. Fullingham's door. _Get it together._ Gritting her teeth, she forced a smile and rapped lightly on the heavy oak door.

_Maybe she won't be here._ Riley crossed her fingers, but her heart sank when a rich voice called, "Enter!"

Stepping into Dr. Fullingham's office had always reminded Riley of wandering through the wardrobe into Narnia. It was worlds away from the austere halls of King's College, and as different as night and day from the other faculty offices. Dr. Fullingham collected oddities, and she proudly displayed her bizarre treasures on every free surface of the office. The African fertility sculpture beside the door had jabbed Riley the first time she set foot in the office, but after three years, she had learned to feint slightly to the left to avoid the ebony phallus. She kept her eyes up, but that didn't mean she was able to avoid all of the strange odds and ends in her advisor's office. _Where had she snagged the gold reliquary? And is that skull on the bookshelf real?_

Dr. Fullingham was standing on her desk chair, one foot perched precariously on the glass top of her desk. Riley had a sudden vision of the glass shattering and her instructor disappearing in a haze of crystal shards, but she shook her head. It wasn't a good idea for her to fantasize like that, even for a moment.

"This cursed Clematis just won't behave. Hand me that stake, will you?" She gestured with the tip of her brown suede boot, and Riley spotted a slender wooden garden stake buried under a stack of papers on the desk.

"Here," she offered, passing the wicked looking spike to her advisor.

"That'll do." Dr. Fullingham stabbed the stake not into the potting soil as Riley had expected, but into the flimsy ceiling tile. She looked like an errant vampire hunter, and Riley tried not to smile at the thought. White dust rained down on them as Dr. Fullingham wrapped the unwieldy vine around quivering wood.

Riley brushed her eyes and took a hesitant seat in front of the desk as Dr. Fullingham hopped down.

"All right, what did you need to see me about?"

Riley swallowed, pressing her sticky palms against her thighs. Her stomach turned once but then was still. "My dissertation date."

"That's all settled. You'll defend to the committee in a week."

"I was hoping we could postpone it."

Dr. Fullingham gave her a sharp look, and Riley leaned back in her chair. "You've already postponed it. Twice."

"I know, but I'd just like a little more time."

"Riley, most of our students finish in a year." She held up her hand to forestall any protests. "Even the part-timers like you manage to complete the program in two years. You've been here for three."

Riley's mouth went dry. "It's just that--" she trailed off, glancing around the room for some excuse. Her eyes landed on the reliquary that sat on the windowsill, and she shivered. Which piece of which unlucky martyr was hanging out inside?

"Stop making excuses. I know you've had a hard time of it, but it's time to buck up, girl. Life goes on."

_Not for me it doesn't._ Riley dropped her gaze to her ragged fingernails. "I'm sorry."

Dr. Fullingham sighed. "I'm sorry, too. You can't change your defense date again. Either you're prepared to show us what you've got on September 1st, or you need to think about pursuing another field."

Riley's eyes shot up and locked on her advisor's steady gray gaze. "I can't do that. I've put everything into this degree!"

"And you've got some good ideas. I'm looking forward to your defense next week." She shuffled some papers on her desk, skimming for something. "Did you ever confirm your translations with Doctor Malcom?"

Riley shook her head. "I've tried, but--"

Her advisor cut her off. "No buts about it, Ms. Belmont. He's the undisputed expert on the _Woman's Book of Hours_ , and I expect you to get in touch with him before your defense."

Riley wanted to tell Dr. Fullingham that she'd tried to reach the illusive Dr. Malcom for months. Instead, she forced a smile. "Yes, m'am."

"Good. If you don't have any other issues, I'll see you in a week."

The conversation was obviously closed. Unsteadily, Riley got to her feet. "Thank you, I guess."

Dr. Fullingham waved her hand. "Not at all. Just be prepared. I know you'll do fine." She turned her attention to the brass statue of an elephant on her desk, petting it and polishing it with her sleeve.

Back in the dark hallway once more, Riley fought back the urge to burst into tears. _It was worth a shot._ Dragging her feet, she began the walk down the long, marble-tiled corridor. Not for the first time, she wondered if the builders of King's College had been trying to construct a structure that would make the students feel completely inferior. If they were, it worked, at least on her. Every day that she'd been a student here she'd felt unworthy. Light spilled in the frosted windows as she turned down the stairs, and as she reached the ground floor, her hand flicked out unconsciously to brush the statue of Sappho as she passed. Riley didn't write poetry, but for some reason, the erotic writer's marble presence always comforted her. _If she could beat the odds, maybe I can, too._

As she headed out into the watery sunlight, Riley stopped to take in the view. Even after three years, the expanse of the Thames that stretched in front of the college always surprised her. She hated the river now, but when she'd first come to London, she'd adored it. Across the river, the gaudy London Eye winked at her, and Riley smiled unconsciously, remembering her tourist-driven glee when she'd seen the ugly Ferris wheel for the first time. If she looked to her right, the familiar sight of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament would greet her, but Riley didn't look in that direction today. Instead, she turned left, heading for the Temple tube stop. She supposed that she could have spent some time wandering through the streets to clear her head, but she didn't really see the point.

_I don't need a clear head. I need a miracle._ As she walked, she thought about her upcoming dissertation. She'd been ready to defend her thesis for months now; it wasn't laziness that prompted her to request an extension. She wasn't worried about her material. Her research was sound, and Dr. Fullingham had often told her that she had an interesting take on the intertwining of gender bias and religious tracts in the Middle Ages. It wasn't even the strange silence from Dr. Malcom that was slowing her down; Riley felt like her translation was good enough to stand, with or without his approval. No, it wasn't a lack of confidence in her research that had made Riley try to postpone her dissertation again.

It was him.

Everything she'd done since she came to King's College three years ago was overshadowed by what had happened to him. The faculty might be too polite to say anything to her face, but Riley knew they talked about it all the time. _A tragic accident. So bizarre. And did you know she was the last person to see him alive?_ Eyes followed her all the time on campus, and Riley couldn't bear the thought of being up on display while she defended her work. It would only be a small panel of faculty, but still, she knew that they mourned his death as much as she did, and she was sure that at least one of the members of her committee blamed her for what had happened.

It didn't help that she thought they were right.

### CHAPTER TWO

The clattering crush of people pushed Riley down the stairs to the Underground, and she let herself be propelled along. She didn't worry about getting lost anymore; she knew to take the green line to Monument and change over to the black that would bring her, eventually, to Camden Town. From there, it was just a short walk to the small flat she shared with two other students. Riley hoped they weren't home yet; she didn't want to dissolve in front of them, and despite her best efforts, the tears felt dangerously close.

She walked past the vibrantly painted buildings in the center of Camden without a second glance. It was a hip area, and when Riley had first moved to London, it seemed like the perfect place to be. But that was three years ago, when she was twenty-two, when she was just starting her Master's program and everything seemed perfect, and now she was getting tired of Camden's brash personality and bubbling arts scene. She wanted to be somewhere quiet, somewhere that wasn't shrouded in memories.

Riley knew she wouldn't find peace in London.

She let herself in the slender street door and climbed up the narrow stairs to her flat. _It's a good thing I'm not fatter. Or in a wheelchair._ Her solid five-foot, seven-inch frame didn't fit on the stairs without hunching, and she had to turn sideways whenever she was wearing her winter coat. The apartment certainly hadn't been constructed with any kind of safety code in mind, but then what could one expect from a refurbished sweat shop?

Mile high rafters made the apartment feel open and airy after the cramped stairs, but the space was just an illusion. All told, including the loo, the kitchenette that consisted of a small fridge and a hot plate, and the three small "bedrooms", the apartment was barely 500 square feet. Riley stepped around Ron's guitar, and bit back a curse as she tripped over Eloise's boot collection for the millionth time. Maybe she could afford a place of her own, once she defended and took a teaching position. The thought cheered her for a moment, but then the idea of teaching tanked her spirits again.

Riley hated to be on display, and she certainly didn't want to become the sage on the stage. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad in a small American college, but Riley hadn't been back to the States in three years, and she'd never intended to return after her degree.

But staying in London wasn't an option anymore. It hadn't been, not for two and a half years.

"Anyone home?" Riley called out, filling the silence that had suddenly descended around her, but there was no reply. Good. She didn't want to deal with people right now. Sifting through the unopened stack of bills that she and her roommates had been ignoring for weeks, Riley noticed a small package addressed to her. It was wrapped in brown paper, and the size reminded her of an expensive jewelry box.

Curiosity overcame ennui, and Riley lifted the package. Sitting down on the wobbly kitchen stool that had come with the apartment (evidently, the landlord had a very liberal idea of the term "furnished to let"), Riley shook the box. She thought she heard a faint tinkling, but she couldn't be sure.

"Riley Clarissa Belmont," she murmured aloud, reading the mailing label. As soon as she heard her full name in the air, she realized who the package was from. Only one person ever bothered with her entire name. Riley shoved the package across the counter and looked at the stack of bills, instead. She didn't want to deal with whatever Gran had sent just then.

Of all Riley's family, her Gran was the only one who seemed to mind that Riley had decided to become an expat for the sake of schooling. Her parents just shrugged and sent her money from time to time, and her younger brother, Carl, emailed her regularly, but Clarissa Anne Belmont had pitched a fit for the three years that Riley had been abroad.

Sometimes, Gran threatened to disinherit her if she didn't come home, and other times, she sent expensive, heirloom gifts with barbed notes. "Thought this scarf would look lovely on you, dear, but then your mother told me you'd dyed your hair red." "Saw these earrings in my box and thought of you. It's a shame you have a stubby neck like your father." Gran's gifts were easier to ignore than to accept, and Riley had gotten good at resisting the temptation of the unopened packages from Seattle.

She glanced up at the innocuous brown box. For some reason, her fingers were itching to unwrap it, but Riley forced herself to get off the stool and wander over to her corner of the flat. Ron and Eloise had strung curtains as room dividers so they each had something resembling a bedroom, but the flimsy fabric didn't do much to block out noise. Luckily, Riley hadn't had anyone to bring home in over two years, and Eloise tended to prefer men with places of their own and loads of cash to spend on her. What Ron looked for in a partner, Riley wasn't exactly sure, but she was grateful to him for not bringing anyone home when she was around to hear it.

Riley flopped down on the tattered, tie-dyed blanket that covered her slender bed. It was the one thing she'd brought from her old life in the States, and even though it was hideous, Riley never considered getting rid of it. She'd dyed it herself, the summer she turned twelve. It had been the beginning of other small, rebellious acts that screamed to be noticed, but no one seemed to mind. They didn't say anything when Riley gave herself a haircut with her dad's razor, and no one even blinked when she had the cartilage of her left ear pierced the day she turned eighteen.

No one, that is, except Gran.

With a sigh, Riley sat up. _Might as well get it over with_. As much as she longed to return Gran's gifts unopened, years of politeness drilled into her by her parents forbade it. Riley always opened the gifts eventually, and sent a quick email in thanks. She knew Gran didn't know how to use email, but at least when her mother brought it up, Riley could honestly say she'd tried. Besides, her mother didn't pester too much; she had no love lost for her mother-in-law, either.

Riley crossed the flat and picked up the box. Without trying to preserve the paper, she tore it off and dropped it on the floor. _I'll deal with the mess later_. In her hands was a slender black velvet box, and Riley sighed. What kind of jewelry had Gran sent this time? And what sort of nasty note accompanied the gift?

She opened the box gingerly, but instead of a note, Riley found a folded newspaper clipping. She set it to one side and stared at the beautiful pendant nestled in the box. For once, Gran had actually sent her something she would wear. Antique silver curled around a milky, opaque stone that Riley recognized right away. It was Gran's moonstone, the one adornment Gran never took off. Riley fingered the silver links of the chain nervously; Gran had never been fond of letting grubby hands paw at her things, but Riley had always longed to hold this necklace. Gingerly, she lifted it from the box and, almost as if she were in a trance, she clasped it around her neck.

The heavy stone rested against her sternum, just above her breasts, and Riley exhaled loudly. Nothing terrible had happened when she put on the necklace; with Gran, Riley never quite got over her fear of the wicked old crones of the fairy stories of her childhood, and if anyone could hex a piece of jewelry, Riley imagined that Gran could.

Stroking the necklace, she turned over the newspaper clipping and skimmed the headlines. At first, she wasn't sure what Gran wanted her to see, but then her eyes found it and her heart came to a sudden stop.

A blue sticky note was affixed to the article, and Riley recognized Gran's spidery hand. _You need to break this curse. Call me as soon as you get this._

Riley ignored the missive, her eyes filling with tears as she skimmed the heartfelt obituary. Greg Ordenge, a boy she'd grown up with, was dead. The obit said he slipped and fell in front of an oncoming train, but Riley knew better.

A decade ago, Riley had lost her virginity in the backseat of Greg's mom's minivan.

He was dead because of her.

### CHAPTER THREE

Eloise found Riley breathing into a brown paper bag an hour later, but the art student didn't rush into the room or panic. She set her sack of groceries down on the counter very calmly and ignored Riley's distress. Finally, after she'd unpacked everything, she turned to face her roommate. She'd gotten used to Riley's panic attacks, and after three years, she'd learned that it was better to act normal when her friend was struggling.

"What's wrong with you?"

Riley gasped for air and gestured to the news clipping. Eloise skimmed it, taking in the blue sticky note. Her tight, beaded braids clicked as she moved her head. "From your gran?"

Riley nodded.

"And who's the guy?"

"He was my high school boyfriend."

Eloise patted her shoulder in sympathy. "That's rotten luck, sweetie."

Riley struggled to speak. "He's dead because of me."

Her roommate sighed. "Ry, people die. You were nowhere near this guy when it happened."

"But it's--" Riley broke off, not ready to share her awful curse with Eloise. She'd never told anyone before, not even her parents, and she wasn't sure she could speak the words aloud, even now that she believed in the foul thing.

Eloise looked at her sadly. "It's nothing, Ry. You had nothing to do with this. Or with the other thing, either."

Riley appreciated the fact that Eloise hadn't said his name, but she shook her head stubbornly. Making up her mind, she said, "I'm cursed."

Her roommate laughed. "Aren't we all."

"No, seriously. Gran told me I'm cursed."

Eloise gave her an even stare. "That's ridiculous."

Riley shook her head vehemently. "She's been telling me my whole life that any man I slept with would die because of me." She gestured helplessly toward the newspaper clipping. "And now it's happening."

Eloise grimaced. "Your gran's a nasty old biddy. She probably just wanted her precious granddaughter to keep her legs closed." She tapped Riley's forehead. "You aren't cursed."

"Then how do you explain this? And what about--"

"Accidents. Both of them. Tragic accidents, and I understand why you're upset, but seriously, Riley, think about it. If you were cursed, wouldn't this Greg kid have died right after you slept with him?"

Riley paused. "Maybe. But that still doesn't explain what happened--"

"You know what?" Eloise interrupted smoothly. "Let's go out tonight. We haven't been out in a while, and I hear there's a good band playing at Marky's."

Riley glared at her. "You don't believe me."

"No, I don't. I'm sorry you've had a string of bad luck, and I'm sorry your gran's crazy, but you had nothing to do with this boy's death."

For a moment, the girls stared at each other, and finally, Eloise shrugged.

"Fine. Suit yourself. But if you want to hang with me tonight, you know where to find me."

Riley shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I should—I should work on my dissertation." _What I really should do is call Gran._

The sun set over the city, but Riley didn't notice. She was curled up in her bed, facing the curtain with her eyes open. Guilt washed over her, and she whispered a prayer for Greg. _Wherever he is now._

Eventually, Eloise left, but she didn't say anything to Riley, and Riley was grateful. When the apartment had been still for hours, Riley peeled herself off the bed and slipped into the bathroom. She showered until the hot water ran out, and then, swathed in her blue terrycloth robe, she grabbed her laptop and headed out onto the slender fire escape.

Back at her parents' house in Washington, Riley had always dreamed of having a balcony. Maybe she'd wanted to be like Juliet, or maybe she'd just liked to look at the stars; she couldn't remember anymore. But when she moved to London three years ago, she'd been charmed by the narrow fire escape attached to the apartment. Over time, the allure had worn off, but she still wedged herself out there over the city whenever she needed to think.

The view was anything but spectacular; buildings rose up on all sides, boxing her in. London had seemed large when she first got there, but over time, it began to feel claustrophobic. Riley felt like she couldn't move without people watching her, and that sensation only increased after him.

Opening the Internet, Riley typed Greg's name into the search bar. She didn't find anything; even the obituary Gran had sent wasn't there. _Maybe they haven't digitized it yet_. Her finger hovered over the search bar again, and after a moment, she typed three words.

Mark Scopes London.

This time, her search returned hundreds of hits. Riley squeezed her eyes shut for a second, and when she opened them, pink spots swan across her vision. Aimlessly, she began opening links. She wasn't mentioned in as many of them as she would have anticipated, but every time she read "Cause of death: drowned", her heart constricted.

Finally, she couldn't bear it anymore, and she slammed her computer shut. "All my fault", she whispered to the smoggy sky, hugging her knees against her chest.

There were no stars to answer her.

Riley touched the moonstone around her neck and made a quick decision. She crawled inside and dropped her computer unceremoniously on her bed. Fishing through her bag, she pulled out her phone. She didn't want to call Gran, but she needed to talk with the only other person who believed in her curse.

Maybe, just maybe, Gran could help.

### CHAPTER FOUR

Tom leaned back from his desk and closed his eyes. The light outside had faded long ago, but the amber desk lamp was usually enough to keep him working well past midnight. He blinked a couple of times, his eyes slowly refocusing, and he glanced at the clock with a frown. _Only ten? It feels later,_ he thought, raking his hand through his ginger hair.

The photocopies on his desk rustled gently in an unexpected gust from the exhaust fan over his desk, and Tom reflexively reached out, pinning the papers in place. He picked up the top sheet, skimming the flirtatious French message again. No matter how many times studied Anne Boleyn's _Book of Hours_ , he never stopped being amazed at the audacity of the girl's lover. The Tudor king, Henry VIII, had evidently taken the prayer book and, school-boy style, written an entreaty to Anne sometime early in their courtship. Tom shook his head with a bemused smile. Even if this _was_ the king who broke the church in England, Tom couldn't imagine anyone of that era being intentionally irreverent, but the note in the manuscript seemed to indicate a careless disregard of convention, at the very least. _You wouldn't catch me writing love notes in a holy book,_ Tom thought to himself as his eyes crossed again.

With a sigh, he set the page back on his desk. His heart hadn't been in his work lately, and no matter how hard he tried to find his focus, he couldn't seem to do it. He glanced at the dark window, thinking about the city that lay outside his flat. By all rights, he should be in London; that's where his work was, and with the coming fall term, that's where the armies of students would be waiting to pick his brain, or, more likely, sleep through his lectures. But instead of packing up and heading to London weeks ago like he should have, he was still in Bath.

Stretching, Tom stood up and crossed to the window. It was hard to see out with the glow of his reading lamp behind him, but he knew the view by heart by now, and he stared, unseeing, into the darkness. _It's got to be here somewhere,_ he thought, his pulse speeding up as his excitement began to build. _And if it is, I'm the man to find it._

His phone vibrating against the desk shook Tom out of his daydream, and with a regretful flick of his wrist, he closed the cheap blinds and turned away from the window. The number on the caller id was familiar, and Tom answered the phone with a smile.

"Kiddo! Didn't think I'd hear from you tonight."

His younger sister groaned. "When are you going to stop calling me that? I'm almost twenty!"

Tom chuckled, settling back into his desk chair. "You'll always be a kid to me, Kai."

"Whatever. Are you just going to pick on me?"

"You called me, remember?" Tom leaned back in his chair, propping one leg on the edge of his desk.

Kai laughed. "You win. You can call me whatever you want; when are you coming home?"

Tom shrugged even though he knew his sister couldn't see him. "Probably for the holidays. Is that soon enough?"

"I guess..." She paused, and Tom could almost feel her anticipation.

He sat up, alert. "What's up, Kai?" A host of scenarios raced through his mind, reasons why his sassy, independent sister might be calling him, and his chest constricted.

Kai paused, but then her words tumbled out. "I got into the study abroad program!"

A wide smile stretched across Tom's face. "That's great! For this year, or next year?"

"Classes already started, idiot," she said fondly. "But I have a guaranteed spot in Rome next year."

"That'll be a great way to finish college."

"And maybe you can come visit me!"

Tom thought about it for a minute, and then he shrugged. "Why not? Although I don't know what kind of research I could do about Anne Boleyn in Rome."

"You don't always have to be working, you know," Kai said, sounding exasperated.

Guiltily, Tom looked around the apartment. He'd certainly been taking enough time off lately, but Kai didn't know that. "You're right," he said quickly, trying to smooth things over. "I'll just come for a vacation. Although I don't know how I'll wait another year!"

"I know, right? I'm dying. I wish I could go right now."

"Don't rush it; college will be over before you know it, and then you'll have to deal with the real world."

Kai snorted. "Says the overgrown college student."

Tom felt his ears heating up. Sometimes, he wondered if his sister was right; all he did was study, a lot like he'd done when he was a student, only now he was the one teaching. "It pays the bills," he said lightly, surprised that his kid sister's teasing could cut so deep.

"Yeah, no thanks. Once I'm done with school, I'm done. You won't catch me hanging around."

"To each his own," Tom said solemnly, trying to make her laugh.

It worked. "You're such an old man. Nobody would believe we're related."

Tom chuckled. "How are Mom and Dad?"

"Fine, I guess. I spent Labor Day at home. Dad wouldn't even let me have a beer."

Tom rolled his eyes. "You aren't legal yet, you know."

Kai huffed. "So? When has that ever stopped a college student? Besides, it was like he didn't trust me or something."

Tom ignored the remark. Their parents had always been old-fashioned, and now that he thought about it, he wondered if his own quirks could be blamed on his parents. "And how's Lucius?"

"Oh my god, his name is Brandon. Just because he looks like that slimy actor—"

Tom laughed. "So things are still on between the two of you?"

"Yeah, I guess. What about you? Any big love life news you need to share, big brother?"

Tom shook his head, forcing his tone to stay light. "No one has pulled me out of my books lately."

There was an uncomfortable silence on the line. "I still think Erika was insane. You're a catch."

Tom's throat constricted, and he swallowed for a minute before he could speak. "Yeah, well, win some, lose some."

He and Kai talked a bit more about nothing, and Tom forced himself to be bright the entire time he was on the phone with his sister, but by the time she said good night, he was barely holding his melancholy at bay, and he slumped back in his chair as he set the phone down on his desk.

It would be a lie to say he hadn't thought about Erika until Kai reminded him; she crossed his mind at least once a day, unless he was totally lost in his research. Even though she'd dumped him almost a year ago, Tom had had a hard time moving on. He knew that probably made him a bit of a loser, but it was hard; getting dumped was bad enough, but the fact that he and Erika had been engaged for three months before she broke up with him made it hurt even more.

His head started to throb, and Tom finally leaned forward and flicked off the desk lamp. Moving carefully in the darkness, he crossed to his cramped bedroom and undressed, more out of habit than any desire to sleep. He lay down on the bed, on top of the covers, and closed his eyes. His mind wandered, but between his research, Kai's phone call, and memories of Erika, sleep wasn't easy to reach. Finally, Tom sighed and pulled on his bathrobe.

Shuffling out into the kitchenette, he grabbed a glass and poured himself a dollop of whiskey. Then, he shuffled back to his desk and turned the lamp on, but instead of returning to his research, he reached under the desk and pulled a thick, battered accordion folder out of the darkness. He set it on his workspace and unwound the string that kept it shut. Pulling out a stack of papers, Tom leaned forward to study the notes he'd practically memorized.

Slowly, thoughts of Erika and his work slipped away, and Tom was soon engrossed by his guilty pleasure. Despite his scholarly credentials and his well-earned reputation for excellence, Tom was more than his students and colleagues thought.

He was a treasure hunter.

### CHAPTER FIVE

Gran answered on the first ring. "Finally, Riley Clarissa Belmont. I was beginning to think you were ignoring me."

Riley paused. "How'd you know it was me?"

She heard Gran snort. "It should have been you ages ago. It seems you didn't inherit my sense of timing."

Riley's skin prickled, but she forced a smile. "How're you, Gran?"

"I'll be a fair sight better when you tell me the truth. How many men have you slept with, young lady?"

Riley's mouth went dry. "I--"

"The fact that you didn't immediately say 'none' proves how grievous this situation is. That Greg boy was one of your lovers, wasn't he?"

"Gran, you're making me sound like a prostitute or something."

"In my day, only a prostitute would have dreamt of having relations with a man she wasn't married to."

Riley bit the inside of her lip and took a deep breath. "Yes, I slept with Greg."

"Now we're getting somewhere. Who else?"

"Gran, I don't really want to have this conversation with you."

"But you called me, young lady. Clearly, there's something you wanted to talk about."

"The curse." The words slipped out before Riley could check herself, and she could almost hear Gran's Cheshire cat smile over the phone.

"Exactly. And that means you need to answer my questions."

Riley closed her eyes, trying to ignore the way her temples were pounding. "A few. I don't know, I haven't kept track."

Gran exhaled loudly. "You shouldn't have been sleeping with anyone. Didn't you listen every time I told you about the curse?"

"But Gran, I never believed it was real." _Until Mark._

Silence descended, and Riley wondered if her grandmother had hung up on her. Finally, the old woman sighed.

"You were warned, child. You didn't listen."

"But it just seems so ridiculous! And so unfair." Riley knew she was whining, but she couldn't help herself.

"Of course it's unfair. That's what comes from choosing love over duty."

"What are you talking about, Gran? When have I ignored my so-called duty?"

Gran laughed. "Not you, silly child. This curse didn't begin with you, but maybe you can end it."

"You're not making any sense, Gran." Riley checked her watch and counted back eight hours. "You must be tired, Gran. Go to bed, and we'll talk later."

"I'm perfectly prepared to have this conversation with you now, Riley Clarissa Belmont."

Riley opened her mouth and then closed it. Finally, she sighed. "Out with it, Gran."

"First, I need to know how many men you've doomed."

Riley gritted her teeth. "A few. Let's just leave it at that."

Gran muttered something about loose women, but Riley pretended not to hear her.

"You said something about ending this curse?" Riley grasped at that last straw, but even as she said it, her rational mind took over, and she shook her head. There was no curse. It was just all rotten luck, and Gran was exactly what Eloise had said: a crazy old biddy.

"You have to understand it to end it. When are you coming home?"

Riley paused. "You mean to Seattle?"

"You know exactly what I mean, young lady."

"I don't know, Gran. I'm defending my thesis next week." For the first time, Riley was glad that Dr. Fullingham hadn't been willing to extend the deadline.

Gran sighed. "We have things to talk about, you and I, and I'd rather not get into it over the phone."

"Gran, if it's that important, you'll have to. I don't know when I'll be back in the States."

There was a pause, and Riley imagined that the air around her crackled with electricity.

"It started over three hundred years ago, with Portia Bassanti." Gran's voice had dropped to a whisper, and Riley pressed the phone to her ear, straining to listen.

"Who was she, Gran?"

"Your ancestress. And the bringer of this curse."

Riley took a deep breath. "I'm listening."

"She married for love, and one of her wealthier suitors never forgave her. He was Sicilian, and Portia chose to wed an Englishman over her own countryman. The duke never forgave her," Gran repeated softly.

Shivers raced up Riley's spine. "What did he do?"

Gran laughed, a rough sound like sandpaper. "Don't cross a Sicilian, Riley Clarissa Belmont. They're the most dangerous people on earth."

"Because of the mafia?"

"No. Because of the Strega."

Riley looked at the phone. "The what?"

"Witches, child. Powerful witches. Perhaps the only true witches on this earth."

Riley choked back a laugh. "Right, Gran."

The line went deathly still. Finally, her grandmother hissed, "If you do not believe, there is no sense wasting my breath."

"No, Gran, really, I'm listening--" Riley heard the dial tone and glared at the phone. Gran had just hung up on her! So much for impeccable manners. Riley started to call her back, but then she paused.

When she'd first called Gran that night, she'd felt desperate enough to believe anything. She had been depressed and guilty ever since Mark's death, but finding out about Greg lent credence to the dark things Gran had been whispering to her all her life. But then Gran had started talking about witches and curses, and Riley was finding it harder and harder to trust the old woman. She glanced at the time on her phone and groaned. She'd stayed up all night, and she had to be at work in just two hours.

_There's no time to deal with Gran now_. Riley pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a crumpled blue t-shirt and ran her fingers through her hair. Without checking the mirror, she wrapped a faded scarf around it. _So what if it's unprofessional. I don't feel like anything else._ Luckily, she knew no one at work would mind. God willing, she wouldn't have to deal with any customers until at least noon.

Grabbing her heavy key ring off the counter, Riley left the apartment. She hadn't heard Ron or Eloise come in, but she didn't slow her pace to check on them. They were adults, after all, and Riley didn't feel like talking to Eloise after she'd spilled her embarrassing fears the previous night. Deliberately, Riley stopped thinking about her strange conversation with Gran as she hurried into the soggy, cool air. She could pick up a pastry and some coffee on her way, and still have time for a long walk along the Thames. Ever since Mark had drowned, Riley had hated the muddy river, but she forced herself to spend as much time walking beside it as she could.

It was a small thing, but maybe it would help her atone for what had happened.

### CHAPTER SIX

"Morning, Dr. Malcom!"

Tom waved at the volunteer manning the ticket counter to the Roman Baths. Even though he'd only ended up getting an hour of sleep, he was feeling energized. "Tour group here yet?"

She laughed. "They're waiting over there," she said, pointing across the lobby to a small clump of tourists huddle by the large windows.

Tom ran his hand through his hair and tugged on his jacket. His shoulders were too broad for him to ever be able to button anything off the rack, but his sister had assured him that a blazer over a T-shirt was totally sexy. _I'd settle for presentable,_ Tom thought as he walked up to the group and smiled. "How's everyone doing this morning?"

A few of the tourists smiled at him, and the rest put away their phones and stared at him expectantly. The group mostly consisted of students, high schoolers, probably, and Tom repressed a sigh. He was happy to volunteer with the Bath Historical Society, since giving tours and talks helped him justify his continued presence in the town, but as much as he enjoyed teaching college students, Tom had always felt nervous around their younger counterparts. In his experience, most teenagers didn't care about history, and these groups were usually there at the direction of a teacher or a parent, rather than because the kids had wanted to come to Bath. Still, Tom always tried to give a good performance, no matter if the group had chosen to be there or not, and he made a point to make eye contact with and smile at each of the people in his group.

He introduced himself, glossing over his credentials, partly because he didn't think this group would care, but also because it still made him uncomfortable to flaunt his academic success, even a decade into his career. _Maybe when I'm older I'll care that people know all the letters after my name_ , he thought with a chuckle as he led the group into the museum.

"What do you already know about the baths?" Tom asked, surveying his group. Most of the students dropped their eyes, and Tom suppressed a chuckle; his graduate students still tried to pull that trick when they got to him, but it never worked. Tom could outlast them all. Finally, a girl in the back raised her hand tentatively, and Tom nodded at her.

"They're Roman, right?" She ventured.

Tom nodded. "Right. But," he gestured to the museum window, where the columns, statues, and torches surround the baths, "they might not have looked like this."

A bored looking guy piped up. "You mean this isn't authentic?"

"It's authentic all right, but it's not ancient. The baths you're looking at were built in the eighteen hundreds by people who were trying to make it look the way it might have looked in ancient times."

"But that's stupid," another girl said. "I mean, why pretend to be ancient?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think?"

There was an uncomfortable silence, but then the boy who'd spoken nodded slowly. "The same reason we're here today, right, professor?"

"Tell me what you mean."

"Well," the student paused, collecting his thoughts, "we're here to study history. Our teachers think it's important, even if we disagree." A couple of the kids laughed, but he kept talking. "Whoever built this thought history was important." He stopped, and then he smirked. "I bet a bunch of teachers built this!"

Everyone laughed, including Tom. "You're right; the residents of Bath thought that ancient history was important enough to copy, but they didn't really care what they copied, right?"

The girl who'd spoken first chimed in. "Like the buildings of the city that look like they belong somewhere in Italy or something? But not ancient Italy."

"Just like that. Bath is an interesting example of what happens when history lovers are put in charge of city planning and construction." He paused, taking in the open faces and thoughtful expressions. "If you had to design a city or a building based on something historical, what era would you use for your model?"

The students fell silent, but it was a thoughtful silence, rather than their tired recalcitrance when the tour started. Tom rocked back and forth on his heels, watching the group process his question, and he felt a surge of excitement. _Teaching never gets old,_ he thought with a grin, _even if they didn't want to be here in the first place._

A voice broke the silence. "I'd build it like the Egyptians. Everybody gets a pyramid!"

Everyone laughed. A few more students chimed in, and then the girl who'd answered Tom's first question raised her hand. He nodded to her, and she asked shyly, "What about you, professor? What era do you love?"

Tom paused. "Well, I should probably say Tudor and Elizabethan England, since that's the topic of my dissertation and most of my research." He stuck his hands in his pockets, thinking. "But if I had to choose, I think I'd go way back to the ancient Celts and Britons; I'd like to live in a roundhouse and worship in a stone circle."

Turning around, Tom continued leading his group through the museum, and he was gratified to see that they all seemed more engaged than before. By the time he walked them through the full loop and out into the sunshine, the group was chattering happily, and a couple of the chaperones shook his hand warmly and thanked him for making it such a good field trip. Feeling satisfied, Tom circled back around to the front of the Baths and slipped inside again, wandering back through the museum. Even though the staff thought he was just an eccentric professor with eclectic historical interests, Tom spent most of his free time in the Baths for a very specific reason.

His early research on the Tudor court and Anne Boleyn had turned up a legend of a courtier who, although he fawned on Henry's second queen, somehow managed to escape the snare that caught her and the men she was accused of committing adultery with. The first reference to John Simmons had intrigued Tom, nothing more, and he filed it away with the other bits of mostly useless historical trivia that he'd amassed over the years.

But when he was passing through Bath on a sight-seeing trip with his aunt a few years ago and came across the name again, something made Tom take notice. He had no way to prove that the John Simmons of Anne's court was the same as the man in a whispered legend in Bath, but something told Tom the two men were one and the same, and he began to wonder if Simmons's extraordinary story had more truth to it than fantasy.

According to the legend a tour guide had related to Tom and his aunt, Simmons had fled the Tudor court well before Anne was brought down; he'd taken a wife from a diplomatic trip to Italy, and as he was widely known to be one of the queen's favorites, he didn't return to court after his marriage. Instead, the tour guide said, Simmons and his wife settled in Bath, perhaps because they were involved in the textile industry, although Tom thought that was a bit far-fetched to assume that a diplomat and a courtier would turn to a household industry. Still, local legend maintained that the man had left court with a substantial treasure, gifts from the Lady Anne, perhaps, or a payment from Henry to leave his wife alone, and somehow John Simmons had gone down in the legends of Bath as the richest man who ever lived there. The tour guide laughingly spoke of rumors of a treasure buried somewhere in the city, and when Tom questioned him about it after the tour, the man assured him the story was nothing more than a bit of local color, designed to give tourists a thrill when they considered whether they might be the ones to stumble upon Simmon's cask of gold.

But Tom's curiosity was up, and he started digging into the archives in Bath to see what he could uncover. For a long time, it looked like the tour guide was right, and there was no fact to the story of John Simmons, but one day, Tom stumbled upon a property deed registered to the "honorable J. Simon", and the find reinvigorated his search. Over the next few years, Tom had continued to sift through forgotten manuscripts and documents in the archives and museum, and he'd eventually amassed a stack of information that at least proved the existence of a man named John Simmons who had moved to Bath in 1490 with his wife and a host of "other valuable goods", as one inventory put it.

Tom also dug into the legend of the treasure, and he found that although Simmons was rarely mentioned, the treasure itself was a common legend in Bath, so much so that one of Jane Austen's biographers had spun a rather ridiculous story about Austen and some of her young friends hunting for the treasure in a cow field on the edge of town. Since the esteemed author hadn't begun visiting Bath until she was well into middle age, Tom discounted the idea that Austen had ever been a treasure seeker, but the idea of something mysterious and valuable waiting undisturbed for centuries captured his attention, and Tom fell into the fervor usually reserved for amateur treasure seekers, not established academic experts.

And so he'd rented a flat in Bath, to justify the expense of random visits to the western city when he was supposed to be settling into his established career in London. Tom split his time between both places, and he still managed to give his teaching his full focus, but he had to admit that his own research was starting to suffer; he would rather comb over the various clues he'd gathered about the treasure than try to eek any more meaning out of the flirtation between Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, and Tom kept looking for excuses to delay work on his next publication.

Lost in thought, he realized he'd wandered through the museum again without really seeing anything, and Tom finally left, heading back to his apartment in the late afternoon sun. Soon, he knew he'd have to shift his focus back to his life in London, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was closer to unraveling the mystery of John Simmons's missing treasure than he'd ever been.

### CHAPTER SEVEN

The bookstore near Piccadilly Circus opened at eight, and Riley was there, coffee and keys in hand, by seven-thirty. The store was blissfully dark, and she puttered around, straightening stacks of books and turning on the ancient computer that served as a cash register. She left the lights off until eight on the nose, and then she grudgingly flipped the switch.

Books towered around her on all sides. The store was a bibliophile's dream, and Riley knew she had been lucky to get a job there three years ago. Most of the other Medieval students would have traded their souls for a job selling antiquarian books, and usually, Riley appreciated her luck. But today, Gran's words weighed heavily on her mind, and Riley wished she were anywhere but at work.

Her walk along the river hadn't blocked out Gran's crazy theories about witches and curses the way Riley had hoped. Instead, staring at the inky water and thinking about Mark had just made Riley jumpy, and by the time she stopped her penance and headed to work, she was almost willing to believe that a weird Sicilian witch had cursed her family.

Almost, but not quite.

She'd never heard of the Strega until last night, but her scholar's mind knew that if there were such a creature, it would be easy enough to dig up some information. Her fingers twitched as she arranged a display of large, glossy photo books in the window. _Why doesn't the darn shop have an Internet connection?_ Riley glanced at the behemoth computer in the center of the store and sighed. If she'd thought to bring her laptop with her, she could have hacked into the wireless from the pub across the street. She'd done it before, when she'd been desperate to finish this or that assignment for her classes.

But her laptop was sitting where she'd left it, just inside the window from the fire escape back at her apartment. She would just have to wait to look up the Strega her gran had mentioned until she got home.

Riley glanced at the store computer again. _Unless—_

She crossed the room quickly and opened up the store catalogue. Although the computer was too old to hook up to the Internet (it had been built for dial up, for goodness sake), it did have access to the extensive database of shop materials. Riley should know; she'd spent much of her time in the store cataloging and cross-referencing titles as the stock shifted. If the shop had anything about Italian witches, she would know in an instant.

An hour later, the brass bell above the front door tinkled merrily as Mrs. Holden, the store owner, breezed in. Riley barely looked up; she was hunched over a thick leather tome, completely absorbed in her reading.

"Still doing research, dearie? Thought you were almost through."

Riley looked up with a start as the woman ducked behind the cash register and grabbed the hidden bank bag. "Sorry. No, not research. Just passing time." She knew she wouldn't get in trouble for reading at work. Mrs. Holden had encouraged her to spend her down time "getting to know the merchandise", but Riley still covered the book with her arm in embarrassment.

The round shopkeeper clicked her tongue. "All work and no play, dearie. You need a holiday."

Riley shrugged. "I'm not reading something about medieval convents, at least."

"And thank the lord for that! You're too pretty to have your head buried in the past like that."

Riley forced a smile and gestured to the towering stacks of books that surrounded them. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm not pretty enough for it to matter!" Mrs. Holden winked, and Riley felt some of her discomfort melting, but the woman's next words made her spine stiffen. "When are you going to let me give that nephew of mine your number?"

Riley slammed the book shut and coughed as a cloud of dust enveloped her. "That's really not necessary."

"But he'd love a sweet lass like you. And he's always buried in his books and things, too. Maybe you two would find something in common."

_I doubt it_. Mrs. Holden had been offering to set Riley up with this mysterious nephew ever since Mark made his abrupt departure, and Riley kept trying to think of excuses. "No, thanks. I've got my defense next week, and with all that, I'll be too busy to make any new friends."

Mrs. Holden sighed. "I hate to see a pretty lass like you alone, Riley. I think you'd like Tommy."

Riley cringed at the juvenile name. "Sorry, Mrs. Holden. I've just got a lot to do right now." She picked up the thick book she'd been reading and turned to put it back on its place on the shelf.

"What were you reading when I came in?" Mrs. Holden must have realized she'd pushed the nephew issue too far, and she smiled broadly at Riley in an effort to make amends.

Riley's hands started to sweat, and she almost dropped the book. "Just something that was out of place. It was interesting, and I got distracted." She angled her body past her boss, but Mrs. Holden had sharp eyes and they widened when she saw the cover on the spine.

"'Of Witchcraft and All Things Wicked'? Oh, Riley, what nonsense." She laughed. "I didn't even realize we had any books like that. I don't usually accept any occult texts, no matter how good their condition." She reached out to stroke the worn leather spine of the book, and Riley felt a strange surge of protectiveness as Mrs. Holden's hand touched the leather.

"It was just something to pass the time." She shrugged, trying to look disinterested, but something in her face must have given her away, because Mrs. Holden winked.

"You don't have to lie to me, dearie. I was young once, too, wasn't I? If you're finding fascination in the dark thoughts of our ancestors, I'm not one to stop you." She stuck the bank bag under her arm and headed for the door. "Check the price on that dusty old thing, and if you like, you can have it for half."

"I don't want it--" Riley tried to protest, but the bell chimed as the door swung shut behind Mrs. Holden.

Riley looked at the thick book in her hands, and looked up at the door again. "I don't want it," she said again to the empty store. She sat down on the middle rung of a book ladder leaning against the wall with the book across her lap.

Her fingers itched to open it up and keep reading, but the information she'd already gleaned from the book had left her feeling a bit disjointed. If there really was a curse on her, and if it really had been cast by a Strega witch, Riley realized that she might as well give up any hope now.

According to the book, Strega curses were unbreakable. Cast for vengeance or justice and sealed in blood, they were the most powerful curses known to man, and once a family ran afoul of the Strega, there was no hope for them. Against her will, Riley flipped the book open and kept reading.

By the time she left the shop at 3 o'clock, her head was spinning. She'd read and re-read the section on Italian witchcraft at least a dozen times, and disbelief mingled with fear in her mind. Despite Gran's constant warnings, Riley didn't want to believe in the curse. _It's all just nonsense_. Resolving to forget about it, Riley pushed the thoughts of deadly curses out of her mind. _Even if it is true_ , she amended, _I can't worry about it until I get through my defense._

### CHAPTER EIGHT

Even though Tom had gotten pretty good at ignoring his professional obligations while he was in Bath, when the next full moon rolled around, he couldn't ignore the circle. Tom had been practicing Paganism for years, and his draw to the myths and old traditions of the British Isles played a large part in his decision to settle in England after finishing his doctorate. Well, that and his aunt, who he owed a visit to while he was back in London. _But first things first_ , Tom thought, stepping off the train in London and spotting Sean's large form almost immediately.

Even though it had only been a month since they saw each other, the two men embraced in a quick bear hug, and Tom happily followed Sean out to his car. "Didn't think you'd make it," Sean remarked as Tom settled himself in the passenger's seat.

Tom shrugged. "I try not to miss circle; you know that."

Sean nodded thoughtfully. "Should be an interesting one tonight, with the equinox in a week and all, too."

Tom grunted his agreement. "I'm surprised we didn't combine the gatherings, since they're so close."

"I don't think anyone thought to suggest it. Besides, Joyce is hosting tonight, and you know how she is."

Tom had been gathering with Sean and the rest of the circle almost as long as he'd been in London, and over the years, he'd built a relationship like family with most of the members. Joyce wasn't his favorite person, though, mainly because she was a stickler for tradition and form, and Tom usually liked his worship to take a more fluid path, but whether he would have chosen to have a beer with her or not didn't matter; she was like a sister, just like Sean was the brother Tom never had, and as much as Joyce's type-A personality grated on Tom's nerves, he still respected her. _Plus, she usually puts on a damned impressive ritual_ , he admitted as he leaned back against the seat and settled in for the drive.

He and Sean lapsed into comfortable silence, and when the car finally turned into the winding drive well beyond the outskirts of London, Tom was feeling sleepy from the quiet car ride. His languor vanished, however, as soon as he spotted the familiar rusted truck already parked at the end of the drive. He swiveled around to face Sean accusingly, but Sean didn't look embarrassed.

"Would you still have come if you'd known she was going to be here?"

Tom paused, chewing on his mustache as he considered the question. "Probably," he finally admitted. "But a little warning would have been nice."

"At least she beat us here; if we'd gotten here first, I was going to wait until you saw her to say anything, just so I could watch you turn green."

Tom glared at him. "It's not exactly easy, you know."

Sean glanced at him, his face inscrutable. "Preaching to the choir, man. You think I like watching Joyce across the circle?"

_But you weren't engaged before she broke your heart._ Tom bit back the thought and shook his head. "Still. Not cool."

"We're a circle. People are bound to have drama, but I haven't found another group that feels as right as this one, even considering all that. Have you?"

Tom shook his head. "No, you're right. We're family, and sometimes family is...complicated."

Sean snorted. "That's putting it mildly." He put the car into park and turned off the engine, pocketing the keys in a silent motion.

Tom unclicked his seatbelt slowly, and he got out of the car, trying to prepare himself for seeing Erika again. _People encounter their exes all the time, and the world goes on._ Despite his attempt at bucking up, his feet felt heavy as he followed Sean around the small cottage to the fire pit out back.

The circle took turns writing and "hosting" the monthly rituals, but they usually always met at the same location. Joyce's house was secluded, surrounded by old trees, and boasted a dug in fire pit near a small creek, offering plenty of elemental ambiance for any ritual that could take place outside. The group usually worked outside, unless it rained, and then they moved everything into the surprisingly large kitchen in Joyce's relatively tiny cottage. Years of working together on the property had infused everything with potency and a sense of magic, and even though Tom knew he was about to encounter Erika for the first time since she gave him back his grandmother's ring, his shoulders relaxed without his conscious thought as the familiar comfort of the ritual space settled over him.

Joyce was standing over the fire pit, tending the already-lit blaze, but she stepped away to hug first Sean and then Tom. Tom was watching his friend for any flicker of discomfort, but Sean seemed totally at ease when Joyce put her arms around him and stood up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Tom felt a flicker of amazement that Sean could be so stoic, but he kept his thoughts to himself as Joyce embraced him.

"Basil just called; he's running late, but he'll be here. And Marla is bringing her sister again." The familiar voice behind Tom made him stiffen his shoulders, and slowly, he turned around to face his ex.

She was looking at Joyce as she finished relaying her messages, but then she turned to Sean and smiled. "Good to see you, big guy."

Sean gave her a quick hug. "You, too. You back to stay?"

Erika shrugged. "Not sure yet. But Italy was something else!" Her eyes swung to Tom, and she gave him a faint smile. "Good to see you, too."

Tom waited for his stomach to clench, but nothing happened. Bemused, he hugged Erika, wondering if his body was just having a delayed reaction to seeing her again, but for some reason, hugging her felt no different than the hug he'd just given Joyce. Unconsciously, Tom chewed on his mustache, wondering why he wasn't feeling...anything, really. "You, too," he said, pulling away from Erika and shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "So...Italy was good?"

When she'd dumped him, she'd told him she was going on a spiritual pilgrimage to Italy, and that she was pretty sure their paths wouldn't cross again, but if Erika remembered the conversation, she didn't let on. "It was amazing," she said, her usually lilting Irish accent sounding slower and warmer, somehow. "I figured a lot of things out."

Tom was surprised that her words didn't stir his interest. "That's good."

She nodded, her face bright. "I'm planning to host Mabon, so you'll get to see some of what I learned next week."

Tom's eyes swiveled back to her face and he raised an eyebrow. "What kind of things did you learn in Italy that will fit in with the harvest festival?"

Erika laughed and shook her head. "It'll be a surprise."

***

The ritual lasted until long after dark, and it was close to midnight when Sean finally dropped Tom off at his rooms at the college. Even though he hadn't been back in London for weeks, he ignored the pile of mail stacked neatly in the hall in front of his door, and he let himself inside with a sigh. Dropping his keys on the small table, Tom rubbed his forehead and crossed to the fridge, wondering if he'd left himself any food. He found a package of moldy bread, two cans of cheap beer, and a wedge of miraculously still-good cheese. Sighing, Tom popped the top on a can and grabbed the cheese. He took his meal and wandered into the cramped living area, dominated by the overstuffed recliner that the college had provided him. He wasn't really a Lazy Boy kind of guy, but he sank into the chair and took a swig of his beer, mulling over the ritual and seeing Erika again.

At first, Tom had thought it was just a fluke, that his body and brain had somehow stopped communicating from the shock of it, but his initial lack of emotion or reaction to Erika didn't change, and now that the evening was over, Tom wondered if he'd somehow gotten over his ex when he wasn't thinking about it. _Maybe it was the idea of her I missed all this time_ , he mused, turning the can in his hand aimlessly. _Somehow, the real thing doesn't bother me anymore._

He'd been worried that doing a ritual with Erika was going to be awkward, but it was actually no stranger than being there with Marla's sister, a woman whose name Tom could never remember and who rarely joined their circle, but was always polite and friendly whenever she tagged along. "Huh," Tom mused aloud, staring into space. "Maybe this is what moving on feels like."

The silent room didn't answer, and Tom drained the beer and finished his cheese in peaceful silence. Before he went to bed, he rummaged around in his dresser and found the black velvet jewelry box that housed his grandmother's ring. Gently, Tom pulled the box out of the drawer and cupped it in his hands for a moment. He hadn't looked at the stone since Erika gave it back to him, and a juvenile part of him wanted to prove to himself that he was really over her by handling the ring.

Drawing a deep breath, Tom opened the box and looked at the stone, waiting to be assaulted with memories, but nothing happened. Carefully, he pulled the ring out and held it between his thumb and forefinger, studying the antique setting. The silver was tarnished, and the stone didn't seem quite as bright as it had before, but other than some minor guilt at not taking better care of his family heirloom, Tom didn't feel a thing. Exhaling in relief, he put the ring back in the box and returned it to its home in his dresser.

Acting impulsively, Tom pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and punched in a number. Kai answered on the third ring. "What's wrong?"

"Do you want grandma's ring?" He asked without preamble, wondering if he'd regret the words.

"The bitch gave it back?"

Tom laughed out loud. "She's not that bad, kiddo."

Kai snorted. "She wasn't good enough to recognize a good thing when she had it."

Tom shrugged, letting it slide. "Yeah, she gave it back. I've had it all this time, and I just thought that maybe you'd like to wear it."

Kai paused, and Tom could tell she was choosing her words carefully. "Are you sure you won't want it someday? What if you meet someone?"

Tom smiled. "I think whoever I end up with deserves a ring of her own, don't you? Besides, I can't get _all_ the family heirlooms."

Kai laughed delightedly. "Want to airmail it to me?"

Tom was about to agree, but then inspiration struck. "I'll bring it home in December; how's that?"

"Deal. And no backsies; I consider that ring mine from this moment forward."

"Trust me, Kai. It's all yours. I should have given it to you months ago, but I'm ready to let it go now."

### CHAPTER NINE

September crept up on Riley, and she almost didn't have any time to be worried when the morning of her defense dawned murky and cold. Choosing her clothes carefully, she pinned her shoulder-length hair back into a messy bun. After she slipped the camel colored suit coat on, she hesitated for a minute, but then she clasped Gran's moonstone around her neck. Surveying herself in the mirror, she realized with a shock that she looked good. _Better than good. I look believable._ She hoped that her appearance today wouldn't have anything to do with her committee's acceptance of her thesis, but if she could look professional and scholarly, so much the better.

Eloise was leaning on the dirty kitchen counter when Riley came around the curtain, and she grinned. "There's the little professor. Go get 'em, tiger." Solemnly, she handed Riley a steaming mug of coffee, but Riley shook her head.

"I'll grab coffee on the way. I want to get there early so I can calm down."

"You look calm to me," Eloise lied.

Riley shot her a thin smile. "Thanks. But I'm not."

"Listen, you're going to be fine. You know your stuff. You can talk for hours about women and monasteries and prayer books." Eloise grimaced. "They'll love you."

Riley shrugged. "Maybe. Thank you."

"And after you're done, we're going out tonight to celebrate. No ifs, ands, or buts!"

For a moment, Riley considered arguing, but finally she nodded in defeat. "Okay."

"Okay?" Eloise looked stunned, but then a smile spread across her face. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Seriously."

"Finally!" Eloise beamed at her and slurped her own mug of coffee.

Riley forced a smile. "But first, I have to get through this."

She was at King's College twenty minutes later, and Riley headed to the room that Dr. Fullingham had told her to report to. When she got there, however, there was a sign on the door in her advisor's sprawling handwriting. "Room needed for something else. Meet in 23D instead."

Riley's hands started to shake, and she read the note again. _Seriously?_ Of all the things that she'd envisioned going wrong today, she'd never for once thought that she would have to face _that_ room again. Dragging her feet, Riley headed upstairs to the arena-style lecture hall.

She hadn't set foot in the room since her first semester at the college, but she remembered every nondescript detail of the space. After all, this was where she'd met Mark.

He had been a TA for her research methods course, and Riley had noticed him long before he spotted her. His spiky blue-black hair, his confident smile, and his vinyl messenger bag had given him the air of a male model rather than a doctoral student in history. All the girls in the class watched him, so Riley had been shocked when he singled her out one day after a test.

She'd been shy and he'd been charming, and it was impossible not to fall for him. And five months later, he was gone.

Snapped out of her memories by the sound of a chair scrapping against the floor, Riley took a tentative step into the lecture hall. Dr. Fullingham was already there, front and center. The other two members of Riley's committee weren't there yet, but Riley blanched when she saw half a dozen students sitting in the seats at the back of the lecture hall. In panic, she turned toward her advisor, but Dr. Fullingham just smiled at her.

"Better get set up. We'll start as soon as the other faculty members get here."

Riley nodded, too stunned to speak. Why were there students there? She glanced at the back of the room, and Dr. Fullingham followed her gaze.

"I know you're nervous, but you'll be fine." She patted Riley's shoulder. "Thesis defenses are always open to the student body. It's good practice for you to teach in front of an audience.'

Riley felt like she was going to throw up as her advisor turned away. For a moment, she stood frozen, and then she turned her back on the room and walked to the lectern. She didn't have a slide show or multi-media presentation, but for the first time, Riley wished she'd given in to the urge to do something flashy. If they were watching images on a screen, no one would be watching her. As it was, her entire presentation relied on the thick stack of note cards in her bag.

Her hands were slick with sweat when Riley pulled the cards out and started to shuffle them aimlessly. After a second, she took a deep breath. _Just pretend you're alone. You can do this._ Determined, she kept her back turned to the audience that had gathered and she began to re-read her notes one last time. Riley was barely aware that her other two committee members had arrived until Dr. Fullingham cleared her throat.

"Riley, we're ready whenever you are."

Taking one last deep breath, Riley mouthed a silent prayer. _Please let it go well_.

It didn't.

***

Riley tossed back her third tequila shot and shuddered. Eloise slapped her back with a bit more vigor than was required and laughed.

"Atta girl! Now you're a pro."

Riley glared at her roommate silently, and Eloise giggled before waving her hand at the bartender for another round. Riley's stomach protested, but she ignored it. _If there was ever a time to get stinking drunk, tonight is the night._

Eloise fiddled with her empty shot glass while she waited for the bartender to come back. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Riley didn't, but she found that she had no control over her voice. "It was the worst thing ever. Not only did I bungle the presentation, _and_ my committee thinks I'm a fool," words tumbled out of her mouth unbidden, but she couldn't seem to stop. "The worst thing was being in that room. That's where I met him, for Christ sake. It was like I could feel him, watching me, judging me."

Eloise shook her head. "That's crazy. Mark's not around anymore, Riley. You know that."

Riley sighed and set her head down on the bar. "Then why was it such an abysmal failure?"

"You wanted to postpone your defense, and you sort of got what you asked for."

Riley glared at her and reached for the salt. "Having to defend again isn't exactly having it pushed back. It means I failed, El."

Eloise shook her head defiantly. "You just have to find this Dr. Joseph--"

"Malcom," Riley corrected.

"—and he'll help you fix up the translations. Bing, bang, you're home in time for Christmas!"

The committee had set her next defense date for December, three months away. Riley didn't share Eloise's optimism about fixing her dissertation, but instead of arguing, she grabbed the shot glass, licked her hand, and drank.

By the time the girls staggered back to their apartment, Riley was feeling numb. She didn't feel better, exactly, but at least she was detached from her earlier humiliation. Eloise dropped her purse on the floor and stumbled down the hallway. "I'm going to take a hot shower. Or maybe a cold one: something to sober me up!"

Riley didn't answer. She flopped heavily down on the foot of her bed and pulled her laptop toward her. _Maybe I should email Dr. Fullingham and tell her exactly what I thought of her suggestions today._ With a wicked gleam in her eye, Riley logged into her email account.

The message at the top of her inbox made her freeze. She stared at the subject heading for a minute before she clicked on it. "Another one of yours?"

It was from Gran.

### CHAPTER TEN

He may not have made it back to the States as often as his family would have liked since he moved to England, but even if he couldn't go home for Sunday brunch every week, family was still a priority for Tom. Whenever he was in London, he made sure to spend time with his aunt, his father's widowed sister who ran a used bookshop in a swanky corner of town.

Jacob Malcom had grown up in Perth with his older sister, Helen, and their mother. Their father had been killed in a freak train wreck while traveling to London on business, and Jacob and Helen stepped into the spaces he left behind, helping their mother in any way they could. Tom's father immigrated to the United States when he was eighteen to attend college, but he still kept in close contact with his mother and sister. When Tom followed his father's path backwards, leaving America to study in Scotland, the first thing he did was look up his aunt Helen, who had relocated to London when she got married, and liked it so much that she stayed on even after she lost her husband. Tea and sconces with his aunt had become one of Tom's cherished rituals, and he hurried to get ready the morning after the _other_ ritual.

When he walked into his aunt's favorite French-inspired patisserie, Tom spotted Aunt Helen immediately. Even though it was Thursday, not Sunday, she was sporting a hat worthy of Easter service at Westminster, and a pile of newspapers dominated the table in front of her. She glanced up when Tom came over, and her face broke into a wide grin that always made Tom think of the picture his dad carried in his wallet, showing a much younger Jacob and Helen eating cotton candy at the seaside.

Tom leaned down to hug his aunt, and she returned his embrace with vigor. "You aren't eating enough," she said as he sat down. "Being a bachelor doesn't agree with you."

Tom chuckled. "I've actually gained a bit of weight I don't really need, but I'm glad you think I'm looking well."

His aunt clucked her tongue. "You really need to let me introduce you to my clerk, dearie. She's a sweet girl, and I think she could use the distraction, too. She worries too much."

Tom kept smiling, even though his aunt had been trying to fix him up with her employee for a couple of years. "I'll keep that in mind. How's business?"

"Going well. People always seem to want more books; you'd think I'd stop being surprised!"

Tom reached for one of the scones in front of his aunt. "Did you ever think that maybe you're just a good businesswoman?"

Helen laughed. "Gerald had the idea for the shop. I've just kept it open because I don't know what else to do."

Tom paused, chewing thoughtfully. "I don't think that's true," he finally said. "There are lots of things you could be doing. I think you're still running the bookstore because you're good at it, and you like it." He looked at his aunt intently. "It's okay to do something you enjoy, you know."

Her tone softened. "I know. You're a dear boy, to look out for me, but I don't want to talk about me. Tell me how things are with you. Are you back for the term?"

Tom shook his head. "Not quite. I've got a few more tours scheduled in Bath, but I'll be back in London to stay in time for classes, never fear."

"I still don't know why you've gravitated toward Bath. It's such a tatty tourist trap!"

Tom chuckled. "So's London, if you don't look too close."

His aunt snorted. "London's got a good deal more reality to it than Bath. What makes you keep going out there, anyway?"

Tom had never told anyone about his treasure hunting goose chase, but for a moment, he was tempted to spill everything to his aunt and see what she said. _Who knows; she might even be able to help._ Although her bookstore sold a mess of eclectic antique books, Tom knew his aunt had a passion for folklore and local myths, and he suddenly found himself wondering if she might have heard something along the way that would help him track down John Simmons's cask of gold. He opened his mouth to ask her, but just then, the man at the table behind them jostled into their table, knocking a scone and a stack of papers to the floor, and Tom's aunt clucked her tongue in irritation and bent down to retrieve them, and the moment was lost.

When she sat up, Tom changed topics. "When I'm back in town to stay, you'll have to let me cook dinner for you."

His aunt looked at him incredulously. "When did you learn to cook?"

Tom shrugged. "I can use a hot plate. And I've got a couple of mean slow cooker recipes."

As he'd hoped, Helen laughed. "You'll come over and eat with me anytime, dearie. And maybe I'll have my clerk over, too."

Tom shrugged, but he wasn't too annoyed by his aunt's persistence. He didn't have to agree to any set ups, and if fantasizing about playing matchmaker made Helen happy, he wasn't about to stop her. _I'll just have to show up at the last minute for dinner, rather than letting her plan it ahead of time,_ he thought with a smile.

They laughed and chatted and teased and caught up, and by the time Tom was on his fourth cup of tea and his third scone, he was feeling the lazy, warm glow he always got when he spent time with his family. When his aunt stood up to go, he hugged her extra tight, and she patted his cheek.

"Sure you don't want to come along to the shop, Tommy? My girl will be opening things up right about now."

Tom kissed her cheek gently. "I'm sure, Aunt Helen. But thank you for looking out for me."

"Of course. Love to your folks the next time you call home."

Tom nodded following her out into the street. "And I'll let you know when I'm back in London for term."

She studied his face. "Whatever you're looking for in Bath," she finally said, her tone unexpectedly serious, "maybe it's best if it isn't found."

With that, she turned and headed out into the crowd, leaving Tom staring after her in disbelief.

### CHAPTER ELEVEN

"How did you even find out about this?" Riley didn't bother with a polite greeting. Her hands were shaking, and she had a hard time gripping the phone, even though she felt instantly sober.

Gran sighed. "Let's call it woman's intuition."

Riley shook her head. "Still. I never mentioned him!"

"So he is one of yours, then?"

Riley froze. She skimmed the link to the obituary that Gran had sent, and swallowed. "He committed suicide. The curse doesn't work that way."

"How do you know how it works, young lady? Answer the question: did you sleep with that young man?"

She'd met him at college, and until tonight, Riley hadn't thought about her freshman fling. "Yes."

"Then this is your fault. Are you going to just sit back and let this keep happening?"

Riley bit her lip and glanced around the curtain. Eloise was still in the shower, occasionally bursting into song, and Ron was nowhere to be seen. "I'm ready to listen, Gran."

"Good." There was a pause, and then Gran's voice got louder. "Our curse began with Portia Bassanti."

"You already told me that."

Silence. Riley rubbed her forehead. Finally, Gran said, "Are you sure you're ready to listen?"

"Yes."

"Then keep your mouth shut and let me talk."

Riley clamped her teeth closed and glared at the phone.

"There. That's better. As I was saying, the curse began with Portia Bassanti. No one knows the name of the suitor she offended, but legend has it he gifted part of the curse to Portia and her groom before they left for England. They took it with them, and by the time the family understood the curse, it had been lost."

Riley couldn't help but interrupt. "Wait, the Strega gave them the curse? Like an actual object, or are you being metaphorical?"

Gran sniffed. "An actual object. Three, in fact. Only when those three items are destroyed will our family be free of the curse."

Her skin prickled, and Riley whispered, "What are they?"

"Caskets."

She stared at the phone, aghast. "What, like coffins? Are there bodies inside?"

Her Gran sounded exasperated. "No one knows what's inside. As I said, when the family realized the nature of the curse, the golden casket had already been lost to time."

"How did the family find out about the curse? How do you even know all this?"

Gran's tone was sharp. "The tale has been passed from daughter to daughter for centuries. Are you telling me you doubt the reality of the curse?"

_No, but I doubt your sources._ "Of course not. I've seen it work." Riley swallowed. "Three men have died because of me. I want to make it stop."

"Good." Gran paused. "The location of the three caskets is a mystery, but if you can find them and destroy them, the curse will lift."

"So I'm just supposed to roam all over the world, looking for coffins? Gran, that's impossible."

"There are clues, young lady. Just stay silent and let me tell you what I know."

Riley finally shut up, but she had a hard time not arguing with Gran the more she learned. _It's worse than finding a needle in a haystack: I'm chasing coffins that might not exist!_

After Gran had explained everything, Riley took a deep breath. "That's it?"

"That's everything. Find the caskets, and you will free us."

Riley paused. "Gran," she finally asked, "how did Granddad die?"

Gran's voice was sharp. "He had a heart attack right after your father's seventh birthday."

"And you never tried to break the curse?"

"I didn't believe in it until I lost him."

Riley pushed. "But after?"

"What was the point after? I'd already been punished."

Riley felt a bubble of anger in her chest. "Because if you'd broken the curse, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"One more thing," Gran continued as if Riley had never spoken, "make sure you wear my moonstone. Family legend says it's bespelled to help reveal the caskets."

Riley snorted. "Seriously, Gran?"

"Stranger things have happened, Riley Clarissa Belmont." Her voice was cold.

"I'm sorry." Riley rubbed her eyes. "This is just a lot to take in."

Gran's next words surprised her. "Have faith in yourself Riley. If you can't do this, no one can."

***

The first thing Riley did was run a quick Internet search. She didn't turn up anything on "Portia Bassanti", but when she typed in "Gold Casket England", she was startled to discover a number of possible hits. Evidently, there was a legend that a casket of gold was buried somewhere beneath the city of Bath in Western England.

Riley jotted down a few notes on the story, but it wasn't much to go on. Evidently, one of the founders of the town had told his family on his deathbed that a casket of treasure had been buried beneath the city. People had been hunting for it for centuries, and a few rabid conspiracy theorists online seemed to believe it was still somewhere beneath the town, but that was it. No mention of where the supposed casket had come from, and no clue as to where it was buried.

Sitting back in disgust, Riley closed her computer. She had the day off of work tomorrow—she glanced at her clock and realized that tomorrow was already today—and she figured she could continue her research after a few hours of sleep. _It's not like I'm going to solve anything now._

Hurriedly, Riley fished some aspirin out of her bag and downed a glass of water to stave off the hangover that she knew was waiting for her, and then she dropped onto her bed and fell into a brief and troubled sleep.

She dreamt of an Italian city; yellow stucco houses with beautiful tiled roofs that climbed the hillsides around her. In the center of the town, a hunched figure robbed in black stood, gesturing to the sky. Riley and the creepy shadowy person were the only people visible in the dream, but Riley felt thousands of eyes watching her. The skin on the back of her neck prickled, and she turned in a slow circle, trying to spot the unseen watchers. No one was there, but a sharp scream pierced the air from the direction of the dark figure.

Riley whirled around in panic and found herself face to face with a grinning skeleton. It reached for her, and darkness descended.

With a shriek, Riley woke up from her bizarre dream. A tall man was standing at the foot of her bed, and Riley bit back a second scream when she realized it was just Ron.

"You okay?" He creased his brow, but he didn't come any closer or reach for her.

Riley nodded. "Sorry if I woke you. Nightmare."

Ron shrugged. "It happens." He dropped the curtain and left Riley alone.

She took a deep breath and then glanced at the clock. Surprised, Riley blinked. She'd actually managed to get four hours of sleep, and her head didn't feel any of the telltale signs of the hangover that she'd been expecting. Gingerly, Riley got up and headed for the shower. If she hurried, she could make it to King's College when the library opened at 9. Even though she wanted to stay in bed and forget everything that had happened yesterday, Riley felt a sense of urgency propelling her; it was time to break the curse.

### CHAPTER TWELVE

Tom caught a train back to Bath in the afternoon, and the whole way back, his aunt's strange statement kept circling around in his mind. _What did she even mean? And how does she know I'm looking for something?_ When he got back to his flat in Bath, he immediately grabbed the accordion folder holding his research on John Simmons and the treasure, and he spread out on the floor of the living area in front of his second-hand sofa.

A vague sense of unease snaked down his spine as he looked at the familiar pages, but Tom didn't push it away. His years as scholar, combined with his faith, had taught him to listen to impulses and trust his instincts, and for some reason, his treasure hunt worried him now. Closing his eyes, Tom put his hands on his lap, palms down, and slowly, he drew his awareness to his breath. When he was feeling more grounded, Tom reached for the papers, still keeping his eyes closed. His fingers closed around one sheet, and Tom pulled it into his lap.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He skimmed the page, not sure what he was looking for, but then his eyes lighted on a particular phrase. The sheet was a photocopy of a text from the seventeenth century, one that bought into the myth that Anne Boleyn had bewitched the king and all her lovers with actual witchcraft, and the author seemed to take great pleasure listing off the many crimes attributed to the poor woman. Tom paused, his eyes drawn to a sentence toward the bottom, slightly blurred in the copy, maybe because of a damaged manuscript, or maybe because there had been something on the photocopy glass the day Tom scanned the document. "An' the witch's curse followed all, but especially that faithless man who left her side without seeking permission," Tom read aloud slowly. His unease increased, and Tom shivered, setting the paper down quickly.

_There's no reason to think that author is talking about Simmons,_ he tried to reassure himself. _In fact, there's no reason to think that author is anything other than some fear-mongering fool, two centuries removed from the Tudor court._ But the words lingered in Tom's mind despite his pep-talk, and slowly, Tom began sifting through his other papers, wondering if there were any other mention of a possible curse on the treasure. Even though he worked long past midnight, Tom didn't find anything in his notes to satisfy his curiosity, and when he finally fell asleep on the sofa without even bothering to change, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had been with him since her aunt made her offhanded comment.

That night, Tom dreamed more than he usually did, and he remembered most of the dreams when he woke up. Most vivid out of all the images wasn't the memory of darkness like a cave, or the sensation of being buried alive; the image that wouldn't leave Tom, even in daylight, was a beautiful woman with pale skin and orange-red hair, reaching out her hand to him in distress. As he brushed his teeth, Tom mused on the dream, wondering if his research had finally gone to his head. _If it weren't for her jeans, she kind of reminded me of the portrait of Anne Boleyn,_ Tom thought, pausing to stare at himself in the mirror. _It was just a dream...right?_

But he wasn't sure, and Tom went through his day mechanically, giving two tours that he barely even noticed. Every time he blinked, the image of the ghostly look-alike flickered into his mind, and Tom found himself thinking that as creepy as his dreams had been, he didn't really mind; the girl was beautiful, in the same haunting way that the doomed queen had been, and by the time he stopped trying to work and poured himself a drink, Tom had almost gotten used to her image in his mind. _I wonder if she's real_ , he thought, swirling his glass idly, _or if she's just a figment of my imagination._

That night, when Tom fell asleep, he didn't dream at all.

### CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Riley wasn't having much more luck with King's College's extensive database than she'd had on her quick Internet search the previous night, and she leaned back in frustration. Everything Gran had said about the curse rolled around in her mind, and Riley shut her eyes.

"Polishing up your research, Riley?" The familiar voice startled her, and Riley opened her eyes to see Dr. Fullingham looming over her.

Quickly, she minimized the database window on her computer screen. "Yes." She resisted the urge to glare at her advisor.

Oblivious to Riley's frustration, the tall woman pulled out the chair next to Riley and took a seat. "I'm glad. You know that we want you to succeed in December."

Riley forced herself to nod.

"Meeting with Dr. Malcom will make all the difference in the world. I've been in touch with him this morning, and he's expecting you."

Indignation flared in Riley's mind. "You contacted him on my behalf?"

Dr. Fullingham nodded. "He's in Bath right now delivering a series of lectures, but he'll be back in London next week. I've scheduled your meeting for Monday at noon."

_Bath. The city with the casket legend._ Riley stared at her advisor in astonishment. "Actually, I had been thinking about visiting Bath. I've never been out there. I could look him up and chat with him there."

Her advisor paused, but then she nodded. "He might not have all of his research to hand if you see him in Bath, but I'm sure he'd be happy to meet you. I'll call Tom and let him know you're coming." She stood up and shot Riley a sympathetic smile. "I know yesterday didn't go the way you planned, but I'm proud of you for not giving up."

Riley smiled without warmth. "I'm very determined. My grandmother says I'm like a terrier once I get my teeth into something."

Dr. Fullingham chuckled. "Something you have in common with Dr. Malcom. I look forward to hearing your thoughts after you meet with him. Send me a revised copy of your thesis to look over before you next defense date, will you?"

Riley nodded, the wheels in her brain turning furiously as she tried to formulate a plan that had nothing to do with her thesis.

### CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Tom's phone buzzed insistently, waking him up with a start. He checked the screen, worried, but his worry quickly gave way to frustration. His email had decided to alert him to new messages, and as Tom opened his inbox, he realized there must have been something wrong with his phone; he had over a thousand unread messages, but other than the alert that morning, he'd had no idea emails had been piling up, unanswered, for the better part of a month. "Must be Mercury Retrograde," he muttered to himself, skimming the inbox before he gave up and turned on his computer to more properly deal with the messages.

There were a number of emails from his department head, asking for course syllabi, and Tom groaned inwardly. _I've really let everything slide this time,_ he realized as he fired off a quick response with his syllabus. _I used to be much better at juggling real life with the treasure._ He replied to his teaching assistant's panicked inquiries about the copier code, and then he skimmed the student emails that had already begun trickling in, even though term wouldn't start for a few days. _Can't these kids check my website? Or better yet, wait to panic until the first day of class?_ With a sigh, Tom opened his teaching website and began tinkering around, posting his syllabus in a more prominent place, updating assignment deadlines, and testing a few of the links he'd posted for assigned reading and weeding out the dead ones.

When Tom felt like his course site was at least passable, he opened up his lecture notes. Only getting up to brew a pot of strong tea, he buckled down for the rest of the morning, trying to cram a summer's worth of preparation into a few hours. The file folder of treasure notes taunted him from its place under his desk, and his knee kept brushing against it, and Tom finally got up, grabbed the folder, and carried it down the hall to the shelf over his bedroom. _It's time to get back to reality,_ he told himself firmly, even though his fingers ached to riffle through the research notes one more time.

It was hard to ignore his strange quest for John Simmon's gold, but Tom forced himself to focus on teaching and catching up on professional responsibilities, and the longer he worked, the easier it was to get back into the familiar swing of being the esteemed professor and valued researcher, roles he'd been completely comfortable in for years.

Checking his email again, Tom felt a surge of satisfaction when he realized he'd cleaned up more than half of the messages that had been waiting for him, and it was only noon. He stood up and stretched, lifting his chin as his arms reached overhead, and as he lowered his arms, his stomach gave a tremendous growl. Tom laughed and grabbed his jacket.

"The needs of the body," he said aloud to himself as he left the flat in search of a quick lunch.

By the time he sated his hunger, Tom had lost some of the crazed drive that had propelled him through the work of the morning, but he knew better than to give into the urge to play hooky. He'd have to be back in London that weekend to stay, with the term starting on Monday, and he didn't want to walk into a new semester feeling as unhinged as he'd felt that morning. He headed back to his flat with determination, and he resolved to deal with the rest of the unopened emails before he did anything else.

There was an email from one of his colleagues, asking him to meet with a graduate student and offer his "expertise and gentle criticism" for a dissertation project looking at the three remaining copies of Anne Boleyn's _Book of Hours_ , and Tom groaned inwardly. Even though Boleyn and the manuscripts were his areas of expertise, his treasure tangent felt suddenly too connected to Anne and her troubled history, and the last thing Tom wanted to do was get bogged down with thoughts of treasure just when he'd forced himself to set those ideas aside, but he couldn't think of a way to put Dr. Fullingham off without sounding incredibly rude. He sent a fast reply, and then continued digging through his inbox. Toward the bottom, he unearthed a handful of messages from an unfamiliar email address, a person named "Riley Belmont", who mentioned Dr. Fullingham and the Book of Hours. Feeling guilty, Tom realized that the grad student in question had tried to contact him a month ago, and the fact that he hadn't responded had likely prompted his advisor to step in. Tom replied to Riley, telling him the same thing he'd said to Fullingham, and offering to meet for lunch on Monday. _I hope I haven't held up his research too much,_ Tom thought, raking his hand through his hair and leaning back to get his eyes away from the screen for a moment.

He glanced at the small calendar pinned to his wall and sighed. In all honesty, he probably should have stayed in London when he went back for the moon circle, but he hadn't been ready to walk away from the tantalizing mystery of the treasure in Bath. _But since when do I let a wild goose chase get in the way of my work?_ Even though the treasure had captivated Tom, he had to admit that he'd found very few leads since he latched onto the legend and began spending more and more time in Bath. _Maybe it's time to let it go,_ Tom thought, his mind wandering.

With a start, he realized he'd been dozing in his chair, and Tom shook himself and straightened up. He glanced at his still-overflowing inbox, and then his eyes swung to the window, taking in the afternoon shadows that filled his view. For a moment, he had the sense of having traveled back in time, as if the city outside his window really was the medieval Italian town it resembled. If he closed his eyes, Tom could almost imagine that he heard the sounds of horses and carts, peddlers hawking their wares, and somewhere, very faint, the clash of swords as two young bloods settled a dispute with a dual. The fantasy deepened, and Tom wondered what would wait for him in the street if he were to get up from his desk and walk away, without a backward glance.

With a sigh, Tom opened his eyes, turned back to the computer, and got back to work.

### CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When she stepped off the train in Bath that afternoon, Riley felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. The quaint, yellowed buildings surrounding her looked exactly like the Italian village in her dream the other night. She paused on the platform, staring around her in confusion. Grabbing a visitor's guide from the glass information booth, Riley sat down on a bench and started to read.

Evidently, even though the city had existed since Roman times, it had been mostly reconstructed in the eighteenth century. The town designers had intentionally modeled their city after Tuscan hill towns, and the result was a charming (if strange) Italian town in England. Unsteadily, Riley got to her feet, tucking the brochure into her shoulder bag. When she'd first read the legend about the golden casket buried in Bath, she'd felt like she was grasping at straws, but now, standing there and looking at the buildings, she wondered if she might be on to something.

If her nightmare was any indication, she was. But where in the world would she begin her search for the first casket?

With a sigh, Riley headed into town. She could worry about the casket once she found Dr. Malcom. Although she wanted to ignore that part of her trip, she was sure that Dr. Fullingham had called the man and told him to expect Riley, and she didn't want to do anything to piss her advisor off. Besides, it wouldn't take long to shake hands with the old man and ask him to email her his translation. He was supposed to be giving a talk in an hour at Bath Abbey, and Riley hoped she'd catch him before the lecture began.

Despite the strange architecture, Bath was a bustling, charming town, and Riley found that she was enjoying her short walk to the abbey. The streets were lined with an eclectic array of shops, and Riley was staring in windows, looking at the pastries, jewelry, and wool for sale. _Maybe I can stay here overnight. I might find some nice gifts for my family._

With a guilty start, Riley realized that she hadn't sent anything back to her family in the States in months. When she first moved to London, she had sent little souvenir packets every month. But as the novelty of living abroad began to wear off, she'd stopped hunting down tourist tat for her family and friends, and no one had complained. _Still, it would be nice to show them I'm thinking of them_. Riley resolved to do some shopping if she had any time between her meeting with Dr. Malcom and searching for the golden casket. _Not that I actually have the first idea where to search._

Her thoughts brought her up short, and Riley realized that she'd stepped out of the clear autumn sunlight and into a cold shadow. She tipped her head back, surprised to see the imposing gothic shadow of what could only be the abbey stretching over her. Riley suppressed a shiver. Big churches had always made her feel a bit uncomfortable; the small Methodist parish she was raised in worshiped in a building that had once been a barn, and she wasn't used to the pomp of many of the old European churches. Still, Riley admired the harsh, beautiful architecture for a minute before she circled the building, searching for the entrance.

She found a thick wooden door and stepped inside quietly. The church surrounding her was hushed, and Riley felt a strange sense of anticipation dance up her spine. It was almost as if the church were waiting for something to happen. She touched Gran's moonstone nervously. Ever since their last conversation, Riley had resolved to keep the moonstone close.

Footsteps echoed to her left, and Riley turned. A broad-shouldered man with golden hair was coming toward her with a smile. Riley noticed his tweed jacket and faded jeans, but her eyes kept slipping up to his face. His eyes were bright blue, and as he drew closer, Riley noticed that he had a well-trimmed beard. With surprise, she realized that his beard was orange.

"You must be Riley. I've been expecting you!" He shook her hand vigorously, and Riley stared at him, puzzled.

"Who are you?" She blurted rather rudely.

He paused. "I'm sorry. I thought you were somebody else." He ran his hand through his hair, and the self-conscious gesture charmed Riley. "I'm supposed to meet a grad student today, and, well, you looked a little lost, so I just assumed it was you."

Riley stared at his warm blue eyes in shock. "You're Dr. Malcom?"

A delighted smile lit his face. "The one and only. But really, call me Tom. Dr. Malcom is for my students." He grinned at her, and Riley suddenly wondered how old he was. He didn't look that much older than her, but then again, he had to be; it was impossible to become famous in academia without a few years of work under your belt.

Riley realized her mouth was dangling open, and she quickly shut it. "Um. I'm Riley."

He was still holding her hand, and she noticed how warm his fingers felt. Carefully, she pulled her hand back and gave him a confused smile.

"I assumed. Let's sit for a minute and chat." Tom turned and, to Riley's surprise, led her back out into the sunshine. She glanced back at the abbey.

"Don't you need to get ready for your talk?"

Tom laughed. "Plenty of time. Talk's not for twenty minutes. We can squeeze in a scone or two first!"

Bemused, Riley followed him around the corner from the church to a small tea shop.

"Best scones in town," he stage-whispered to her as he held the door open.

Riley smiled nervously. "Okay. I'll have whatever you're having."

Tom placed the order and pulled out his wallet. Riley leaned forward.

"I can pay."

He smiled at her. "Please. Allow me."

Feeling uncomfortable but not sure how to say no without seeming rude, Riley shrugged and sat down at a vacant table near the window. In a moment, Tom joined her, holding a plate with two scones on top of a white china mug. With his other hand, he passed another identical mug to Riley, and she inhaled deeply.

"Tea?"

He nodded, setting the scones down and sliding into the folding chair across from her. "Of course! When in Rome," he quipped, and Riley couldn't help herself. She smiled.

"Or Roman Bath."

He laughed and took a scone. "Exactly. Now, tell me what brings you questing for me."

Riley's mirth soured as she thought about her thesis. "Well," she began, "I'd like a chance to look at your translation of the Boleyn's _Book of Hours_."

Tom nodded, his blue eyes fixed on her face. "Of course. Easily done."

She relaxed slightly and took a bite of her scone. Salty, buttery, sweetness filled her mouth, and she stared at Tom in amazement.

He chuckled. "Best scones in town," he repeated with a satisfied grin.

Riley felt an answering smile slip onto her face, and something warm fluttered in her stomach as she stared across the table at Tom. _He's nothing like I was expecting,_ she thought, studying his face. Warmth spread to her cheeks, but even though she knew she was staring, Riley couldn't look away.

### CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Anne Boleyn was sitting in his lecture. Well, not the real Boleyn. But the graduate student, Riley Belmont, who ended up to not only NOT be a guy, but to be a woman who could have sat for a portrait of the dead Tudor queen and fooled everyone, except for her not-quite natural hair color. Dr. Fullingham had emailed to let him know that Riley was on her way to Bath and would look him up, but Tom hadn't been prepared for the woman who greeted him. When she walked into the abbey before his talk, he thought for a moment that he was dreaming, but he shook himself out of it and tried not to stare as he introduced himself to Riley.

But he was having a hard time not staring at her, even in the middle of his lecture. It wasn't just her resemblance to the dead queen that made him take a second (and a third) look; it was also the fact that Riley looked remarkably like the woman from his dream. _Although grad students aren't usually damsels in distress_ , he thought wryly, pulling his attention away from the red head in the back of the room and back to his lecture. This was the last talk he'd been slated to give for the Bath Historical Society, the last talk to help legitimize the months he'd spent poking around and chasing after old legends in a city where nobody expected him to be, and he was trying to deliver a worthwhile talk. But Riley had caught him completely off guard, and he wasn't even sure what he'd said by the time the talk wrapped up and the Q and A period rolled around.

He didn't know why he'd expected the graduate student to be male; Riley was one of those names that could go either way, and Tom usually prided himself on not making assumptions about students or colleagues. But the fact that this Riley in question was female had unsettled him, and Tom wasn't sure if it was because of her striking resemblance to the woman in his dream, or because he'd taken one look at her wide blue eyes and felt as if he were finally coming home.

Someone asked another question, and Tom pulled his gaze away from the woman at the back of the room. "The treasure?" He forced himself to laugh and lean forward casually. "I think it's real," he said with a smile, in a move practiced to leave his listeners uncertain whether or not he was teasing. _But I do think it's real_ , Tom thought as he pointed to the next question, _and I want to be the man to find it._

"Dr. Malcom," began an older woman in the front row, "I know your research usually focuses on the Tudor court, and on prayer books in particular. I'm wondering if we can expect any Tudor-centric publications from you that deal with our city."

Tom cleared his throat. "Well, considering that Henry VIII dissolved the priory here, effectively killing the town for half a century, I'm not sure what connections I'll be able to draw."

"But," the woman pressed, staring straight at him, "surely you've found something to connect your research; why else would you have spent so much time in Bath this summer?"

Tom tried to smile, but he felt his shoulders tense. "Your town is charming, and I've loved the opportunity to play tourist and amateur historian for a bit. It's been a nice break from my responsibilities at the university, but with term starting up next week, I'm afraid I won't be able to enjoy my vacation much longer." It wasn't really an answer, at least not to the question the woman had asked, but Tom hoped it appeased her and stopped that uncomfortable line of questioning. _I shouldn't have been surprised that someone would wonder_ , he thought as he wrapped up the Q and A and his eyes once more sought Riley. _What should surprise me is the fact that it took this long for anyone to call me on it._

As the audience began to file away, Tom studied Riley. She'd been paying attention through his talk, but her eyes looked faraway all of a sudden, and Tom wondered what she was thinking about. Just then, a shadow fell across her face, and for a moment, Tom had the ghastly idea that he was looking a corpse rather than a flesh and blood woman. He shook himself and when he looked again, Riley seemed perfectly normal. _You're jumping at shadows,_ he told himself as he headed down the aisle to her.

Still, he couldn't shake the sensation that Riley was in some kind of danger, and the idea meshed with his bizarre dream from the other night. Tom felt an impulse stirring in him to protect Riley, no matter what it was that was haunting her, and he cringed internally. He'd always been drawn to women who needed help, women who needed saving, and he hated that about himself. Erika had been the worst; her melancholy episodes quickly turned into intentionally destructive behavior, but even when Tom confronted her about it, she'd always lied and told him she was fine. In hindsight, it was probably a really good thing that Erika hadn't wanted to marry him after all, but that didn't mean he was willing to ignore whatever distress Riley was in.

Her electric blue eyes met his, and another jolt through him. _I can't believe I feel this way about someone I've barely met._ He realized he was staring like a fool, so Tom forced a smile and slipped into his jovial teacher persona, the warm, friendly demeanor that made the graduate students vie to work with him and the undergraduates sing his praises, even after they flunked his class. But even as Tom grinned and chatted with Riley as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he couldn't get rid of the sensation that he had already stumbled and fallen headfirst into a dangerous kind of infatuation.

### CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

They'd finished up their tea and scones just in time for Tom's lecture. "I'd invite you to join me, but I doubt you'd find anything interesting about the legends of Bath as narrated by yours truly."

Riley had smiled at him. "Well, how long will your talk be?"

"Just an hour. I can meet you after, if you like."

"I don't mind tagging along." Riley's words surprised her, and she'd hastily added, "If it's okay with you."

Tom raised a pale eyebrow. "Certainly. But I didn't think little English towns were your specialty."

Riley had secretly agreed with him, but she didn't want to say goodbye to Dr. Malcom just yet. _Besides, he might know something about the casket. It's worth a shot._ "Never too old to start branching out."

He'd stared at her for a moment, and then tossed back his head and laughed. "Right you are. Well, then, shall we?" With mock gallantry, he held his arm out to her, and after a moment, Riley took it.

"Why not?" Her fingertips rested on the crook of his arm, and Riley could feel warmth radiating off him. An unexpected tingle of attraction shot through her, and Riley tensed. Dr. Malcom didn't seem to notice, and he chatted pleasantly as he escorted Riley back to the abbey.

She ignored him, focusing instead on the strange surge of emotions she was feeling. Something about Tom made her feel safe, and Riley could deny that he was handsome, in a scholarly sort of way. Shame trumped that little twinge of attraction, however. Riley hadn't felt anything for anyone since Mark died, but more than that, she was ashamed to even feel fleeting affection for the man beside her. It wasn't the fact that he was a professor that gave her pause. It was her curse that swallowed her with guilt. Until she broke it, she couldn't allow herself to be drawn to any man, no matter what. Until she'd met Tom, that hadn't seemed like a legitimate concern, but his bright blue eyes and easy smile had pushed Mark from her mind for the first time since he'd been gone.

Embarrassed, Riley pulled away from Dr. Malcom and took a seat in a rear of the sanctuary. The pews around her held a spattering of older men and women, and she assumed that this was the audience for Tom's lecture. He smiled at her before striding to the center of the church and clearing his throat.

"Can everybody hear me?"

There was a low murmur of assent to his question, and Tom smiled.

"Excellent. Thank you for joining me today. How many of you are locals to Bath?"

Most of the people in the pews raised their hands, and Tom rocked back and forth on his heels.

"I hope you won't be offended that a Yank has come here to talk to you about your own town."

_American?_ Riley looked at him closely. His accent had seemed vaguely British to her, and she found herself wondering how long he'd been working in England if he'd picked up the accent. She'd have to ask him about that later.

A faint chuckle spread around the room at his statement, but Riley saw a woman in front of her purse her lips in a sour frown. Unnoticing, Tom went on, seeming totally at ease in front of the crowd.

_How does he do that?_ Riley wondered. She had always preferred the research aspects of her work to teaching, but most academics were expected to do both, and Riley had spent the past three years struggling to develop even a veneer of confidence when she spoke in front of people. It hadn't really worked, but Dr. Fullingham kept making her lecture to the undergraduate students for practice.

As Tom talked, Riley found that she was actually captivated by what he had to say. Her brief research had sketched an outline of Bath's history, but to hear Tom tell it, the city had been founded with enough bloodshed and intrigue for a soap opera. Riley leaned forward to listen.

"And although Jane Austen's presence here is, as you undoubtedly know, one of the biggest draws for tourists, the famous author actually despised the city and mocked it quite openly in her lifetime." Tom winked at a grey haired woman in the front row. "But then again, everyone agrees that Ms. Austen was a poor judge of character."

That elicited a quiet chuckle from the audience, and Tom wound down his talk. "Are there any questions?"

A young man Riley hadn't noticed stood up. "Professor, I was wondering if you could touch on the stories of treasure."

Riley watched Tom eagerly. He smiled at the guy who had asked the question.

"First, tell me something: are you just visiting, or do you live here?"

The querent hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged. "Here on holiday."

Tom scratched his beard with a knowing smile. "And I'd wager the story of the golden casket is one of the things that drew you to Bath."

"Well, I didn't come for Ms. Austen, sir." The young man grinned impishly, and Tom chuckled.

"Fair enough. Well, as an outsider, I've heard a fair number of tales of the coffin of gold that rests beneath this city, but those tales have been told for years. Don't you think someone would have found it by now if the treasure really existed?"

The young man looked thoughtful, and then he shrugged. "I just thought I'd see what you had to say, sir."

"If there is a treasure in this town, it's well hidden." Tom caught Riley's eye and his smiled stretched even wider. "If my guess is worth anything, I'd say the most likely spot is beneath the old Roman baths."

Riley's heart started to pound. _Did he mean that?_ Her excitement faded as suddenly as it had come when she realized how old the baths were. _Why, someone would have had to destroy part of the ruins to bury the casket. The Romans left Britain more than a thousand years before the curse began._ Dejected, she didn't listen to any of the other questions, and a warm hand on her shoulder startled her back to reality.

Tom was standing over her, looking concerned. "Was I that boring?"

"What?" Riley glanced around and realized that the church had cleared out. Embarrassed, she stood up.

"Well, was I that boring that you decided to take a nap?"

Riley shook her head. "It was really interesting. I just must have zoned out during the Q and A."

Tom laughed. "That's usually the part of these talks I wish I could zone out on, too." He hesitated for a moment. "Did you still want to talk about your thesis?"

Riley paused. "Well, not really." His face fell, and she felt the sudden impulse to try to make him smile again. "I mean, I'd like to talk to you some more, but I don't really want to deal with my thesis right now. Brain's too foggy." She hoped she sounded convincing. Secretly, she was trying to shift the conversation around so that she could somehow mention the casket legend.

Tom studied her for a moment. "What would you rather talk about?" He asked bluntly.

Riley suddenly realized that she might be imposing on his time. He'd met with her to discuss her thesis work at Dr. Fullingham's request, after all. Why would he want to keep talking about trivial things? "I'm sorry if you're busy. Thanks for the tea, and for offering to send your translation. I appreciate the help."

She turned to leave, but as she brushed passed him, Tom reached for her arm. "What's the hurry?"

Riley looked down at his hand, surprised at the electricity that pulsed through her at his touch. After a moment, he go of her, and Riley tried not to feel disappointed. "I just don't want to waste your time."

"I've never considered a conversation with a pretty girl a waste of time. Unless you have things you'd rather do."

She looked up and met his intense blue eyes, and suddenly, Riley found it hard to breathe. After a moment, the sensation had passed, but she still felt dizzy and disoriented. Making a snap decision, she said. "What I'd like to do is hear more about that golden casket."

### CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tom eyed her strangely for a minute, and then he grabbed her hand. "Come on. Have you been to the baths yet?"

Riley allowed him to tug her along. "What do the baths have to do with the legend?"

He gave her a sidelong glance. "What does a medieval scholar care about a treasure hunt?"

The question wasn't aggressive, and Riley countered with one of her own. "What is an American expert on religious texts of the middle ages doing lecturing on the history of Bath?"

Tom stared at her for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. His eyes crinkled, and his entire torso shook. Riley found herself fighting back giggles just watching him.

Tom wiped his eyes. "Fair enough. We're both pretty far out of our areas of expertise."

Riley smiled and nodded. "That's a crime for academics, you know."

"Really?" Tom feigned surprise. "Then I'm glad to play Clyde to your Bonnie."

They started walking again, more leisurely, and Tom talked as they walked.

"The legend of the golden casket is pretty obscure. Only the most intense treasure seekers even know about it." He eyed Riley, sizing her up. "And somehow, you don't strike me as the type."

"My grandmother told me about it." It slipped out, and Riley suddenly found herself wanting to confide in the man beside her.

"Is your grandmother British?"

"No. Just superstitious."

"Ah." Tom didn't say anything else until they reached the entrance to the Roman Baths. Riley looked at the imposing façade and raised her eyebrow. "Is that authentic?"

Tom chuckled. "No. When the baths were rediscovered, the classical world was all the rage. The town built that to house the find, and also to make it a more 'authentic' experience. Although," he shook his head ruefully, "the eighteenth century ideal of Roman architecture was more romantic than accurate. But don't worry: the real baths are still here."

Riley nodded, staring up at the pillars as they entered the museum connected to the baths.

Tome flashed his bright smile at the young girl who came up to greet them. "Just wanted to show a professional colleague the site. You don't mind, right, Laura?"

The girl grinned. "Not at all, Dr. Malcom. You know you're always welcome to bring anyone you like."

"What about the admission fee?" Riley gestured to the sign on the wall listing ticket prices, and the young girl just smiled.

"Dr. Malcom doesn't need to worry about that. Besides, he'd owe us a fortune if we charge him for all his visits!"

Tom chuckled nervously, and Laura waved before she wandered off, leaving them to explore the museum on their own.

"Why do you come here so often?" Riley kept her eyes focused on the small diorama in front of her, but she wondered what Tom would say.

He exhaled softly. "Well," he paused, and Riley could tell he was debating something. "Truth be told, I've been looking for the treasure."

Startled, Riley looked at him. "So you really think it's buried here? Why?"

He shrugged, a red flush climbing his cheeks. "Treasure hunters have dug up most of the rest of the town. The baths are the one place undisturbed, and you know what they say about the last place you look."

"But the casket's medieval. The baths predate it by a thousand years."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "You certainly seem to know a lot about it. What makes you think it's medieval? The treasure could be older."

Riley faltered. How could she tell him anything believable without revealing her true reason for searching for the casket? Dr. Malcom seemed like an easy-going man, but she thought that even he would find it hard to believe in her bizarre curse. Instead, she took a wild stab. "That's when the legend surfaced, right?"

He nodded, and Riley relaxed slightly. "Mostly. No one spoke of the tale until the seventeenth century, so it's safe to say that if there is a treasure, it originated sometime in the 15 or 1600s."

They continued walking in silence, following the gently sloping floor down to the baths. The museum surrounding them was elegantly designed, but Riley couldn't concentrate on the well-lit cases of ancient treasures. Tom's statement about the legend had just corroborated what Gran had said about when the curse began. A cold feeling washed over her.

Tom drew to a stop in front of a balcony-like railing. "What do you think of the temple?"

Riley dragged her mind away from thoughts of the curse to stare. They were standing on a second-floor landing across from a large wall. Pieces of old stone were attached to the wall, and an eerie blue-green image was projected on it. It took Riley a minute to realize she was staring at a holographic recreation of an old Roman temple.

"That's a really cool way to do it," she said, studying the image.

Tom nodded. "The temple to Sullis Minerva sat directly on that spot. I think the museum has done an excellent job to give the illusion of the ancient without bothering with any silly plaster reconstruction."

Riley had to agree with him. Between the remaining stones and the image on the wall, she had a good sense of what the temple would have looked like without feeling like she was standing in front of a cheap model. She pointed to the face above the temple door. "What's that?"

"They call it the gorgon's head."

Riley squinted to look at the thing closer, and then she shook her head. "Can't be."

"What do you mean?"

"The gorgons were women. That's a man."

Tom grinned at her. "That's what I've always said, too, but popular lore says otherwise." He pointed to the straggly beard. "There are the snakes to consider."

Riley didn't know what the man had been meant to represent, but she'd seen Greek and Roman images of Gorgons, and she knew this wasn't it. "Maybe it's the god of the spring. The pre-Roman deity, I mean."

Tom nodded thoughtfully. "Possible. Although, with the association with Minerva, it's more likely this was an ancient shrine to a goddess."

That made sense, but Riley shrugged. "But then why did the Romans decorate the top of the temple with the head of a man?"

"The world may never know." He studied Riley for a moment. "Again, another area far from your expertise."

She blushed. "Greek and Roman art was actually my first foray into history. Maybe because there are so many replicas in museums and on building in America." She paused, remembering what Tom had said during his lecture. "You're American, too?"

"Guilty as charged." They headed down the stairs toward the temple wall. "Though I've been here for a decade, so this feels like home."

Riley eyed him. "Did you go to school here?"

"Just my PhD. Got it at St. Andrews."

"And you've only been here for ten years?" She did the math. "How'd you get to be so famous so fast? You're what, in your thirties?"

Tom nodded. "Thirty-four. And I'm not all that hot."

"My advisor won't let me defend my thesis again until I met with you. I'd say you're a pretty big deal."

"Again?" Tom looked at her, confused.

"What?"

"You said 'again'. You already defended your thesis once?"

Riley blushed. "Yeah. It didn't go well."

Tom was silent for a minute. "It took me three goes on my doctoral dissertation."

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Bombed it each time." He laughed nervously. "And you still think I'm all that?"

Riley met his blue eyes, trying to ignore the way her heart sped up the longer she looked at Tom. Slowly, she nodded. "You've certainly recovered from that setback."

Tom ran his hand through his hair and looked away. "We're here."

Riley glanced up and froze. Aqua water spread out around them, surrounded by Romanesque arches and sculptures. Stunned by the beauty, she stared for a minute. "Wow," she finally managed.

"I know. Still gets me like that every time I come here."

Remembering what he'd said earlier about the treasure, Riley faced him. "Where do you think the casket is?"

Tom reached out and took her hand. "Come on. I'll show you."

He led her away from the sparkling waters of the baths and into a subterranean chamber. Orange emergency lights glowed on the floor, but otherwise, it was dark and cave-like. Riley found she could easily imagine what it would have been like for the ancient Romans and any Celtic people who had found the baths before them, and she shivered.

"It's cold down here."

Tom nodded. "The baths are fueled by hot springs, so the water is toasty year round, but the caves are chilly, as you'd expect."

"Are these caves part of the baths?" The lighting along the floor indicated that they were still within the museum property, but the lack of tourists made it easy to believe she'd slipped through time.

Tom nodded again. "No one bothers to come through here, which is a shame. They end up missing the most sacred place in Bath."

"What is it?"

"The source of the spring."

Riley looked around the dank, deserted corridor. Murky brown water trickled along beside her. "But I would think people would want to see that."

Tom shrugged. "The museum doesn't advertise the fact that they've built right over the source of the hot springs. Some people know about it and they come looking, but most people just focus on the reconstruction surrounding the baths." He jerked his thumb toward the ceiling of the cave, and Riley remembered the aqua water.

"The reconstruction _is_ pretty cool," she admitted.

"You wouldn't think so if you went for a dip. Know what gives the water that blue color?"

Riley pondered for a moment. "Copper?"

"Pigeon droppings." Tom laughed at her startled face. "And pigeon corpses; the birds really are quite dumb. They drown themselves all the time."

Riley shuddered at the thought. She glanced at the thin stream of water beside the path. "So the muddy brown water is actually healthier than the beautiful pools above ground?"

Tom nodded. "You could even drink it, if you wanted."

"No thanks."

"There's a legend that says that anyone who drinks from the source of the spring will be blessed with good fortune."

Riley laughed. "You know an awful lot about the legends in this place."

Tom shrugged. "Lots of things turned up while I was researching the treasure. This is a really fascinating town, full of myths and fairy stories."

"Do you think that's the Roman influence? I mean, they certainly had their fair share of bizarre myths."

Tom paused for a minute, considering, but then he shook his head. "Off hand, I'd say the influence is more likely Welsh."

"Why?"

"Bath is situated almost at the border between Wales and England. It stands to reason some of the Welsh magic and tales seeped over the boundary." He stopped walking. "Here we are."

Riley had been so distracted by their conversation that she hadn't noticed the cavern ceiling getting taller, but they were suddenly standing in a large, cathedral-style open cave. The walkway ended abruptly and the railing prevented them from going any further, but about ten feet directly in front of her, Riley could see a brown waterfall churning furiously despite the relatively short drop of three feet. "Is that--?"

"The source of the hot springs. We are standing literally at the apex of power in Bath. That's where the healing waters come from, and it's that dirty little waterfall that made Bath famous in the ancient world. Like most hot springs, these waters are said to contain miraculous powers."

Riley stared at the bubbling water, leaning on the metal railing that separated them from the stream, and she wondered how much of the lore Tom believed. _If he really is that superstitious, maybe I can tell him about the curse._ She took a deep breath. "About the casket--"

She never got to finish her thought. With a banshee shriek, the railing gave way, and Riley started to fall toward the dark water.

### CHAPTER NINETEEN

When Riley hit the water, Tom froze for a split second. Then, barley aware of what he was doing, he lunged to the edge of the platform, ignoring the jagged railing, and reached for her hand. Tom's heart was pounding in his ears, even after Riley's fingers wrapped around his own and he began to haul her out of the water, and for a moment, it felt like _he_ had been the one to take an unexpected dip in the hot springs.

The summer he'd turned twelve, he and a few of his best friends had begun spending all of their time swimming in the gravel pit on the edge of their small town. It didn't seem dangerous, at first; just secret and special, something better than the crowded city pool where you hardly had room to splash in the water, let alone swim real laps or cannon ball into the spray. They probably would have swum there all summer if Tom's best friend, Harrison, hadn't cracked his head on a submerged log while diving and never resurfaced. At first the boys thought he was playing, treading water and holding his breath in the murky depths, just trying to make them sweat a little. By the time Tom realized it wasn't a joke and dove in after Harrison, it was too late. He'd had to dive down three times before he reached his friend's body, and he very nearly drowned trying to drag Harrison back to the surface.

None of the boys knew CPR or had a cell phone, but one of them was fast, and he ran up to the farmhouse closest to the pit. The neighbor called 9-1-1, and even though an ambulance showed up remarkably fast, Harrison couldn't be helped; he'd been dead as soon as his head hit the log, long before help arrived, and long before Tom had jumped in after him.

He hadn't voluntarily gotten in a large body of water since that summer, and even the act of lunging to reach Riley from the platform had left him feeling like he was about to come apart at the seams. _God, if she's hurt herself—_ He didn't let himself finish that thought, shaking his head as if he could somehow shake away the memories and fears that were crowding in on him.

Tom squeezed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together for the woman shivering in front of him. When he opened his eyes, he slipped his jacket off and wrapped it around Riley, letting his hands linger on her shoulders for a moment longer than was necessary. If he just focused on her—not the water dripping around them, not the dark cavern that he'd loved, up until that moment, and certainly not on what might have happened—Tom thought he'd be able to pull it together long enough to get Riley back above ground and bundled up somewhere with a nice cup of tea before he dealt with the memories that her unexpected dip had dredged up for him.

Instead of thinking, Tom focused all his energy on Riley, and something protective and primal bloomed in his belly. _Even sopping wet, she's lovely_ , he thought, staring at her wide blue eyes framed with smudged eyeliner. There was something ethereal about her, and the longer Tom looked at her, the more idiotic he felt for comparing the flesh and blood woman in front of him to any artist's rendering of Anne Boleyn. _She's even more beautiful,_ he realized. _Historical look alike or not, I've never been this captivated by anyone before...not even Erika, with all her mystical allure._

Curbing that line of thought, Tom refocused on Riley. She was shaking, pulling the edges of his coat around herself more tightly, and Tom had to resist the impulse to draw her to his chest and wrap her in a warm embrace. _We've barely met_ , he admonished himself. _You have no idea if she'd even want that kind of contact...or if she's already got someone to hold._ For some reason, the thought gave Tom a stomachache, and he wondered if all the time he'd spent hunting for treasure had short-circuited his brain, making him ridiculously susceptible to antiquated emotions and behaviors.

### CHAPTER TWENTY

She plunged under the water, but Riley barely had time to register how hot it was when she felt a hand grab her own. Spluttering to the surface, she coughed and shook her head as Tom pulled her out.

"You okay?" He helped her climb back onto the walkway, and after a moment, he took off his coat and wrapped it around her.

"Ye-s-s." Riley's teeth chattered, but she looked back at the water wistfully. "It was so warm!"

Tom laughed, rubbing her arms briskly through the fabric of his coat. "Told you." He glanced at the railing. "We better report this to the museum staff; don't want another tourist to take a dip.

"Wait." Riley looked back into the dark water. "Is this where you think the treasure is?"

Tom hesitated, but then he nodded. "It would make sense to bury it at the source of the spring for safekeeping. No one would willingly disturb such a sacred sight."

Riley took a deep breath, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. "Then let's look for it."

For a moment, Riley thought he hadn't heard her, but then Tom frowned. "You'll catch a cold."

"I'm already wet. This might be our best chance; there's no one coming, but you can bet that as soon as we tell the staff about the broken railing, this place will be barred off. They might not even let _you_ back here if it's dangerous."

Tom chewed on his mustache for a minute, but then he smiled. "Okay."

"Okay?" Riley felt her pulse accelerate, and she handed him his jacket. "Fish me out, okay?"

He frowned, setting his jacket on the ground. "I'm coming, too."

She didn't want to waste time arguing, but Riley did wonder fleetingly how she would destroy the casket if Tom was with her. Pushing that pesky thought aside, she forced a smile. "Then let's go!"

Riley turned back to the ruined railing and tensed her knees to jump, but a loud splash stopped her. Tom had leapt into the water, and when he surfaced, he cocked his head toward her "Are you coming?"

She didn't need any more encouragement than that. Quickly, she jumped into the water, sighing as the warmth enveloped her. "Where should we look?" She was treading water, her eyes darting around the cavern.

"The source would be the ideal place." Tom headed toward the waterfall, and Riley followed him. When they reached the churning water, Tom took a deep breath and plunged out of sight. Riley hesitated for a moment before following him.

She'd never liked swimming with her eyes open because of the sting of pool water, but she opened her eyes anyway, hoping the spring water wouldn't hurt. It didn't, but she couldn't see anything in the muddy depths, so she shut her eyes again and kicked herself forward, hoping she was still heading toward the waterfall. Her head bumped against rough stone, and Riley scrambled up to the surface.

A sound like distant thunder filled her ears, and Riley shook her head a couple of times before she realized that the sound was the waterfall echoing off the cavern. She'd popped up behind it, and much to her surprise, a dark passageway stretched beyond the waterfall. She blinked, hoping her eyes would adjust, but it was like staring down a black hole. _I wish I had a flashlight._

As if in answer to her thought, a faint blue light filled the cavern. Riley looked around, confused, until she spotted Tom. He'd emerged from the water a few feet in front of her, and he was holding a small light in his hand. He caught her eye and grinned. "It's not much, just the penlight from my keychain, but it might help! At least it still works." He waved the light around, and Riley saw something glint off to the left.

She paddled over to him. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"Move the light to the left. A little bit more. No! Go back." She paused as the eerie blue beam rested once more on the glimmer she'd seen. "That."

Tom swam toward it awkwardly, keeping one hand out of the water to hold the light, and Riley hurried to follow him. "There's something here," he called out, "a ledge or something."

They reached their hands toward the ledge at the same moment, and Riley felt her arm begin to tingle at Tom's touch. She tried to ignore the sensation, pulling herself up to the ledge and reaching her arm inside. Tom tried to shine the light into the crevice, but with Riley's arm already inside, it was impossible to see.

"I saw the shine, too. What can you feel?" Eagerly, Tom hovered near her shoulder, his breath warm against Riley's neck.

She groped on the ledge. "I can't feel anything." As she spoke, her fingers brushed against something cold and hard, and she drew in her breath. "Wait."

"What is it?" Tom was practically bouncing up and down in the water.

"I don't know." She tried to wrap her hand around it, but whatever was in the crevice was larger than her grip. "Can you hold me steady? I need my other hand."

Tom nodded, wrapping his arms around her stomach and lifting her out of the water slightly. "There."

Riley's back was pressed against his chest, and she tried to focus on the crevice, but her thoughts kept settling on the pleasant sensation of Tom's torso pressed against her low body. She bit her lip and leaned forward, determined to ignore those dangerous thoughts. With both her arms extended into the crevice, she felt around the object, trying to get an idea of its size. When her left hand found a corner, she slid her right hand over until she was grasping two ends of whatever it was. "I've got it."

"Be gentle! It's old."

She gave a slight tug and grunted. "It's heavy, too!"

Tom's rapid breath tickled her cheek. "I bet it's the treasure."

_I bet it's my curse._ Riley didn't say anything as she dragged the box toward her.

Finally, the heavy box rested on the front of the ledge, and Riley lifted it out. She almost dropped it, but Tom quickly put his hands around hers.

"It might be hard to swim out of here with it."

Riley nodded, clutching the box close to herself. "I can hold it, if you can tow me."

Tom hesitated for an instant before nodding. "Take a deep breath. We'll have to get under the waterfall first." He tightened his arm around her waist, and Riley just had time to take a gulp of air before Tom dragged her under.

The box in her arms was heavy even under the water, and it felt like it took a century for Tom to pull them under the source of the spring. Just when Riley thought her lungs would burst, her head cleared the surface of the water and she gasped.

"Sorry," Tom panted, swimming toward the ruined railing. "That was harder than I thought!"

Riley clutched the box tighter, gulping for air. "You can do it." She tried to sound more confident than she felt. Tom kept pulling forward with his left arm, but Riley felt like they weren't moving. The churning water around them was making her nauseous, and Riley shut her eyes.

When Tom finally reached the walkway, he tried to lift Riley out of the water but she was already scrambling to shore. Holding the box cradled awkwardly in one arm, she reached her other hand out to Tom to help him. He heaved himself up and staggered a bit, but he was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Let's open it!"

Riley shook her head, clinging to the box. "Not here. Besides, we need to tell someone about the railing." She scooped up Tom's jacket, still abandoned on the walkway, and covered the heavy box with it. "We'll open it later." _And that gives me some time to figure out how to get it away from you,_ she thought, ignoring the guilt that shot through her at the idea.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Tom tried to tell himself that he'd only followed Riley into the spring because of the allure of the mysterious treasure of John Simmons, but deep down, he knew that was a lie. No theory about the treasure had ever been enough to spur him into that water, and it probably never would have if it hadn't been for a particularly pretty graduate student.

He sighed, raking his hands through his still-damp hair, and glanced at the box sitting on the sofa next to him. There had been a couple of times in the water, especially when they had to go back under the waterfall and he had to pull not only his own weight, but Riley and the treasure, that he'd thought he wasn't going to make it out of the baths without having some kind of panic attack. Somehow, he hadn't lost it, and he and Riley had smuggled the box out of the museum wrapped in his coat.

_What's inside it, I wonder?_ Tom was itching to bust the casket open, but Riley had seemed particularly insistent that he wait for her. She was still taking her shower, although knowing his flat, Tom was surprised she had any hot water left, and he was getting antsy waiting. A surprisingly erotic image of Riley in his tiny shower popped into his mind, and Tom shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. _What has gotten into me?_ He ran his hands through his hair, trying to think of something—anything—to distract him from the fantasy about Riley that had taken hold of his imagination. Desperate for a distraction, he tugged the box toward him and tried to focus his whole attention on the mystery it presented.

Despite the thoughts and images of Riley that kept swirling around in his brain, Tom's well-honed scholarly focus finally kicked in, and he examined the heavy, tarnished box carefully, trying to spot any identifying details like designs or even a maker's mark that could help him get a sense of the age of the thing. He wasn't used to actually having artifacts in his hands, other than the manuscripts he'd spent his career studying, and despite his scrutiny, the box didn't give up its secrets.

_It's like it didn't want to be found_ , Tom thought, and a shiver of fear danced down his spine. In all the years he'd spent searching for the treasure, chasing legends and half-remembered bits of lore only to wind up at another dead end, Tom wasn't sure if he'd ever stopped to consider what would happen when he actually found it...or even _if_ he'd ever find it. Now, confronted with the undeniably real box he and Riley had fished out of the baths, Tom knew he'd found _something_. His gut told him it was John Simmons's treasure, but a niggling fear pressed into his mind as he studied the dark, heavy box. _What if this isn't a treasure, but a curse?_

Tom shook his head, brushing off the idea, but something dark had taken hold of him, and he wasn't sure why his earlier excitement had given way to such morbid thoughts. He stood up suddenly, setting the box on the sofa, and he crossed his small flat to the kitchenette. The further away he moved from the mysterious box, the stranger he felt. On the one hand, his shoulders began to relax, but on the other hand, his gut twisted painfully, and by the time he reached the fridge, Tom was glancing over his shoulder like a paranoid fool, simultaneously worried that the box wouldn't be there when he looked back, and partly afraid that it would.

"What's wrong with me?" He muttered, forcing his focus away from the treasure and onto the dismal contents of his fridge instead. He scanned the bare shelves, and then he shook his head. Something told him an old container of takeout and a couple of bruised apples weren't going to be enough to distract him from the box...or from Riley.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Riley had missed the last train back to London for the day, but she didn't care. Wrapped in Tom's threadbare flannel robe, she ran her fingers through her wet hair and stared at herself in Tom's bathroom mirror. Her cheeks were flushed from the dramatic temperature change, and her eyes sparked with excitement. _If it really is the curse, I'm almost free!_ Giving the robe one last tug to make sure it was secure, Riley stepped out of Tom's bathroom.

His small flat was a mess. Riley had been expecting him to be staying at a hotel, but after they'd left the baths, he'd explained to her that he was in town so often it just made sense for him to rent a studio. He claimed that he did some of his best thinking in Bath, but Riley knew better now. He'd shacked up there to look for the treasure.

Tom was examining the box carefully when Riley came into the room, and he glanced up at her. His lips hung open for a minute, but Riley tried not to notice the way his eyes were scanning her body as she lowered herself into a chair next to Tom. He cleared his throat and handed her a cup of tea. "Feel better?"

"Much. Thanks for letting me borrow this while my clothes dry out." At Tom's insistence, she'd taken a shower while he threw her clothes into his oven. The apartment didn't have a washer or dryer, but Tom had promised her that he'd dried plenty of things in a hurry that way without ever starting a fire, so Riley had shrugged and handed over her clothes. She'd kept her gran's necklace on, even though she felt a bit silly to be wearing it with Tom's old robe.

Now she reached for the box.

"Can I see it?"

Tom nodded, handing it to her gently. "It's heavy. But you already know that."

The box took up most of her lap, and its cold weight pressed her into her chair. "Did you open it?"

Tom shook his head. "I was waiting for you."

Riley exhaled loudly. _Thank goodness._ "What do you think it's made of?"

"Offhand, I'm not sure. We'd have to give it a good cleaning. But legend holds that the treasure is stored in a golden casket, so I guess we can assume it's gold."

The metal looked more green than gold, but a rich shine still pierced the grime that had accumulated over the centuries. Riley set her hands on the lid of the box, but then she hesitated. "Are you sure you want to open it now?"

"Of course!" Tom's eyes danced with anticipation. "I've waited a long time to find this."

_But it's not yours to find._ Riley forced herself to nod, and then she began to pry at the lid of the box. It didn't move. "Maybe it's rusted shut?"

"Gold doesn't rust. It's probably just stuck."

Riley tried again, but the box didn't budge. "Maybe you can try."

Tom took it from her, but after a few minutes of trying, he wasn't able to open the casket.

Riley slumped back in defeat. "I don't think we're supposed to open it." _Just destroy it_.

"Why not? We found it, didn't we?"

"Yes, but maybe...I don't know, maybe there's some kind of ancient curse on the box?" Riley dropped her voice, trying to sound spooky, but Tom just stared at her.

"Why would you assume that?"

She shrugged, not meeting his eye. "Just a feeling, I guess. Maybe we should get rid of it."

Tom looked horrified. "You want to destroy a precious artifact?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "And you call yourself a scholar." His tone was playful, but there was a sharpness underneath that made Riley wish she'd just kept her mouth shut.

She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Well, it certainly doesn't look like we'll be opening it tonight."

Tom paused. "What do you know about this casket, Riley?"

Riley felt sick, but she tried to smile. "I thought you were the treasure hunter?"

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Right. But you seemed to know a lot about this box before we found it." He set the casket down and took a sip of his tea. "I have a feeling there's something you aren't telling me."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Bullshit."

Riley spilled some of her tea at his vehement response. "Excuse me?"

"I'm a teacher, and I'm sure you know that one of the things that separate the good teachers from the bad ones is their ability to detect a lie. And I call bullshit, Riley."

She sank back in her chair. "What if I can't tell you?"

"Look, we just defiled an ancient site. Forget the fact that we took treasure from a British heritage site; we also probably pissed off whatever gods of the spring are still hanging around. And I for one don't want to get involved in a lot of supernatural payback. So if you know anything at all about this, you better spill."

Riley stared at him, her jaw hanging open. "You're worried about pissing off the god of the spring?"

Tom glowered. "So what if I am?"

"That doesn't seem very logical."

"I have my reasons."

"So do I."

They stared at each other for a minute. Finally, Riley opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say was lost in the chirping ring of her cell phone. Tom glared at her, but she fished the miraculously still-functioning phone out of the pocket of his robe and stood up, still clutching her tea.

"Hello?" She turned to face the window, trying to ignore the fact that Tom was behind her. She could feel his eyes on her, and her face flushed. Her color quickly faded, however, and she was ashen when she hung up the phone and turned to face Tom.

He stood up, alarmed. "What is it? What's happened?"

Riley swayed on her feet. "I—I have to go." She took one step and staggered, and Tom caught her. For a moment, he held her close, but then he lowered her gently to the sofa. Her fingertips brushed the casket and she shivered.

Tom knelt in front of her on the floor, rubbing her hands together quickly. "You're cold as ice. Riley, talk to me. What happened?"

His voice sounded so far away, and Riley barely had time to whisper, "Gran had a stroke," before she blacked out.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Riley drifted in a fuzzy black sea. It was empty, and a strange sense of peace enveloped her. There was nothing to worry about here; no curse to break, and no Gran—

The thought jolted her out of unconsciousness, and Riley sat up too fast. Blood rushed to her head and she swayed drunkenly, taking in the cluttered and unfamiliar surroundings. A broad-shouldered man with sandy blond hair was talking on her cell phone, but he hung up as soon as he realized she was awake. _Tom_. In a rush, Riley remembered the casket.

"Where is it?"

He dropped a blanket around her shoulders. "I just got off the phone with your flat mate. I've told her you slipped and fell into the baths, and that I'm going to take you to the hospital to check for hypothermia." He paused. "Do you have a fear of water? She sounded really concerned."

Riley knew why Eloise was upset, and it had nothing to do with a fear of water. _She probably thinks I tried to kill myself._ After all, Mark had drowned. Riley shook her head and forced herself to focus. "You went through my phone?" She glared at Tom.

He sat down beside her and handed the phone to her unapologetically. "You'd just told me your grandmother was ill, and then you passed out on my floor. I panicked; at least your friend answered; I couldn't get a call through to the number marked 'Mom and Dad'."

"That's because they're dealing with what happened to Gran. What happened to--" she trailed off, her eyes searching the apartment for the casket. "Where is it?"

Tom handed her a mug. "This time it's stronger than tea. It's a toddy, but I still want to take you to the hospital for shock."

Riley pushed it away. "Don't change the subject. What happened to the box?"

Tom set the mug down on the floor at his feet. "Riley, don't you think we need to get you to a doctor?"

"Damn it!" Her anger exploded, and Tom jerked back as if he'd been scorched. "I need that box!" She held out her hand and glared at Tom.

He stood up and took a step backwards. "Let's get you to the hospital. You're clearly in shock."

Riley wanted to scream at him, but instead, tears filled her eyes and she crumpled backwards into the couch cushions sobbing. "But I have to destroy it! If I do—maybe—maybe the curse will end and Gran," she hiccupped, "will be okay. I have to try! Don't you understand? It's all my fault." Her words dissolved into a wail, and Riley buried her face in her hands. _It's all my fault._

Tom waited until she was breathing evenly before speaking. "Riley, I don't know what's going on, but I really need to get you to a doctor."

She shook her head and looked at him through bleary eyes. "I'm not in shock. And you were right, earlier; I do know more about that box than I was letting on."

He sat down gingerly on the sofa beside her. "Will you tell me?"

Riley hesitated, and Tom leaned forward to look at her.

"I promise you," he said quietly, "that I'll listen to whatever you have to say. I won't judge you." His blue eyes were earnest, and he met her gaze without blinking.

Still Riley paused. "If I tell you," she finally said, "will you help me?"

"If there's anything in my power that will help you, I'll do it."

Warmth flooded through her, and Riley nodded once. "I think I'd like that hot toddy. I'm going to need fortification to say this."

Tom forced a laugh and handed her the mug. "In that case, mind if I pour myself one, too?"

She smiled. "Okay. Can I talk while you make it?"

He looked at her. "You really want to get this off your chest, don't you?"

Despite her earlier hesitation, Riley now found that she was having trouble restraining herself from dumping the whole, sordid tale right in Tom's lap. She nodded, and he sighed.

"Okay then. You talk, I'll listen."

Riley took a deep breath. "That box is part of a curse. My curse."

Tom poured a healthy dollop of whiskey into a mug and stared at her without blinking.

Haltingly, she told him everything Gran had said. Somewhere in the middle of her recitation, Tom joined her on the sofa again, quietly sipping at his hot toddy.

Riley looked at the floor when she talked about the three deaths on her conscience, but even then, Tom remained silent. Finally, spent, she sank back onto the couch and glanced up at him.

He swirled his mug for a moment and shut his eyes.

Riley sighed. "You think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy."

She searched his face. "Then what?"

"Damned if I know."

Riley took a swallow of her toddy and grimaced. "This tasted better hot."

Tom chuckled. "Not a whiskey drinker, are you?"

She shook her head. They sat in awkward silence for a moment, and then Tom leaned over and pulled the box out from under the sofa.

"One way to know for sure. You said your Gran told you that necklace has something to do with all this?"

Riley leaned forward eagerly. "Yes, but she never said how it would work."

Tom set the box on the couch between them and looked up at her. "I think it's working now."

At first, Riley didn't know what he meant, but when she dropped her gaze to the moonstone hanging between her breasts, she gasped. It was glowing a rich, electric blue, like some endangered tropical fish. She stood up, staring at the necklace. "What's it doing?"

"Has it ever done that before?"

Riley shook her head. "I mean, it looks blue in certain lights, but I've never seen the stone glow like this."

Tom scratched his beard. "Try taking a few steps back."

Riley started to creep backwards. "It's still glowing."

"Keep going."

The stone's strange glow still hadn't faded when she reached the door to the apartment, ten feet away from Tom. Riley met his eyes across the room. "Should I keep going?"

He shook his head. "We can test the range later. Besides," he coughed, "you aren't exactly dressed to go running around the building."

Riley blushed. "I'll check and see if my clothes are dry." Suddenly self-conscious, she opened the oven and pulled out her bundle of clothes. Before she retreated to the bathroom, though, she glanced back at Tom. "Does this mean you believe me?"

He pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure. I don't _not_ believe you."

She nodded. "That's a start."

Riley dressed in a rush, relieved that other than the cuffs of her jeans, her clothes were dry. When she came back into the living room, Tom was staring out the window. Riley watched him for a moment, trying to deny the pull she felt to the man in front of her, but finally she crossed the room and touched his arm.

He looked down at her, and his expression was grave. "If the curse is true, this box isn't the end of it. Didn't your gran say there are three caskets?"

Riley's heart flipped over. _He believes me!_ "Yes. But I can find them. Maybe there's a clue in this box, if we could just get it open."

Tom interlaced his fingers through hers and led her back to the sofa. "Let me look at it again."

"You don't think we should just destroy it now?"

He shot her a level gaze. "Riley, I don't think that will do anything for your Gran."

She slumped on the couch. "Maybe you're right."

"Besides, if you want to break your curse, you need to destroy all three caskets." Tom dropped her hand suddenly. "Three caskets! I knew that sounded familiar." He hurried across the room to a stuffed bookshelf, scanning the books rapidly.

"What are you talking about?" Riley stood up, but Tom was already back at her side, carrying a gigantic book in his hands.

"It's got to be in here. Page 1764." He was flipping through the book and muttering, and finally he let out a triumphant sound.

Riley stared at him in confusion. "How's that book going to help?"

He turned the page around so she could read it. "Do you see?"

Riley skimmed the small print, her eyes growing wide. "Wait, three caskets? And the right one will let the girl get married? What is this?"

Tom grinned. "For all your eclectic tastes, you're not much of a Shakespeare scholar, are you? It's _Merchant of Venice_. Basically, one of the plots revolves around Portia. She wants to marry a man named Bassanio, but her dad has left a nasty test for any beaux. There are three caskets, one gold, one silver, and one lead. Each suitor has to pick a casket based on a riddle, and the right answer wins the girl." Tom chuckled dryly. "Of course, it's a Shakespearean comedy, so the right lovers end up together."

Riley was eagerly flipping the pages, skimming the dialogue. "Wait a minute. Did you see this?"

Tom leaned over her shoulder. "Belmont. Sure. That's Portia's estate. It means 'beautiful mountain.'"

Riley felt a shiver dance up her spine. "It's also my last name."

Tom stared at her for a minute, speechless. "Do you think it's just a coincidence?"

She shook her head, staring at the book. "This is pretty freaky. I think Gran said something about the name of the woman who caused the curse. Not the Strega," she hastened to add, "but my ancestress." Riley slapped her forehead and stared at Tom. "Portia Bassanti."

"That's awfully close to Bassanio. Do you really think Shakespeare knew something about all this?"

"It seems ridiculous, doesn't it?"

Tom gently shook his head. "A few hours ago, I'd have said you were nuts. But you found the treasure, and I've seen that necklace--" he swallowed nervously. "And now this. That's an awful lot of coincidences to not believe."

Riley felt helpless. "But this character can't be my ancestress. The caskets were there before her wedding, not after, and Shakespeare never mentions a curse."

Tom shrugged. "The Bard has been known to twist legends to suit his own means. Maybe he heard the seeds of the story, recorded it, and changed it around to give the couple a happy ending?"

"Maybe. But I still don't see how this helps me."

"Read the riddles on each coffin; maybe there's a clue there. I'll work on trying to open the box while you're at it."

They settled into companionable silence for a few moments, but then Tom leaped up and slapped his forehead.

"Oh, my gosh, your gran! And the hospital! I still want to take you."

Riley looked up at him. "Gran's in America. I don't know what to do to deal with that. And as to the doctor, I'm fine."

But Tom was already pulling on his coat. "Come on. There's an all-night clinic a couple of blocks up. They can at least make sure you don't have hypothermia or something."

Riley gestured to the open volume of Shakespeare and the casket. "What about all this?"

"This can wait. I shouldn't have let myself get distracted."

"I'm fine, Tom," Riley tried to protest as he pulled her to her feet. His face was dangerously close to hers, and Riley caught her breath, transfixed.

Tom's eyes skimmed over her features before he met her gaze again. "Humor me," he said, his voice husky. "I need to make sure you're okay."

Riley parted her lips, not sure if she was going to argue or try to kiss him, but Tom cleared his throat and took a small step back.

"We'll figure all this out later," he said, gesturing to the apartment.

After a beat, Riley nodded, trying not to be disappointed at Tom led her out into the street.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Tom hadn't wanted to let Riley out of his sight for a minute after the disturbing news about her grandmother came in. He wasn't sure what he could do for her, but some long-buried protective instinct in him sparked to life when Riley fainted on his rug, and Tom passed a restless night in the living room, worrying about the woman who slept in his bed.

Sometime just before dawn, he drifted off enough that he began to dream.

He was standing in the darkness, with tendrils of fog licking around his ankles. When he lifted his hand in front of his face, he was startled to discover that the fog and encroaching darkness obscured his fingertips, even at arms' length. _Maybe I'm invisible,_ he thought, ice dancing across his spine.

Before Tom could test his disturbing theory, footsteps echoed through the fog around him, and he lifted his head foolishly, trying to get a glimpse of something, anything in the darkness. The steps seemed to come from all around, and Tom turned in a careful circle, narrowing his eyes and staring out into the mysterious night. Suddenly, a glimpse of blue light caught his eye, and Tom took an involuntary step toward it, remembering the glow of Riley's necklace. The darkness closed around him, though, and the fog felt thicker, almost tangible, and his steps slowed after a moment.

"Riley?" He called, his voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer, but the blue light flicked out of existence, and Tom thought he heard the sound of footsteps again. Before he could turn around or try to find out where the noise was coming, a slender arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him backward with a force that surprised Tom. He jerked in surprise, and the arm melted away into the fog, releasing him as if it had never been there, but Tom's pulse was pounding, and his mouth was dry. Deliberately, he forced himself to take a step toward whatever it was that had grabbed him, and then another step. Finally, the darkness around him began to brighten as if someone had pulled back a heavy curtain, and Tom began to make out the form of a woman in front of him. His steps quickened, but when the figure turned around and faced him, his heart sank. He wasn't looking at Riley.

Erika smiled at him. "Hello, Tom."

Tom flexed his fingers. Talking to her in real life was one thing, but now she was invading his dreams? "I didn't—what are you doing here?"

"Were you expecting someone else, perhaps? Maybe your little cursed red head?" Erika purred, gliding forward with supernatural grace.

Tom took a step back. "How do you even know about her?"

Erika laughed, and the sound that used to make Tom's chest clench with longing instead felt like nails on a chalkboard to him, and he winced. "It's a dream, silly. You can't hide your thoughts from me here."

Tom rolled his eyes at her arrogance. "You aren't that powerful of a witch, you know," he reminded her, trying to break the spell of the dream, even as some tiny part of him wondered if there was more going on here than just a dream.

Erika watched him, reading the conflicting emotions that flickered across his face, and she nodded slowly. "I sent for you tonight. You're going to need my help, sweetie, if you want to move forward."

Tom shook his head. "This is just a dream," he said, trying to convince both of them.

Erika raised a shoulder in an elegant shrug. "Believe what you want. But eventually, you're going to need me."

Tom gritted his teeth and shook his head again. "We're done, Erika. You made that clear. Why would I need you?"

She turned around and began to walk into the darkness of the dream, but then she paused. "You know curses have always been my specialty. If you want to break one, come and find me."

Tom wanted to call after her, to ask her how in the world she knew about Riley, about the box, about any of it, but the fog rolled in again and swallowed her up, leaving him alone in the darkness. Frustrated, Tom took a step after his ex, and suddenly he was falling, plunging into a void that had no end.

He woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright on the couch, and the first thing he saw was Riley. The dream faded from his mind as he looked at her, and a strange sense of rightness filled him. "Come and find me," Erika whispered in his mind, but firmly, Tom pushed her voice away and kept his attention fixed on Riley. _Whatever it takes_ , he thought, watching her carefully, _I'm willing to risk it._

### CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Once the clinic confirmed that Riley did not, in fact, have hypothermia, it was after midnight. Tom insisted on letting her have his bed while he slept on the couch, and despite her guilt at having displaced him, Riley was soon fast asleep. Her dreams were a jumble of dark figures, leering skulls, and dancing men in Elizabethan costumes. She woke up before dawn and lingered in Tom's bed for a few moments, looking up at the ceiling.

Even though they hadn't opened the casket last night, let alone destroyed it, Riley felt a glimmer of hope. She wasn't in this alone anymore; Tom had said he'd help her, and his quiet breathing in the next room calmed her nerves. Riley's pulse fluttered when she remembered that she had been sleeping in Tom's bed, and she slid her hands along the smooth, blue sheets, thinking about the professor. _If the curse was broken-_

She didn't allow herself to finish that thought. It was dangerous to be fantasizing about Tom, even in a purely hypothetical way. She'd barely met the man, for goodness sakes, and there was the fact that he was friends with her advisor to consider. Even if Riley had been free of the curse, Tom was the last man she should be dreaming about. _So why am I still lying in his bed, wondering if he sleeps in pajamas or not?_

Riley shook herself and sat up. The bedroom was small and messy, but it was strewn with notebooks and heavy volumes; the scholar's mess that Riley recognized from her own flat. _Tom's a professor_ , she reminded herself as she swung her feet to the floor. _He's probably just helping me because of the mystery. It has nothing to do with any attraction._

Tom was sprawled across the sofa, snoring gently, when Riley tiptoed out of the bedroom. Quietly, she moved into the kitchen and filled the electric kettle with water. She didn't want to wake him, and she figured she could make a cup of tea without too much fuss. Opening the cupboard Tom had used last night, Riley pulled down a tin of English Breakfast tea. She didn't find any clean mugs in the kitchen, but she finally decided to rinse out her mug from the previous night and use that. Once the tea was steeping, she carried it carefully into the living room.

The casket was sitting on the floor beside the sofa, and gingerly, Riley bent to pick it up. Tom's hand was dangling on the floor beside the mysterious box, and Riley held her breath as she slid the box away and picked it up. Tom snorted and sighed, but he didn't wake up.

Sitting down in the arm chair beside the window, Riley sipped her tea and stared at the box in her lap. Even if the moonstone hadn't confirmed it last night, she knew this box was part of her curse. Something about it was frighteningly familiar, as if it had always been with her, kept out of sight but not out of mind. Carefully, she tried to pry the box open, but it still wouldn't budge. She slid her fingernail under the hairline crack that she and Tom assumed to be the box's seam and pulled, but nothing happened. Exasperated, Riley pressed harder, and her nail snapped painfully.

"Ouch!" Her startled exclamation wasn't loud, but in the silence of the morning, it sounded like a scream, and Riley winced. She hoped Tom wouldn't wake up.

He didn't. Riley held her breath for a few moments, but when Tom didn't stir, she relaxed. _Maybe I should just destroy it now, before he wakes up._ She looked down at the casket, and then she shook her head. _No. This might hold a clue about the other two; I have to open it!_

Just then, Tom rustled on the couch and sat up. He blinked sleepily at Riley, as if he were struggling to remember who she was. "Good morning."

"Morning. Want some tea?"

He nodded. "I can fix it." His eyes focused on the box in her lap. "Any luck with that?"

"No." Riley tried to keep the irritation from her voice, but Tom looked at her sympathetically.

"We'll get it figured out." He shuffled into the kitchen.

She desperately wanted to believe him. "I hope so. Can I take it back to London with me?"

Tom looked up from the sink. "You're leaving?"

"Well, yeah. I need to work tomorrow."

"Your dissertation can wait a day or two, don't you think?"

Riley laughed. "Yeah, but I really have to work. I've got a job, you know."

Tom poured his tea and came back to the couch. "Oh. Are you sure you want to lug the casket back to London with you?"

"I don't mind."

He hesitated. "You won't—you won't do anything to it without me, will you?"

Riley felt a bubble of irritation in her chest. "If I do, why does it matter?"

Tom held up one hand. "I just...it's just that I helped you find it, right? I want to be able to help you deal with it."

She studied his face. "Why?"

"Why what?"

Her words were harsh, but Riley couldn't stop them. "Why do you even care? It's my problem."

Tom took a sip of his tea. "True. But you kind of invited me into it, don't you think?"

Riley wanted to argue with him, but she realized that was exactly what she'd done when she confessed everything to Tom last night. "Maybe," she conceded.

He gave her a slow smile. "Well, I'm here now, so you're just going to have to put up with me."

Riley didn't know what to say. Finally, she said, "I'm still taking the box with me."

Tom nodded, but his words surprised her. "I think it's time for me to go back to London, too. I'll come with you."

"Um, I don't exactly have anywhere for you to stay."

Tom laughed. "You aren't the only one with a life back in the city. Besides, I'm due back there next week, anyway."

Riley flushed, embarrassed that she'd forgotten he taught in London. "Right. Okay."

"We're supposed to have a meeting on Monday, remember?" Tom grinned crookedly at her.

She'd forgotten all about that. "I don't know if we'll need to, now."

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before Tom leaned over and squeezed her knee.

"I want to help you." His fingers were warm and gentle on her leg, and Riley felt her pulse speed up.

For a moment, she just looked at him, uncertain of what she was feeling.

Tom coughed, but then he pulled his hand away. "We'll break you curse, Riley. It's all going to be okay."

Riley desperately wanted to believe him, but the cold clump of fear in the pit of her stomach made her wonder.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Tom couldn't be talked out of coming back to London with her, and Riley finally gave up once they were on the train. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of trying to break the curse with Tom so close, but she didn't seem to have any choice. Besides, if she were being honest, she'd admit that she really enjoyed his presence, and she was secretly glad that he'd insisted on tagging along.

"I've been thinking some more about Shakespeare." Tom had just reappeared from the dining car, and he handed Riley a plastic wrapped sandwich as he sat down across from her.

"Oh?" Riley unwrapped the sandwich and eyed it cautiously. Tom had gotten ham and cheese, and she hoped it had been refrigerated.

"Yes," Tom said, taking a large bite and talking around the food. "There's a riddle with each of the three caskets in the play; I think that may be our best clue right now."

"I don't know how a riddle will help us open this thing," Riley gestured to the box, which was tucked securely behind her feet.

"But we're sort of at a dead end, otherwise. Just humor me, okay?"

Riley hesitated, but then she nodded. "Okay."

Tom pulled out his tablet. "These trains usually have Wi-Fi; I liked it better when they didn't, and I could actually use the ride to do work."

Riley smiled. "You don't seem like the type who'd get easily distracted."

He chuckled. "I can waste as much time online as the next person." Tom handed her the tablet. "There's the scene."

Riley scanned the text. "So, according to Shakespeare, the gold coffin said 'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.', and it had a skull inside it."

Tom nodded. "There was also a little riddle about death waiting beneath shiny surfaces."

Riley looked up at him, surprised. "You know your Shakespeare."

Tom shrugged, looking embarrassed. "The Greek myths may have been your history gateway drug, but the Bard was mine."

"No, I'm glad. I haven't read Shakespeare in a long time; I never would have made the connection between my curse and this play."

He chewed on his mustache thoughtfully. "So if we've really got the golden casket, we can assume there's something pretty nasty inside."

"Not necessarily. The play just seems to fit the curse; that doesn't mean Shakespeare got it all right." Riley thought for a moment. "Which casket is the one her boyfriend chooses? I mean, which one lets her get married?"

Tom thought for a minute. "It was the lead one. The other suitors discounted it, because the riddle talked about risking everything, but Antonio was willing to risk everything for love." The words hung in the air, and Riley felt like Tom wasn't just talking about the play anymore. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, time slowed down.

Finally, Riley forced herself to look away, and she fidgeted with the edge of her jacket. "Well, at least now that I believe in the curse, no one else has to risk anything for me."

Tom leaned forward and picked up her hands. "Riley, look at me."

She glanced up, and she was startled by the force in Tom's gaze.

"When we break the curse—"

She couldn't let him finish that thought, even though her hands were tingling at his touch. "We only have one casket."

"But that's one more than you had last week."

"Tom--"

"I've never met anyone like you, Riley."

She wanted to say something flippant, but Tom's serious gaze stopped her. For a moment, Riley couldn't breathe, but finally, she pulled her hands away from Tom and looked out the window. "I might never break the curse."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

She looked at him, surprised. "No."

"No, you don't want me, or no, you won't let me be with you until the curse is broken?"

Riley swallowed, trying to ignore the wave of longing that swept over her. "Just no."

Tom stared at her for a long minute, but then he nodded once. "I want you to know where I stand. I'm not just helping you because it's a fascinating historical mystery, Riley."

"But I can't promise you anything. The curse might never be broken."

"Answer me this. If it were broken, already, before we met, would I stand a chance?"

She studied his face, her gaze skimming over his broad lips and ginger beard before coming to rest once more on his bright blue eyes. "Yes," she whispered, her heart accelerating at the admission.

Tom smiled and sat back in his seat. "That's all I needed to know. You won't be getting rid of me now."

Riley tried to laugh it off, but she realized she was grinning too wide to look like she didn't mean it. "We don't know when the curse will be broken."

"But now, m'lady," Tom gave her a little bow from his seat, "you have a devoted knight errant on your side. And I'll be right here until the curse is broken." He picked up her hand again and brushed his lips across her palm. "Or until you decide to let me take the risk."

Riley shivered as his beard tickled her skin, but she forced herself to pull her hand back. "Tom, no. We need to drop this; I don't want to do anything to put you in danger."

"For you," he said, his eyes bright, "it'd be worth it."

Self-consciously, Riley pushed her hair off her face. "I doubt that."

Tom studied her. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your hair, your eyes, your face, everything about you is...captivating."

Riley shook her head, denying his words, but Tom continued.

"You're smart, and passionate, and I've truly never met anyone like you."

"Tom, I'm cursed."

"Riley, you're perfect."

She smiled slightly, but then she shook her head. "That's not what Gran thinks." She was silent for a moment. "I really should go back to see her."

"Have you been able to get a hold of your parents?"

Riley shook her head. "No. My brother's the one who called last night, but in all honesty, I haven't really been trying to contact anybody since then." She gave him a sidelong glance "You've been distracting me."

Tom actually looked chastened. "I don't ever want to distract you from what's important. I'm sorry."

Riley wanted to tell him she'd just been teasing, but maybe it was better if things got a little cold between them for the time being. _That way I won't be tempted to ignore the curse_. Instead of saying anything, Riley just shrugged. Tom sat back in his seat, looking disappointed, and they passed the rest of the train ride in uncomfortable silence.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

As soon as he parted ways with Riley in London, Tom called Sean. "I've got a problem," he said, without preamble. Sean didn't ask questions, just told Tom where to meet him, and in half an hour, they were tucked into the back booth of a small, nondescript pub near Bankside. Tom felt guilty about not telling Riley what he thought he knew about the treasure— _curse,_ he reminded himself, but he kept telling himself that didn't matter. All he wanted to do was figure out a way to break the curse and be with Riley; there would be plenty of time after that to fill her in on his half of the story. But first, he needed to talk to somebody from the circle before he plunged ahead, and Tom trusted Sean. They waited until the waitress had set pints of amber cider before them before they started talking, and the pause gave Tom time to try and marshal his thoughts, but Sean's first words threw him for a loop.

"Is this about Erika?"

Tom opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He clicked his teeth shut and slowly nodded. "But not like you think," he added quickly, when he saw the pitying expression on his friend's face.

Sean took a careful swallow. "Okay. I'll bite. What the hell are you talking about?"

Tom dabbed at a stain on the table with his paper napkin, not meeting Sean's gaze. "What if I told you I met somebody?" Carefully, he glanced at his friend.

Sean shrugged. "I'd be happy for you, but I'd wonder why in the hell you're thinking about your ex, then."

Letting out a ragged exhale, Tom leaned forward. "I think she's cursed."

Sean's eyebrows shot up. "You think Erika hexed your new girl? Tom, you know she's not like that. The circle—"

Tom shook his head, cutting Sean off. "No, I don't think Erika cursed her. But she's carrying around a family curse, and I want to help her break it."

Sean stared at him for a moment, processing what he'd said. Tom waited, taking a swallow of cider and trying to keep his hands from shaking. Finally, Sean asked, "What's the curse got to do with Erika?"

Tom didn't want to get into the details of his dream, but he needed Sean's opinion. Despite their time together in the circle, Tom still felt like a novice when it came to things outside the scope of the rituals for the Wheel of the Year, and he knew Sean had been practicing magic long before Tom had wandered onto the Pagan path. _If anyone can help, it's him, and then I won't need to talk to Erika at all._ "I had a dream about her, and she basically said she could break the curse." He paused. "You can see why I'm asking you and not her."

Sean chuckled. "I don't know how she'd feel about you moving on." He studied Tom carefully. "And I think you _are_ finally ready to move on. Tell me about her. Not the curse," he added, seeing Tom's expression darken. "At least, not yet. Tell me what caught your eye."

Tom smiled despite the knot of tension in his stomach. "She's got the bluest eyes you've ever seen, like ice and flowers. And her laugh...would it sound completely ridiculous if I said just hearing her voice makes me happy?"

Sean nodded. "But you're allowed to be happy, ridiculous or not. How did you two meet?"

Tom hesitated. "She's a scholar," he finally said, not sure why he didn't want to tell his friend that Riley was, in fact, a graduate student who'd come to him for academic help. "She's studying prayer books."

"Ah, the Boleyn connection," Sean said knowingly. Tom had bored his friends with his research for years, but Sean was the only one he'd ever mentioned his treasure hunting side interests too. Tom tensed, waiting for Sean to bring it up, but instead, his friend asked, "when do I get to meet her?"

Tom nearly choked on her cider. "I'm not exactly ready to take her home, you know. Besides," he said lightly, "you lot might scare her away."

Sean grinned. "No doubt. But if she can't handle all of you, she isn't worth having."

Slowly, Tom nodded. "Not all at once," he said finally. "And only if she wants to. But it might be cool to bring her to our next circle, to Mabon."

Sean studied his face. "And you're sure you aren't just trying to get back at Erika?"

Tom shook his head vehemently. "No. Riley is...there's something about her. It's like I'm a moth or something, and she's the brightest candle in the room."

Sean rolled his eyes. "Poetry doesn't work on me, man. Save it for your girl." He drained his glass and caught the waitress's eye, signaling for another round. "Now," he said, leaning back in his chair contentedly, "tell me about the curse."

### CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Riley was disappointed when Tom gave her a quick hug at the train station. After everything he'd said, she'd sort of been expecting him to sweep her off her feet, fairy-tale style, but Tom had seemed distracted by his thoughts for the last part of the train ride, and Riley didn't want to intrude. She'd already pushed her way into the man's life, and although his intense eyes and words on the train gave her a thrill, Riley didn't want Tom to seriously entertain such dangerous ideas. She couldn't have another death on her conscience, no matter what he said. She'd just have to resist her growing attraction to him until they figured out a way to break the curse.

She kissed his cheek gently after he embraced her. "What's your plan?"

He hesitated. "I've got someone I need to see. She might know a way to break a Strega curse."

Riley felt an unfamiliar twinge of irritation at the thought of Tom consulting with another woman, but she told herself she was just being cautious, not jealous. "Don't mention me, okay?"

He shook his head. "No, of course not."

They stood there awkwardly for a moment. "How will I get in touch with you, if I learn anything?"

Tom pulled a notebook out of his back pocket and jotted down a number. "That's my mobile. I've already programmed your number in; I hope that's okay?"

Riley's heart soared, and she smiled. "Sure."

Tom leaned toward her and whispered, "We will break this curse. And when we do—" He trailed off, his eyes studying Riley's face before coming to rest on her parted lips. "Well," Tom chuckled, "I made my intentions clear on the train."

"I hope we figure this out soon." Riley blushed as soon as she spoke. "I mean, I don't want to take you away from your work," she finished lamely.

Tom winked. "I hope we have an answer soon, too, but if we don't, remember what I said about a risk I'm willing to take."

Riley shook her head and stepped away. "I'll call you if I figure anything out."

"Likewise."

Riley turned away first, but she could feel him watching her as she left the train station and joined the people walking along the busy London street. Paddington station was a beautiful old building, but Riley wasn't paying attention to the architecture. She could feel Tom's eyes on her back until she turned the corner, and she shivered with anticipation. It had been a long time since she'd wanted anyone to get close to her, but with Tom, she couldn't seem to help it.

Even though the casket was heavy, Riley decided to walk a ways to clear her head before descending to the underground. The air had gotten colder, and the clouds were dark and threatening, but she felt strangely exhilarated. _Tom's enthusiasm must be contagious_ , she thought. _There's no other reason I should be feeling so giddy._

Eventually, the bitter wind became too much even for Riley's high spirits, and she boarded the Tube. She almost missed her stop; her brain had been whirling through the events of the past few days at top speed, but Riley shook herself out of her stupor and made the uncomfortable climb to her apartment.

Eloise was standing in the kitchen when Riley let herself in, and she rushed toward Riley in concern. "Oh, my God, what happened?" She flung her arms around Riley, and Riley shifted awkwardly, trying to balance the casket in her arms.

"I fell into the baths. But I'm really okay."

Eloise pulled back and studied her face. "You fell." Her tone was skeptical, and Riley sighed.

"Yes. It was an accident."

Eloise nodded slowly. "Riley, honey, don't you think that maybe you should see somebody?"

Riley closed her eyes. "I'm fine, El, really."

There was an awkward silence, but Eloise finally turned away. "Here's your mail; looks like another package from your gran."

Riley stared at the brown paper package and frowned. "Gran's in the hospital."

"Seriously? Oh, Riley, I'm so sorry, sweetie. Is she going to be okay?" Eloise hugged her again, and this time, Riley hugged her back.

"She had a stroke. I don't know anything more than that; I need to try to get a hold of my folks."

Eloise nodded. "I need to go to work, but I can call in if you, well, if you don't want to be alone."

Riley looked up and met Eloise's eyes. "I'm really fine. Worried about Gran, but fine. The thing in Bath was an accident."

Eloise looked unconvinced.

"Look, El, you don't have to put me on suicide watch. Really, I'm feeling better than I have in a while."

"I was worried about you. We'd had that great night out, but you were so depressed about your thesis and everything, and then you just disappear and I get a call from a strange man who told me you'd gone swimming in the hot springs—what was I supposed to think?"

Riley exhaled loudly. "I know how it seems, but really, I'm okay. I need to shower and check in with my folks, but everything is fine. I'm fine."

Her roommate hesitated, but then she picked up her purse off the counter. "Okay."

Riley raised her eyebrow in surprise. "Okay?"

Eloise nodded. "You're a big girl. You can always talk to me about anything, you know that, right?"

_Except the curse; that didn't go over so well_. "Yeah, I know."

"Well, if you need to talk, I'm here, but if you're fine, that's good, too, I guess."

Riley nodded and forced a smile. "I'm really okay."

"Good. I'll see you after work. Want to grab dinner tonight at that Chinese place?"

"That sounds good. I'll meet you there?"

Eloise headed for the door. "I get off at eight. And Riley?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're okay."

"Me, too. And I really _am_ okay."

When Eloise finally shut the door behind her, Riley leaned against the counter. The whole uncomfortable exchange had left her exhausted, but as soon as her eyes landed on the package from Gran, Riley forgot all about her roommate. Without making her usual excuses, Riley tore into the package and pulled out a small, wooden box.

It looked like a puzzle box, and after a moment of studying the wood, Riley found the latch. The lid of the box slid to one side, revealing a folded scrap of weathered paper. Riley checked the package wrappings she'd dropped on the floor, but there was no note or anything else from Gran to explain the box. Maybe the parchment would do it.

Carefully, Riley unfolded the brittle paper and began to read.

The page was covered with indecipherable writing and sketches of hands and eyes. Riley stared at it for a minute, confused. What in the world was it, and why had Gran sent it to her?

Setting the paper to one side, Riley dialed her mother's number. The phone connected after three rings, and Riley's mom answered.

"Is that you, baby?"

Riley gulped. "Yeah, Mom. How's Gran?"

"Still in the hospital. We don't know much yet."

"Are you there now?"

"No; I just left about fifteen minutes ago. I needed a break; your father is still there, if you want to call the room and talk to him." She gave Riley the number, and Riley scribbled it down on the back of the wrapping from the strange package Gran had sent.

"Thank you. Are you and Dad doing okay?"

Riley's mother sighed. "We're hanging in there."

"Sorry I'm not there to help."

"There's nothing you could do, sweetie."

Riley was secretly relieved that her mother hadn't asked her to come home. She wasn't ready to leave London now, not when she was actually making progress toward breaking her curse. _And then there's Tom..._ Riley pulled her thoughts away from him and cleared her throat. "Still, is there anything you need?"

"Just pray for Gran, and give your dad a call. I'm sure he'd love to hear your voice."

"Okay. Love you, Mom."

"Love you, too, baby."

After a short pause, Riley dialed the hospital number.

Her dad's voice sounded muffled when he answered the phone.

"How's Gran?"

"She's okay, Riley. She's resting."

Riley heard shuffling in the background, and then her dad's voice came back a little bit louder.

"I pulled the phone into the hall. Don't want to disturb Mom."

Riley nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "I just got a package from her today." Unexpectedly, Riley found herself tearing up. _Is this the last thing she'll ever send me?_

Her dad chuckled. "That's Mom for you. Loves mailing little trinkets. What was it this time?"

"This weird puzzle box. There was a piece of paper inside, but I can't read it."

There was a pause. "Oh, I think I know the one you mean."

Riley's heart sped up. "You do?"

"Yes, it was something my father brought back for her from Italy. He was stationed there during the war."

"From Italy?" Riley stared at the box and the parchment. "Do you know what it is, or what it says?"

"Mom didn't let me paw through her things, but I think Dad told me about that box once when I asked him about the war."

Riley closed her eyes while her dad thought. She barely breathed, waiting in anticipation.

"Oh, got it. That box is some kind of good-luck charm. Something about averting the evil eye or some other nonsense." He laughed. "Dad didn't believe it, but he thought it was quant, and for some reason, Mom kept it all these years.

Riley stared at the box. Was it possible that Gran had actually mailed her the key to breaking the curse? "Thanks, Dad. I know it's hard for you to talk about him."

"Nah, sweetie, it's okay. I didn't get him for very long, but I know he's in a better place."

"And Gran?" Riley felt awful for asking, but she couldn't shake the nagging fear that Gran was worse off than they were telling her.

"She'll be fine. Mom will live to terrorize you and your brother for a few more family Christmases, at least."

Riley smiled. "That's good." She paused, but then she added impulsively, "I should be home this Christmas."

"Oh, sweetie, that's wonderful news! Really?"

She gulped. "Really. I finish my defense right before the holidays."

"I can't wait to tell your mother. She'll be thrilled."

"Go ahead and tell Gran, too, when she wakes up."

Her dad paused. "Riley, sweetie, there's something you should know. The doctors think there might be brain damage."

Riley's palms started to sweat, and she almost dropped the phone. "What?"

"Well, they aren't sure the extent, yet, but she's lucky to be alive at all."

"Can she—can she talk?"

His voice was gentle. "We don't know yet, honey. She's mostly been unconscious, either sleeping or drugged, since she got to the hospital."

Riley clutched the phone. "I can come home."

"No, sweetie, there's no reason for that. Finish up your work there, and try not to worry about your gran. She'll be okay; she's a tough old bird."

"But, Dad—"

"I'll tell her you called when she wakes up, and I'll tell her you're coming home for Christmas. That'll be enough for now."

Riley wanted to argue, but her dad was right; what good would she do at home in America? When she hung up the phone, Riley stared at the parchment. "I wish I could ask Gran what this means." Her words sounded hollow, and gloom descended on Riley. "She'd know what to do."

### CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Tom stared at his phone, rehearsing what he wanted to say. He still knew the number by heart, but that didn't make it any easier to dial. Finally, Tom sighed. "For Riley," he reminded himself, punching in the number and holding his breath while the phone connected.

Erika answered after two rings. "Hello?"

For a moment, Tom nearly choked, but then he recovered his voice. "It's Tom."

She paused. "Hi."

Her voice used to be enough to arouse him, and Tom waited fearfully to feel something, anything, but to his surprise, he just felt relaxed and determined. He swallowed, straightening his shoulders. "I need a favor," he said without preamble.

He could almost hear Erika raise an eyebrow, but all she said was, "I wondered when you'd call."

He stood up, pressing the phone to his ear, and began pacing. "Did Sean say something?"

"Sean? No," she said, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her tone. "But I've been having dreams."

Tom held his breath. Slowly, he exhaled. "Me, too. That's why I thought you could help."

"If I can, I'd be happy to."

The tension between his shoulders unwound a bit, but Tom kept pacing. "I've got a friend who's been cursed by a Strega."

Erika clucked her tongue in irritation. "What are you playing with, Tom?"

"No joke. It's not..." he paused, choosing his words carefully. "It's not a new curse, so we aren't really sure when it happened, but she's ready to try and break it now."

"She?"

Tom held his breath. Even though she was the one who'd dumped him, Erika had always been fiercely possessive, and Tom suddenly wondered if her jealous streak was still there. _It's over,_ he thought silently, hoping Erika could sense his resolve.

Before he could say anything, Erika sighed. "Curses are hard to reverse," she finally said. "It would help if I could meet her."

"Not going to happen," Tom said instantly, his protective instincts surfacing. Dangerous silence crackled over the line, and Tom cursed himself. "I mean," he began, trying to diffuse the tension, "I want her to meet everyone eventually, but I don't think she'd feel comfortable until the curse is lifted."

He waited for Erika to ask him an uncomfortable question, something he didn't want to or couldn't answer, but all she said was, "Then you'll just have to try the generic cure and hope it works."

His heart started to beat faster. "There's a cure for a Strega curse?"

"Reversing a curse is the best way to get rid of it," she corrected him impatiently, "but yeah, when I was in Italy, I learned a few counter spells that should be able to work for anything. Kind of like a magical Swiss Army knife," she joked.

Tom relaxed even more. _If Erika's cracking jokes about magic, she's not pissed anymore,_ he thought with a smile. He lowered himself to the edge of the overstuffed armchair near his desk. "What do I need to do?"

### CHAPTER THIRTY

Despite being worried about Gran and the strange puzzle box, Riley slept soundly, and she was at the bookstore well before eight the following morning. She'd tucked the parchment from Gran into her pocket, hoping to swing by the college after her shift and see if she could find someone who could help her translate the document. She had debated calling Tom after she spoke with her parents, but exhaustion had trumped the need to hear his voice. _I don't really have any news. There's no reason to call just yet._

She'd left the casket safely tucked under her bed, but when she got to the shop, she wished she'd brought it with her; now that she'd found it, it was hard to let it out of her sight for a moment. Riley desperately wanted to break the curse and move on with her life, but she had tried to be rational about the box. _Carrying it around won't help you destroy it sooner_. Besides, she'd reasoned, it might get damaged. Better to leave it somewhere safe.

The shop was looking dingy, and Riley picked up the feather duster guiltily. She'd been too distracted by the curse and everything else to be a very attentive employee lately, but she resolved to change that now. Happily, Riley settled into a cleaning rhythm, and she was surprised when the bell over the door rang just ten minutes after she flipped the lights on. She turned around from the shelf she was dusting and stared in shock at the customer.

Tom was strolling toward the information desk, his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the shelves casually. Riley stepped out from behind a shelf into his path, and his face broke into a surprised smile.

"What are you doing here?"

She gestured with the feather duster. "I work here. What are you doing here?"

Tom stared at her for a minute, his expression impossible to read, and then he burst out laughing. "Oh, no, it's not possible."

Riley looked at him, confused. "What's not possible?"

Tom was laughing so hard his face was turning purple, and he put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Finally, he wheezed, "My Aunt Helen actually picked a girl I would fall for!"

"What are you talking about?"

"My aunt has been trying to set me up with her employees for years. And she finally would have succeeded."

Realization dawned on Riley. "Is your aunt Mrs. Holden?"

Tom chuckled, drawing a deep breath and getting himself under control once again. "She's been pestering me to meet you for three years."

Riley stared at him, open-mouthed. "You're Tommy!"

They gaped at each other for a moment, and then they both started to giggle. Soon, they were laughing uncontrollably, and neither one of them heard the bell over the shop door chime.

Mrs. Holden stood there in the door, staring at them for a moment. "Well, I never! You two children finally met!" She folded up her umbrella and grinned. "Care to let an old lady in on the joke?"

Riley and Tom looked at each other and burst out laughing again. Mrs. Holden watched them for a moment, and then she shook her head.

"I'll never understand kids. Riley, why don't you take your break and let my handsome nephew buy you a cup of tea."

"Okay," Riley managed to get out, wiping her eyes. "Thanks, Mrs. Holden."

"Of course, dearie. Enjoy your tea, and remember to invite me to the wedding." She stage-whispered the last, but it was clear from the way Tom's ears flushed that he'd heard her. He and Riley hurried into the street, their fit of laughter subsiding. Once they rounded the corner from the bookstore, Tom paused and looked down at Riley.

"I really need to listen to my aunt more often."

She smiled up at him, but then she remembered the box from Gran. "Oh! I have something to show you."

Carefully, she fished the paper out of her back pocket and handed it to Tom. He opened it and studied it carefully. When his eyes met hers, all traces of laughter were gone. "Where'd you get this?"

"Gran. She must have mailed it before her stroke; I talked to my dad last night, and he told me the box this came in was a gift from my granddad. He got it somewhere in Italy during the war."

Tom nodded. "Did you read it?"

"No, I couldn't make it out. Can you?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "You call yourself an academic, and you can't translate spidery Italian?"

Riley swatted his arm. "Not my specialty."

"But it's close enough to Latin that you should be able to read it." Tom handed it back to her seriously.

Now that he said that, Riley realized, she did recognize some of the words. She stared at the parchment intently, working out a rough translation in her mind before she spoke. "Is it a spell for good luck?"

Tom shook his head. "It's the counter curse to the Malocchio."

The word made Riley shiver, even though she'd never heard it before. "What's that?"

"The most famous Strega curse; it's the evil eye."

For a minute, Riley just looked at the parchment, stunned. Gran really had had the solution all these years! "Do you think it can help me?"

To her relief, Tom nodded. "I talked to my friend last night, and she actually suggested treating any Strega curse the way you'd treat the evil eye."

Possessiveness flared in Riley. "How does your friend even know anything about all this?"

Tom hesitated, and in the pause, Riley thought up all kinds of awful excuses about this mysterious friend. She braced herself to hear that Tom had a partner, or worse, was actually married. She wasn't prepared for what he said.

"Riley," Tom exhaled softly, "I'm a member of Pagan circle."

"Excuse me?"

"Pagan." Tom swallowed, but he kept talking. "You know, earth-worshiping, tree-hugging, Celtic-god-honoring folks. And I know a witch who's dealt with this kind of thing."

Riley stared at him, not really understanding. "What are you talking about?"

Tom sighed. "I'm a Pagan, and I know someone who believes in Stregheria."

His words took a minute to sink in, and when they did, Riley looked at him in surprise. "You're telling me you believe in magic and things like that?"

Tom nodded. "That's why I wanted to check with my...friend; she's the only person I know with a modern, practical understanding of the kind of magic you're up against. No one else in the circle has any experience with Stregheria."

Riley chewed on her lower lip. "So when you say Pagan—"

Tom looked at her expectantly.

"You mean it as a religion."

He nodded slowly. "It's more of a spirituality for me, but yes. It's my faith."

"And because of your faith, you know someone who thinks she practices the same kind of magic that cursed my family?"

Tom didn't flinch at her skeptical tone. "Yes. And what she said lines up with that paper your gran sent; the only way to counter a Strega curse is to use charms and protections against the evil eye."

Riley crossed her arms. "Don't you think my family's curse is a bit worse than just an evil eye thing?"

Tom shrugged. "Not really, when you think about it. The curse promises death, right?"

She hesitated, but finally, she nodded. "Right. In its simplest form, yes, I guess so."

"My friend said it doesn't matter what else happens; the classic Strega curse, Malocchio, can result in death."

Riley looked at him. "And you believe her?"

Tom smiled at her gently. "I believed you, didn't I? Why shouldn't I believe her?"

Riley frowned, considering. "I'm just...not sure about this witchcraft stuff."

"You're the one living with a curse, and you don't believe in witchcraft?"

Riley shrugged. "I don't know. I've never met anyone who actually believed in stuff like this before you."

"But you don't want to burn me at the stake or anything?" Tom's words were playful, but he sounded tense, and Riley looked at him, surprised.

"Of course not! Why would you think that?"

Tom exhaled. "I'm never sure how people will react to my faith. I usually keep it to myself."

"Just because I study Medieval prayer books doesn't mean I'm a zealot. I don't really think it's my place to judge your beliefs."

Tom pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. "Thank you. You have no idea how worried I was about telling you that."

Riley hugged him back, her skin tingling from the contact. "You've been totally wonderful; it'll take more than a difference of beliefs to push me away from you."

"I'm glad." For a minute, their faces were dangerously close to one another, and then Tom cleared his throat. "So, now we know what to do to break the curse."

Riley forced herself to take a step back. "We do?"

Tom nodded. "Between this parchment and my friend's advice, I think I have a solution."

"You aren't forgetting that we have to destroy the caskets, right?"

"No, but I've been thinking; how do we destroy metal, anyway?"

Riley frowned. "I guess we can't just take a hammer to it."

Tom chuckled. "Probably wouldn't work."

"Could we melt it?"

Tom nodded. "And once we melt the boxes down," he gestured to the paper, "I know just what we need to make to guarantee the curse loses its power."

"What?"

"A hamsa."

"What's that?"

Tom pointed to the parchment. "It's the upturned hand. It's a symbol used against the evil eye all over the world."

Riley looked at the sketches of hands covering the page. "But we have to find all three boxes before we can worry about making it."

"We can always start with the box you have."

She shook her head. "Not until we open it. There might be a clue to the other boxes inside."

"Then let's get that sucker open."

Riley laughed at his enthusiasm. "First, I need to get back to work."

"I'll come by to pick you up at the end of your shift. When are you done?"

"Three." Riley hesitated. "Tom?"

"Yes?"

"You really have a friend who believes in Stregheria?"

Tom nodded.

"Doesn't she realize it's dangerous?"

"Not my place to say."

Riley nodded after a moment. "I guess you're right. But it's still sort of creepy."

"I never said it wasn't. But if it helps you, it's all to the good, right?"

"I guess so."

They walked in companionable silence back to the bookshop, but at the door, Tom held out his hand. "Can I take that?"

Riley glanced at the parchment, and then handed it to him. "Will you translate it?"

He nodded. "I've got some time to kill until you're done with work. I don't want to let another minute go to waste before we break your curse." He leaned toward her, and his lips brushed her cheek, sending a shiver through her jaw. "I'm not wasting any more time with you, Riley."

Riley's heart thumped loudly in her chest, and she wondered what it would feel like to run her hands through Tom's ginger hair. Before she got carried away, she slipped away from Tom and waved at him through the door of the bookshop.

Mrs. Holden sighed behind her. "Ah, young love. Didn't I tell you you'd like my nephew?"

Riley smiled at her employer, her heart thumping. "You were right." _I just hope we can break the curse, or it won't matter how much I like him._

### CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Tom's eyes were sparkling when he met Riley outside the bookstore that afternoon.

"Why are you in such a good mood?" Riley was exhausted; she'd had a lot of cranky customers that day, and all she wanted to do was go home and sleep. Her head was throbbing and her feet hurt, not to mention the fact that she felt like she'd used up all of her kindness on people in the shop. As much as she wanted to spend more time with Tom, she was drained.

Tom put his arm around her shoulders and turned her to face him. "We're going to break the curse tonight."

For a minute, his words didn't penetrate Riley's hazy mind, but finally, she looked at Tom skeptically. "How? We've only got one box."

"That might be all it'll take." Tom steered her around the block and opened the door of a rusty red Fiat.

"What are you talking about?" Riley paused on the sidewalk, studying Tom's face.

"I translated that parchment. This is going to be easier than we thought."

Riley shook her head. "Tom, it's not going to be easy. If it were easy, someone would have already broken the curse."

"Just trust me, okay?" Tom gestured to the car. "I have a plan."

Finally, Riley got in the car. "Okay. But we have to go back to my place to get the casket."

Tom nodded as he closed her door. "Just tell me where to go."

She gave him directions, and then sat back and rubbed her forehead. "Where'd you get the car?"

"Borrowed it from a grad student."

Riley chuckled. "Seriously? I thought professors were supposed to be above that."

Tom shrugged, navigating the Fiat through the crowded London streets. "Well, I'm not too proud to ask for help. Besides, we need a car tonight."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

***

After they'd stopped by Riley's flat long enough for her to retrieve the casket, Tom deftly navigated the car out of the city. As the houses and buildings gradually gave way to flat fields, Riley tried again.

"Where are we headed?"

Tom glanced at her. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"Of course."

"I know a guy who's an amateur blacksmith. He's going to help us melt the box down."

Riley's fingers tightened around the casket. "Remember, Tom, we need to open it first."

"Sean has enough tools to help. We'll get it open, and then we'll destroy it."

Riley paused. "How in the world do you know someone who's into blacksmithing?"

Tom didn't look at her. "He's in the circle."

"Oh," she said, trying not to sound skeptical. "I'm glad you know someone who can help us."

Tom risked a glance at her, and his shoulders relaxed. "Me, too. You'll have to meet everyone sometime."

Riley nodded. "Sure. When all this is over."

Tom's hand slid off the gearshift to squeeze her knee. "It'll be over soon, Riley. I promise."

He didn't pull his hand away immediately, and Riley shivered at his touch. Gently, Tom began tracing circles on her leg with his thumb, his fingers slowly drifting away from her knew toward her thigh. Riley closed her eyes. God, it had been so long since she'd gotten close to any man. She hadn't really been touched since...since Mark. Remembering his horrible death and the other men weighing on her conscience, Riley shook her head. She couldn't let Tom get carried away, as much as she wanted him to. First, she needed to break the curse. She shifted in her seat, and finally, Tom put his hand back on the steering wheel with a sigh.

"We'll beat this thing, Riley. And when we do—"S

She interrupted him. "First thing's first."

Tom nodded silently, but Riley could see the tension in his jaw.

She tried to distract him. "What did the parchment say?"

"It was a lot of gibberish about protection and evil, but it had basic instructions for warding off the evil eye, just like we thought."

Riley's fingers absently traced the casket in her lap. "And how do we do that?"

Tom turned the car off the highway and navigated over the potholes on a narrow gravel road. "No matter how powerful the witch who casts the curse, the Malocchio can be broken with a simple charm. The person who's cursed has to make or purchase a hamsa, and then keep it over the doorway of their home forever."

Riley glanced at him skeptically. "That's it? It just takes some wall art?"

"Cultures all over the world believe in the protective powers of the hamsa. Jews and Muslims both use it in their homes for protection, and there probably isn't a house in any community in North Africa that doesn't have at least one charm hanging up." He turned off the road onto an even narrower drive, shaded by tall trees. "There's got to be something to the folk belief for it to have persisted in so many cultures for so many years."

"But why didn't Gran break the curse herself when my grandpa brought her the instructions?"

Tom chewed on his mustache. "That's a question you'll have to ask her."

Riley faltered, remembering the conversation with her father. "I don't know if I'll be able to."

"Why not?"

"Dad said there's been brain damage from the stroke. I don't know if she'll be able to help anymore."

Tom looked at her, surprised. "I'm so sorry. When did you find out?"

"Last night." Riley felt tears threatening her, but she pressed her hands tight around the casket and drew a deep breath.

"Do you not want to be worrying about all this right now? I can take you back to London , if you want."

For a moment, Riley paused. Everything that had happened was threatening to overwhelm her, and it would be so nice to give up and just leave things alone. But then she looked at Tom, and her stomach constricted. If she gave up now, she'd be giving up any chance that she and Tom could be together. And Riley realized that she desperately wanted to break the curse and see if she had a chance with the man by her side. "No," she decided firmly, "let's do this."

### CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

As the car pulled up to a weathered old barn, Riley's fingers tightened on the casket. _Can we really break the curse with only one of the coffins?_ She slid out of her seat as a tall, muscular man with a long black ponytail and thick beard came around the side of the barn. Riley stared at him shyly, but Tom hopped out of the car with a smile.

"Thanks, Sean. We really appreciate this."

The hulking blacksmith smiled at Tom. "Of course. And you must be Riley." He directed his gaze to Riley, and she felt herself relaxing. Like Tom, the blacksmith had a comfortable, easy-going demeanor, and she smiled.

"Yes. And you're Sean." She reached out an arm to shake his hand, but he surprised her by plucking the box out of her grasp instead.

"And this is the little bugger that's causing all the problems, is it?"

Riley darted a nervous glance at Tom, and he shook his head at her slightly. "That's it. Riley want to open it and melt it down."

Sean examined the box. "Shouldn't be too hard. I've remade other family heirlooms," he assured Riley, "so don't worry about that. I'll preserve the metal, but we'll make something that suits you better." He turned toward the barn, and Riley and Tom trailed behind. They rounded the side of the barn and found Sean already at work with a chisel and hammer to pry the box open.

Riley winced each time the hammer struck, but she could tell the blacksmith was being as gentle as he could. Still, having someone else working on the casket made her nervous, and she gripped her hands and watched, her shoulders tense.

Finally, Sean let out a satisfied grunt and set his tools down. "That should do it. Do you want to do the honors?"

Riley was almost afraid to see what was in the box, but mutely she nodded. As she reached for the casket, Tom drew Sean to the side and started chatting with him animatedly. Relieved for that small illusion of privacy, Riley took a deep breath and opened the box.

Her stunned gasp stopped the conversation beside her, and Riley felt Tom step closer. "What is it?"

She gestured at the box. Nestled inside the golden casket was a tarnished silver box.

Sean looked over her shoulder. "A box in a box. Looks like things just keep getting more mysterious."

With shaking hands, Riley lifted the silver casket out of the box. The clasp on the second box opened easily under her thumb, and she flicked it open, hardly daring to breathe.

Tom gripped her shoulder as a third tiny box came into view. The thick, dingy surface reminded Riley of slate floors and cathedral windows, and she knew without a doubt that this casket was made of lead.

"Gold, silver, and lead," Tom muttered with wonder. "They're all here."

Riley met his eyes. "Yes." The word popped out before she could think, but Riley realized that she didn't want to take it back. She was answering the persistent offers and innuendos Tom had been making, and she held her breath, watching him.

For a moment, Tom froze. Realization passed over his face, and he took a step closer. He cupped her face with his large hands and met her eyes. Riley nodded again, and without hesitation, Tom brought his lips to hers. The kiss was long and deep, and Riley melted into it, savoring the feeling of Tom's mouth pressed against hers. _How can something so sudden feel so right?_

Sean coughed behind them, and Riley pulled back, her face flushed. "Three boxes, then. Do you still want me to melt them down?"

Riley nodded, trying to regain her composure. "But I need to see what's in the third one."

Tom rested his hands on her shoulders as she pulled the lead casket out of the silver one.

She pried it open, and the lid slid off. Riley blinked a couple of times, not sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing.

Silently, she handed the small golden skull to Tom, and she was barely aware of his reverent inspection as she reached for the only other thing contained in the box: a folded piece of brown paper. Her hands were shaking as she pulled it out and unfolded it.

She smoothed it out on her lap and peered at it, but the dark script was impossible for her to decipher. She leaned closer, recognizing a word or phrase here or there, but still unable to read the parchment.

Riley glanced at the skull and shuddered. "Do you think it's real?"

"The skull?" Tom shook his head. "Too heavy. A human skull, even an infant's, is fairly light, even if it were plated in gold. It's remarkable, though!" He turned it toward Riley. "Look at the eyes!"

She hadn't noticed the brilliant red eyes before; someone had probably stuck rubies or garnets in the eye sockets, but the effect was eerie and almost demonic. Riley shuddered again.

Tom passed the skull to Sean for his inspection, and the blacksmith whistled softly. "What else do you have there?"

She'd almost forgotten the parchment that had been tucked beneath the skull. With hesitation, she passed it to Tom.

He squinted at it for a minute before reaching for a pair of reading glasses on the windowsill. After a pause, he looked up. "It's Italian, I think."

Riley's heart started to pound. "Can you read what it says?"

"Sort of. All but those strange words." He cleared his throat. "You sure you don't want to make this mystery stretch on a little longer?" His tone was light, but Riley clenched her fingers reflexively.

"What does it say?"

Tom gave her a level stare over the top of his glasses before he started to read. He read the page silently to himself at first, his lips moving along as he went, and when he looked at Riley, he smiled.

"It pretty much says the same thing as that other page."

Riley darted a nervous glance to Sean, but he was busy inspecting the tiny golden skull. "So this is it."

Tom nodded eagerly. "It's almost done." He handed her the weathered parchment, and without thinking about it, Riley crossed the barn and tucked the paper into the fire of the forge.

"Thank goodness." She swallowed, trying to slow her pounding heart. "Sean, can we melt everything down?"

Sean looked up from the skull, surprised. "Even this?"

Riley nodded.

"I'll buy it off of you, if you don't want it."

Worried, Riley looked at Tom. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Tom clasped his friend's shoulder. "Remember, you promised."

Sean exhaled loudly, his eyes still fixed on the glistening skull. Reluctantly, he handed it back to Tom. "I know."

Riley hesitated. "I can pay you for your help, if you want."

Sean looked offended at Riley's suggestion. "Not likely. Tom says you need this, and that's good enough for me." He kept his eyes off the skull as he collected the caskets. "Do you want everything melted down together? And what am I making when it's done?"

Riley nodded, and Tom pulled a sheet of tracing paper out of his back pocket. "Can you make something like this?"

Sean looked at the sketch and nodded thoughtfully. "It'll be big with all the metal." He paused. "Why don't I make a few pieces of jewelry, too?"

Tom hesitated and looked at Riley. She shrugged. "I guess," she offered doubtfully. Suddenly, she found herself wondering if even melting the caskets down would be enough to break the curse. Tom reached out and squeezed her hand.

"I have some ideas. Riley, why don't you go grab the cooler out of the car? We'll have a picnic while we wait."

The abrupt change of topic confused her, but after staring at Tom skeptically for a moment, Riley turned and left the barn. She rummaged around in the car for a few minutes, but she couldn't find any cooler. When she turned around, Tom was walking out of the barn briskly in her direction.

"I couldn't find it."

"I must have forgotten it at home." Tom cleared his throat nervously. "Sean says this will take time; why don't we drive back to the city?"

Riley glanced at the barn. "Are you sure this will be okay?"

Tom stepped closer and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Trust me," he murmured. "It's all going to be fine."

Riley breathed in his earthy scent, and her body leaned forward in invitation. Tom hesitated for a moment, but then he kissed her again. This time, without Sean to interrupt them, the kiss stretched on and on. Riley wasn't about to complain, and she savored the feel of Tom's rough beard and soft lips against her skin. Heat raced through her body, pooling in her stomach before spreading lower, and Tom's arms tightened around her in an insistent embrace. Riley gave herself over to the delicious sensation, and she thought she felt Tom groan slightly against her mouth.

When he finally pulled away, she was breathless. "What will we do while we wait?"

Tom smiled suggestively. "I can think of a few things."

Riley paused, but then she shook her head. "Not yet. I don't want to put you in any danger."

Tom lowered his head to hers and whispered, "Soon."

Riley nodded, her heart in her throat. "Soon."

Tom cleared his throat. "In that case," Tom said, opening the car door for her, "Let's go back to London and eat dinner. I'm starving."

Riley had the feeling he wasn't just talking about food, and her skin flushed again. _Soon,_ she promised herself silently. _After we break the curse_.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Taking Riley to meet Sean had made Tom feel less uncomfortable than he'd expected. In fact, as soon as the curse was ended and he and Riley were together, he was bursting to bring her to the entire circle to let her meet his friends. _After we spend a good long time in this bed_ , he thought, remembering the feeling of Riley body pressed against his. A frustrated groan escaped his lips, and Tom punched his pillow twice and rolled over.

Light streamed into his dark apartment; Tom hadn't bothered closing the blinds when he got home after dropping Riley off, and the glow from the city made his bedroom look like something surreal. It was easy to imagine that some of the ghosts from his research had followed him home, but that wasn't what was keeping Tom awake. He couldn't stop thinking about Riley, and his mind was torturing him by thinking up all kinds of delicious things he wanted to do with her once the curse was broken.

Exhaling in frustration, Tom got out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. He stripped off his boxers and stepped into the shower, running the water as cold as he could stand. His body recoiled from the shock of the water, but the chill did nothing to curb his fantasies. Finally, Tom turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. Still dripping, he crossed his apartment and sat down at his desk, ready to do the only thing that had ever completely taken his mind off the present. Flicking on the desk lamp, Tom opened a reference book and began to read.

Scholarship had always been his buffer and his escape. _Probably why I got such a good position so fast,_ he mused, flipping the pages of the old book and gradually sinking into his research rhythm. _I've always had a lot of things going on that made me want to escape._

The book, an old one he'd consulted many times before, had almost distracted him when he turned a page and came face to face with the famous portrait of Anne Boleyn. Tom stared at it a moment, studying the woman's high forehead and piercing eyes, and then he shook his head. "How did I ever think Riley looked like that?" He chuckled, examining the portrait while at the same time calling Riley's face into his mind. True, both women seemed to burn with an inner fire that mesmerized him, but Tom suddenly felt sure that if the two of them were side by side, it would be no contest.

Riley would capture his gaze every time.

With a rueful laugh, Tom closed the book and returned it to his shelf. He stood up, realizing for the first time that he was still wrapped in a towel, and he glanced at the clock near the desk. It was almost five o'clock. _There's no point pretending to sleep, but it's much too early to go to Riley,_ he thought wearily, running his hand through his hair as he debated for a moment. Finally, he pulled on jeans and slipped an old green button down shirt across his broad shoulders, donning his casual teaching armor that he usually wore when he had to meet with students who seemed scared of him. He paused, surveying his reflection in the small mirror on the back of the bathroom door, wondering suddenly if Riley liked the way he looked. _I want her so bad,_ he thought, straightening his shoulders before running a hand self-consciously through his hair.

Grabbing his bag, Tom headed out into the pre-dawn city, aiming for his favorite bakery to kill some time, even though every fiber of his being was desperate to go over to Riley's flat. He let the fantasy spool out in his mind as he walked; first, he'd sweep her off her feet and into a romance novel worthy embrace. Tom chuckled at the idea and tugged on his beard thoughtfully. _And maybe we'll ride off into the sunset together,_ he thought, mocking himself gently for his romantic fantasies.

A bird trilled somewhere above him, and Tom paused, his eyes searching the skyline. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a wren dip between two tall buildings, flying out of sight so fast his eyes might have been playing tricks on him. Tom watched the sky, wondering if the bird would come back, but he didn't hear or see it again. Still, there was a spring in his step when he entered the café. _I'm going to take that as a good omen,_ he thought, waiting patiently in line to order some pastries and his tea. _It isn't every day a songbird sweeps through London!_

Feeling hopeful, Tom took his breakfast to go and headed a few blocks over to pick up the borrowed car. The sun hadn't been up long, but Tom decided he couldn't wait any longer.

He needed to see Riley. He needed to know what would happen if they'd successfully broken the curse. _Hell, I just need her_.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

When Tom came by, Riley was outside waiting for him. She'd barely slept the night before; her thoughts and desires were tangled up in knots, and the anticipation of breaking the curse warred with her worry that whatever they did wouldn't be enough, and she'd finally given up on sleep around 4 am. Luckily, there was a corner cafe open all night just a few steps away from her apartment, and she was well fortified with coffee by the time Tom arrived in the borrowed car at 7 o'clock.

Dark circles shone under his eyes, but he still gave Riley a smile that made her heart jump. "Rough night?"

She nodded. "You, too?"

"Just a lot of anticipation."

He sounded chipper, but Riley wondered if some of the doubts which had kept her up had crept into Tom's mind, too. "It'll be okay," she said, trying to reassure them both.

Tom caught her hand and pulled it to his lips, expertly holding the wheel with one hand. "I know it will." His whiskers brushed against Riley's skin, and his lips were warm. A shiver coursed through her body, and Riley pulled her hand away reluctantly.

They lapsed into silence as Tom took them out of the city, but tension filled the car. It would only be a matter of time until the curse was broken, Riley told herself. And then—

She glanced at Tom and flushed. And then what? She'd barely known him long enough to be feeling so attracted to him, and a cynical part of her wondered if she were just succumbing to the effects of years of celibacy. She studied Tom's profile thoughtfully. He wasn't necessarily sexy in the standard sense, but his laughing blue eyes made her feet melt, and Riley had already learned that she relished the feel of his beard against her skin. What would it feel like against her stomach, or her thighs?

As if he could hear her thoughts, Tom turned his head and smiled at her. "What do you want to do tonight?"

Riley bit her lip. "I'm not sure."

Tom's eyes glinted. "I have a few ideas."

"Why are you so sure this will work?"

Tom held her eyes a moment longer before looking back to the road. "Sometimes, you just have to have a little faith, Riley."

She shut her eyes. "But what if it doesn't work?"

"I already told you, I want to be with you, curse or no curse."

"No, Tom." She'd never be able to live with her guilt if anything happened to Tom.

The Fiat turned up the drive to Sean's barn, and Tom clenched the steering wheel. "This will work."

Tentatively, she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "I want this to work, too."

Tom's eyes brightened, and he loosened his grip. "I told you. Just a little faith is all it takes."

Riley wanted to believe him. She drew in a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, this will work."

Tom parked the car and bounded around to her side to open her door. "And since it'll work, we're going to celebrate tonight."

His fingers brushed against her cheek, and Riley leaned against his hand and sighed. "I can't wait."

Slowly, Tom withdrew his hand, leaving Riley's face momentarily cold without his touch. He reached for her hand and clasped it. "Let's finish this."

Together, they rounded the corner of the barn, and Sean greeted them with a wave. "Let me finish this up." Quickly, he picked up a long set of tongs and turned to the smoldering fire behind him. He lifted a long piece of metal out and turned back to his anvil. Riley watched with interest.

"What's he making?" She asked Tom quietly.

Tom squinted at the metal. "Probably a horseshoe. Sean gets a lot of business from the farms around here."

"Oh." Riley watched, fascinated, as the blacksmith deftly shaped the metal, and in a moment, she could tell that Tom was right; Sean was making a horseshoe. After a few more swift pounds with the hammer, Sean finally nodded in satisfaction. Using the tongs again, he lowered the horseshoe into a pail of liquid beside him, and the hot metal sizzled quietly when it met the water. Wiping his hands on his apron, Sean came forward.

"I just finished yours up an hour ago."

Surprised, Riley checked her watch. "Did you have to work all night?"

Sean shook his head. "No. I'm an early bird; I've been at it since before dawn. It's cooler to work in the forge before the sun is too high."

Tom let go of Riley's hand and clapped his friend on the back. "I don't know how to thank you, really."

Sean shrugged. "Happy to do it, man. You know that."

"Thank you," Riley offered quietly, and Sean smiled at her as he handed her a large burlap sack.

"Everything's in there. Did you want to look over anything?"

Riley hesitated, but then she shook her head. "I'm sure it's perfect." Even though Sean had made the objects, Riley wanted to see them for the first time in private.

Sean walked them back to the car, talking quietly with Tom. Riley couldn't hear their conversation, but she could have sworn Tom was blushing as he slid behind the wheel and started the car. Curious, she stared at him.

Tom cleared his throat. "Did you want to look at them now?"

Riley gripped the bag, considering. "Let's wait until we're back at my place."

***

Back in London, Riley checked the apartment to make sure her roommates were gone before she and Tom perched awkwardly on the end of her bed. Riley took a deep breath and opened the bag.

The first thing she pulled out was heavy, and Riley gasped when the large hamsa came into view. Sean had melted down the caskets and the skull into one amalgamated metal, and the imperfect swirls of gold, silver, and led made the heavy hand look more like an ancient piece of art than a modern creation. It was twice the size of Riley's palm, and Sean had added delicate texture to the solid hand with tiny hammers. One of the red stones from the skull was stuck in the middle of the hand, and it flashed in the light. The entire thing dangled from a series of delicate chain links that matched the swirly metal of the hand.

"It's beautiful," Riley finally managed.

Tom nodded. "May I see it?"

Riley handed it to him and then dug back into the bag. When she pulled out an identical hand, she looked at Tom in confusion. "Why did he make two?"

Tom rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting her eyes. "I told him to. This way, you can have one at your place, and I can have one at mine. Or," he hurried to add, "you can give the second one to whoever you end up with."

"Double protection. That makes sense." Riley cleared her throat, her pulse racing. "Would you like it, Tom?"

He looked up at her, and the intensity of his gaze made her stomach turn over. "You know I would."

Tearing her eyes away from Tom, Riley reached into the bag again. She pulled three delicate pieces into the light and gasped. The ring was a perfect circle, and the two wrist cuffs looked like something Riley had once seen in a museum exhibit on the Celts. "How did he make these?" She turned the ring over in her hand, and Tom reached for it.

"I don't know." He slid the ring between his finger and thumb, and then he looked up at Riley. "Riley Clarissa Belmont, will you take a chance on me?" He offered the ring to her, his eyes sparkling.

Riley froze. She looked at Tom, and then she looked at the ring. "What?"

"Will you marry me?"

Tom stared at Riley's pale expression and chuckled nervously after a beat. "Too soon?" He smiled, trying to make a joke out of his offer.

Riley swallowed and nodded. With a sigh, Tom handed her the ring. Riley slid it over her right index finger and stared at Tom, her eyes wide.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "At least have dinner with me and see what happens."

Embarrassed, Riley fiddled with the ring. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Dinner could be good. And," she added, feeling bold, her eyes locked on Tom's, "maybe dessert, too."

Tom stood up. "Then let's get this thing hung up. I'm tired of waiting."

Riley hesitated. Had he only been teasing when he proposed? He seemed too relaxed, but Riley could tell he wasn't making fun of her. Tom wasn't the type to tease about things that mattered, and even though she'd only known him a brief time, she was startled to discover that she was actually considering his question. What was wrong with her? She'd never felt this jumbled up inside, not even with Mark.

Tom was watching her expectantly. "Where's your hammer?"

Riley looked at the elegant hamsa. "Why don't you go home and hang up yours, and I'll hang this up. I'd like to change before our—our date." Riley stumbled over the word, and she flushed.

Tom's eyes lit up. "I like the sound of that. Something fancy, okay? I want our first date to be memorable."

At that, Riley laughed. "Falling into the baths wasn't memorable enough?"

Tom shook his head, mock-stern. "That wasn't a date. You were very clear on that point; no...anything until the curse was broken."

Uncertainly, Riley looked at the metal charm. Tom gently lifted her chin and forced her to meet his eyes.

"Remember: just have faith," he repeated. "I'll meet you at the fountain in Trafalgar Square around five."

Riley nodded, and Tom leaned closer. Hesitantly, Riley closed her eyes and waited, and then she felt Tom's prickly kiss glide over her cheeks, first the left and then the right. She could feel how achingly close he was to her lips, but to her surprise, Tom pulled back without kissing her.

Disappointed, Riley opened her eyes. Tom smiled slowly at her. "Tonight."

The word lingered in the air long after Tom was gone, and Riley closed the door in a daze. _Tonight_.

Shaking herself, Riley looked at the metal charm. If tonight were going to be anything more than a nice, quiet meal, she needed to hang the hamsa and hope that it did what Tom had promised. She found a hammer in the kitchen junk drawer, and dragged the wobbly stool across the room. Hopping up on it, Riley quickly pried a nail out of the trim and pounded it back into the wall, directly over the apartment door. As she hung the hamsa on it, her shoulder shifted the necklace around her neck, and her grandmother's moonstone suddenly snapped on its chain and fell to the apartment floor.

Startled, Riley hopped off the stool and scooped it up. The stone was badly cracked, and Riley felt tears welling up in her eyes. This was Gran's favorite piece of jewelry! Frustrated, she ran her finger over the spider-webbed surface of the milky stone, but then she paused.

The stone wasn't glowing.

Riley glanced above her to the hamsa on the wall, hovering just over the doorframe. She looked back at the stone. A slow smile spread across her face, and Riley pulled her phone out of her pocket and hurriedly punched in a number. An unfamiliar voice answered.

"Hello?"

Riley had her eyes fixed on the stone in her hand. "Is my grandmother there?"

The stranger snorted. "She's here, all right. She can't seem to get her fill of deviling the staff."

Surprised, Riley paused. When had her Gran woken up enough to start bothering nurses? Riley bit her lip. Maybe she'd called the wrong room.

"Was there something you needed?"

"Um, can I talk to her, I guess?"

The woman sighed. "I'll see if she wants to. Who's calling?"

"This is Riley."

"One minute." The seconds stretched on, but finally the nurse came back on the line. "You still there?"

Riley nodded. "Yes."

"Good. She wants to talk to you. Keep it short; it's late, and she needs to try to get _some_ sleep tonight."

Riley wondered briefly if the nurse was more exhausted than her grandmother. "I'll be fast."

There was a shuffling sound, and then silence. Riley held her breath.

"Riley Clarissa Belmont." Gran's imperious voice crackled across the line, and she sounded just like she always had. Riley sighed in relief. "Whatever are you doing calling me at this hour?"

"Gran," Riley's voice broke. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"I'm not okay, young lady. I'm annoyed. Why are you calling?"

Riley looked at the cracked moonstone in her hand and decided not to mention the brain damage. "I broke your moonstone."

"And you thought I needed to hear this news now? Really, Riley, you have the strangest idea about the order of things."

Smiling, Riley shook her head. "But it's not just the moonstone I broke."

The line went still, and Riley fleetingly wondered if her grandmother had been startled into another stroke.

"Gran?"

Finally, her grandmother croaked, "I'm listening."

Riley looked at the necklace, and then lifted her eyes to the charm on her wall. "I broke the curse."

Gran sucked in her breath sharply. "How?"

"I'll tell you all about it this Christmas."

"You can tell me all about it now, young lady."

Riley laughed. "Sorry, Gran, I've got a date. But I'll be home in December, after I defend my thesis, and then I'll tell you everything."

"A date? Young lady, what kind of game do you think you're playing?"

Riley looked at the ring on her index finger, and her smile stretched even wider. "Gran, have a little faith."

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Did you enjoy CURSE OF GOLD?

Keep reading for an excerpt from CURSE OF STONE, another title in the COUNTING CURSES series!

Julia is depressed. Ever since her mom died, it's been hard for Julia to enjoy life, even when she's spending a year studying in Rome. But when an ancient curse attaches itself to her, Julia realizes that she isn't ready to give up. With the help of Fernando, a too-charming-for-words guy from her art history class (and the heir to a black market antiquities business), Julia feels like she might have a second chance at everything. But time is running out, and the curse makes it a matter of life or death. Can Julia and Nando break the curse, or is it already too late?

### CURSE OF STONE

### a Counting Curses novella

### By Jen McConnel

CHAPTER ONE

"Julia, un momento!"

Julia paused, shifting her bag on her shoulder. She really didn't feel like talking, but it was impossible for her to be intentionally rude. "What is it?"

Giuseppe pulled a rose out from behind his back. "A beautiful lady deserves a beautiful flower, no?"

She hesitated. Her middle-aged super had been sort of hitting on her ever since she arrived in Rome six months ago, but the fact that he was married and had three kids had made her feel like it was only moderately creepy. But a rose? "No, thanks, Gio."

His smile fell, but his words were warm. "But you need something to brighten you up."

"Do I look depressed to you?"

After studying her for a moment, he nodded, and Julia cringed. "You work all the time. Always study, study, never play."

She shrugged, pretending nonchalance. "That _is_ why I'm here, remember."

"Other students know how to smile."

With a sigh, Julia reached for the rose. She brought the bloom to her face and inhaled theatrically, but she was surprised when the familiar scent really did bring a smile to her face. "Okay, fine. See, I'm smiling."

Giuseppe grinned at her, flashing the gold tooth in the front of his mouth unselfconsciously. "That's more like it. Now maybe the flower will lead you to a little romance."

"I thought it was the other way around; romance brings flowers, right?"

He waggled his eyebrows. "Does that mean that to you I wear the face of romance?"

Julia rolled her eyes. "'Night, Gio. Thanks for the flower."

"Ciao, bella! Remember to smile more often!"

_If only it were that easy_ , she thought as she trudged up the stairs to her small apartment. _It's been a long time since anything made me smile._ One of the reasons she'd signed up to spend a year in Rome was because everyone at the study abroad office had said it was the best place on earth, but so far, she wasn't enamored with the city. Rome was smelly and dirty, and the jumble of tourists and hawkers made the city streets anything but peaceful. Then again, it wasn't like she had anywhere else she was yearning to go, so she tried not to hold it against the city.

Dropping her keys on the table, Julia tossed her heavy bag on the end of her bed. Sure, Rome was the best place to study art and history, and she was earning credit for all of the courses she was taking, but after half a year of living abroad, Julia would have happily traded all the credit and enriching experiences for some peace and quiet.

She pressed her palms against her eyes. There was no point wasting time being homesick; she had work to do. With a sigh, Julia put the rose in a glass of water and then pulled her textbooks out of her bag. Turning the coffee pot on, she settled in at the small kitchen table, trying to memorize the names of the different Renaissance artists she knew she'd be tested on in class next week, but her focus wasn't there. Her passion and enthusiasm, already worn thin after the events of the previous year, had completely deserted her after the first week in Rome, and she was secretly counting down the days until she could leave.

True, spending New Year's in Rome had been pretty spectacular. Her roommate, Kai, had forced her to go out with a group of students, and Julia had actually had fun. The streets were packed with people, and everyone seemed in a wonderful mood. It had almost made Julia happy to be there, and she'd resolved to perk up for the rest of her time in the Eternal City, but her attitude adjustment fractured as soon as the second semester started up. Now that it was almost February, Julia's mood was frosty again.

"Knock, knock!" Kai called from the hallway, and Julia closed her book in relief.

"In here."

Kai poked her head around the corner, her spiky teal hair looking even more wild than usual. "I sort of hoped you were out."

Julia's face fell. "Sorry if I'm in the way."

"No, that's not what I meant!" Kai crossed the room and grabbed a mug, draining the coffee pot. "I just sort of hoped you'd be out having fun or something."

Julia sighed. "This year has been a pretty big mistake."

"So change it."

Julia looked at Kai, studying her roommate's open face. Even with the funky hair and the Monroe piercing hovering over her lip, Kai was the nicest person Julia had ever met, and she felt guilty for dumping her problems on her roommate but there was no one else to confide in. "I just don't know about anything anymore," she said after a moment's hesitation.

Kai grinned. "That means you're ready for something new. Like an adventure."

Julia grimaced. "Coming here was supposed to be my adventure."

"And you've still got, what, five months left? Who's to say your wild Roman times are behind you?"

"What do you think is going to happen? I mean, I go to class, I come home and study, and then I pass out."

Kai reached over and plucked the textbook off the table. "Question. And I want an honest, gut reaction, answer. Don't think."

Julia nodded slightly.

"Why are you here, Julia?"

"Because I didn't know what else to do."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Julia swallowed.

"I mean," she continued, not watching Kai, "I'll be done with my coursework once I get home. Then it's just student teaching, and graduation." She paused. "It felt like it was now or never if I wanted to study abroad," she finished lamely.

"But it seems like a waste, Jules. You're miserable here; why'd you pick Rome, anyway?"

"All the art," Julia began, faltering.

Kai shook her head. "I know you keep saying you want to teach art, but girl, I've never seen anyone so bored with her homework."

Julia shrugged. "My mom always wanted to see Rome," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

A dark cloud passed across Kai's face. "I'm sorry, Jules, I didn't know."

Julia looked away, trying to keep her eyes from filling with tears. "It's okay. Sort of a stupid reason to do something, right?"

Kai shook her head. "No," she said softly, "it's a great reason. But would your mom really want you to be miserable?"

The words slipped out before she could stop them. "Believe me, this isn't anything new."

There was a pause, and then Kai got up and put her arms around her roommate. "She wouldn't want you to torture yourself, Jules. It's okay to be happy."

A sob welled up in Julia's throat, and she sniffed against Kai's shoulder. "I know. It's just, nothing seems like it matters now."

Kai squeezed her. "But you matter. You need to figure out a way to keep living."

Julia didn't say anything. How could Kai possibly understand? Both her parents were alive and well in New Jersey. They called once a week, and Kai adored them. Of course Kai would think it was easy to just keep living, but ever since her mom's fatal diagnosis of cancer two years ago, Julia had just sort of accepted the fact that her life was over. She skipped a semester of school to care for her mom, but that hadn't mattered in the end. When they were lowering her mom's casket into the cold, dark earth, Julia had felt like her own life was over.

Kai let go of her and sat back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pestered."

Julia shrugged.

"Do you want to talk about her?" Kai asked softly.

_What was there to say?_ Of course she did; she wanted to talk about how her mom loved mocha everything, both the color and the flavor, and how she'd been the coolest single parent when Julia was in high school, never grounding her for anything. She longed to tell someone that her mom's favorite color had been robin's egg blue, and that she hoped people were right when they said that Julia looked like her. But she hadn't been able to form the words once in the year since her mom passed, and slowly, Julia shook her head.

"No. But thanks. I'm sorry for dumping on you."

Kai shrugged slightly. "It's okay." She paused, and an uncomfortable silence settled over them.

That was another reason Julia never talked about her mom. People always got weird, sooner or later, and she hated the sympathy and awkward stares that accompanied any conversation about her. It was better to just keep her mouth shut. Forcing a smile, Julia tapped her textbook. "I've got to get back to work."

Kai nodded, but her face looked pained. "Do you want to go out to dinner later?"

"Nah. Thanks, though."

"I just feel like I need to make it up for you; I'm sorry for putting you in a shitty mood."

Julia shook her head. "You didn't do anything, Kai. It's okay; seriously."

"I still think you're going to need to eat. Why not come out with me?"

Julia glanced at the kitchen window. The sun would be setting soon, but it was only about five o'clock, and most of the restaurants nearby wouldn't open until seven or later. "I don't know. Maybe if I get enough work done."

"If you're not careful, you'll work yourself to death!" Kai cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. "I didn't mean that."

"I know." Julia struggled to keep her expression neutral. "Let me study, okay?"

Kai nodded as she left the kitchen. "But think about dinner!"

Julia shrugged, focusing on the book in front of her. "Maybe."

_Not likely_. Julia sighed softly when she heard Kai close the bathroom door down the hall. "What's wrong with me?" Thoughts of her mom's final days filled her mind, and she rose quickly, refilling the coffee pot. Those kind of memories weren't helping, but Julia couldn't seem to stop dwelling on the worst moments of her mom's death. _Shouldn't I be over it by now?_ She sighed, staring around the tiny kitchen without seeing it. _Isn't there a limit on this kind of grief?_

###

CURSE OF STONE

a Counting Curses novella

By Jen McConnel

Available Now wherever eBooks are sold!
Thank you for reading _Curse of Gold!_ This story is part of the _Counting Curses_ series, and I can't wait to share more quirky love stories with you.

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**About the Author:**

Award-winning author Jen McConnel makes her home in North Carolina. She writes NA, YA, and various other works. When she isn't writing, she can be found on her yoga mat or wandering off on another adventure. Visit www.JenMcConnel.com to learn more!

