Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [51]
If, on your true love a crest is worn
Be cautious, from you that love will be torn
You’ll be spellbound, enraptured until her last heart beat
Which is numbered the moment your eyes meet
If freedom from the curse is your goal
Be warned, it takes a selfless soul.
Chapter 10
The next three pages were missing. I shut the book and, very carefully, placed it in the leather bag. I looked for my cell phone to call Angelique, but saw the time—1:10 a.m. Damn. I had been reading for almost nine hours straight. I didn’t know if it was coffee or adrenaline, but I didn’t feel the slightest bit tired.
Moving my neck from side to side, I became aware of a sharp strain from sitting still, in the same position, for so long. I heard my neck crack and stood up to stretch out.
It was a good story, nothing more. Right? How many fairy tales had caught my attention in that book before I found one that revealed the origin of my crest? Before getting lost in the tale of Lord Archer of Aglaeon, I read epic fables of evil witches and sorcerers and knights who rescued fair maidens from dragons. And come on, there’s no such thing as dragons, right? Right?
I reasoned with myself. My necklace has to be an antique or something. My brother Ethan just picked it out because he thought it was cool. And Ethan happened upon a legitimate antique at a yard sale. Isn’t that the ultimate dream of everyone who watches Antiques Roadshow? That some hand-me-down was, truly, a valuable antique? What are the odds that my medallion, through some dark magic, found me to mark me as someone’s true love? My charm was merely a bauble worn around the neck of a society woman. Or a brooch, pinned to her coat. Just like in the dream I had, where it fell off my coat, and rolled away from me before I died. The three scratches on the back of the crest couldn’t be from a witch in the woods, right? Right?
I paced my room, gripping my mug. Okay, let’s run with this a minute. What else do I have to lose? Let’s say that the crest is a sign. That I’m wearing the legendary Crest of Aglaeon, which marks me as someone’s true love. That this medallion has found its way to me, its doomed, but rightful, owner. The fable—and it was just a fable, right?—had mentioned other signs, signs that a clever lord and lady would pick up on. And am I supposed to believe that Brendan is my destiny when the only thing he’s shown me is indecision?
I laughed out loud, thinking of Archer showing up at Gloriana’s door, one day full of praise and adoration, and ignoring her the next day when she tried to show him the beauty in another ladybug. Ladybug.
“I hope it brings you good luck, Ladybug.” The words my brother said to me when he gave me the necklace.
My mouth was suddenly dry, and I put the coffee to my lips with shaking hands—promptly spilling it down my shirt.
I put the mug on my nightstand and ran to the bathroom, wetting a hand towel and dabbing at the spots on my blue tank top. I regarded my agitated reflection in the mirror.
Did I look like the reincarnated soul of a tragic fabled peasant? My life was no fairy tale. Sure, once upon a time, I was happy. Then my twin brother, my best friend, died of meningitis. Then my mother got sick—and married her loser boyfriend so I wouldn’t be alone after she was gone. But I would have been better off alone—my wicked stepfather practically killed me driving drunk and now I’m stuck dealing with a bunch of rich princesses on the Upper East Side, living with my aunt Christine…who was my godmother. And had been like a fairy godmother to me. I stared at my reflection.
Do I look like a freakin’ fairy-tale princess to you?
“Actually, would that be an earl-ette, since Gloriana married the earl?” I asked myself, then realized, wow, I really was going bonkers.
I splashed water on my face, trying to stop my heart from beating right out of my chest. The story says there were other signs. What other sign was there, other than my unnaturally strong attraction to Brendan? I’d had crushes