Page 25

Lily

“ I still can’t believe this. People in our family have been having premonitions of how they die for centuries, and no one —not one person in this family—had the decency to tell me? Instead, they decided to make me feel like I was losing my mind!”

A single tear tracks down her worn and wrinkled cheek. “I’m sorry, Lily. I truly am. There will never be a point where I forgive myself for keeping this from you. There isn’t an excuse worthy of passing through my lips.”

“What’s the book?” I finally ask after I feel a tiny semblance of calm. If I want answers, I need to get a hold of myself.

My grandmother wipes a stray tear off her cheek as she slides the book over in front of us. “This is the family register, but it’s undocumented.” Her tone is tentative, as if she isn’t sure about how I’ll react.

“What do you mean it’s undocumented?” I don’t understand. Not all family registries are officially filed for state records, so that wouldn’t be unusual.

“What I mean is that this book doesn’t exist, officially or unofficially.”

My eyebrows knit together in confusion because, obviously, it exists. It’s sitting on the table right in front of me.

She reaches over and softly runs her index finger down my cheek in a gesture of comfort. “Very few people know this book exists, and most of those people are dead. You, my dear, are the only living soul aside from me who knows of its existence.”

I’m not sure I can handle any more truth bombs from her, but that doesn’t stop me from asking. “What’s in it?”

“Every death in our family dating back to the early sixteenth century.”

I inhale sharply. “Is that how long this has been happening?”

She nods. “Well, it’s as far back as the family has been able to trace it. It could have happened earlier than that as well.”

My hand shakes as I reach out to run it over the front of the book. Abbott is embossed on rich, cracked brown leather. Under the name Abbott, it says Divine Omen .

Omen?

Is that what my premonition is? I’d never thought of it that way, but if this does date back to the sixteenth century, it would be more realistic for them to think of it as an omen instead of a premonition.

When I open the book, the pages are frayed at the edges in some places. The paper is textured and thick. The ink on the pages has faded some, and the handwriting done in beautiful cursive. There are pages and pages of birth dates and death dates with names of relatives I didn’t know existed a few minutes ago.

Each page is dedicated to one person, with details of their omen/premonition, life, and manner of death. You can see just how accurate the premonitions are. I get queasier the longer I scan the pages.

I flip through page after page. I suddenly look up. “There are only women in here.”

She nods. “Yes. It only occurs in the female line of the Abbott family.”

“Is it every generation?” I’m astounded that this is even possible, let alone reality.

She shakes her head. “Not every generation, but most. It has been known to skip a generation, but no one has been able to figure out why that happens. It skipped mine, and then we had your father, so it was very unlikely that he would suffer with the same affliction.”

“You weren’t an only child, though. Did none of your siblings or their children have it?” I try to think back to that side of the family tree, but my mind is too overwhelmed to remember clearly .

“My brother Jeff had one son, and my sister, Ellen, was too scared to have children after the fate of our mother.”

That’s right. There was only Great Uncle Jeff’s son, John. I spend the next few minutes thumbing through the pages of the ancient book. I can’t believe how many details there are on relatives who haven’t been alive for centuries.

“Your great, great, great, great-grandmother was the one who decided we needed a family Bible. By then, it was obvious that there was a pattern, but no one had written it down. She spent most of her life tracking the omen as far back as she could. What you see here is years of her hard work. Since her passing, her daughter, granddaughter, great-granddaughter, and so on have all been charged with protecting the book and adding to it.”

I look up at her, then back at the book as I flipped through the pages to the end of the book. I finally find the last entry.

Lily Grace McKenna.

DOB: October 28, 2004

DOD:

Below my name, the first appearance of my dream is listed, along with my age at the time I had it and as many details as my grandmother knew. It’s quickly followed by every occurrence since then. Those entries just note a date, though; the first one is the only one with any details. I see my grandmother made an entry the day I called her and asked about the dream.

My heart sinks as I read my fate written out in bold black ink in a book that accounts for every divine omen in my family line. It all feels so clinical, so cold.

“Not all omens are bad,” I say, more as a reassurance to myself than a point of argument with my grandmother.

She doesn’t respond at first. I look up to see her watching me closely. Her warm brown eyes flutter across my face for several moments before she speaks. “That’s true.”

“That means that I might have a chance to change this… to fix it,” I whisper desperately.

Her chin wobbles, and her eyes water. “We most certainly can try.”

“What do I do then? ”

“Tell me everything you can remember about your dream. I mean everything , Lily. No detail is too small.”

That won’t be a problem because I can remember everything about it. Right down to every feeling I’ve had during it. I begin from when the dream first started when I was little and work my way forward, not sparing the tiniest detail. When I get to the part where Luka’s eyes start to appear, she stops me.

“What did you feel when you first saw his eyes?” She leans forward on the table, impatiently waiting for my answer.

I close my eyes and go back to that time. “At first, I was confused because the eyes had never been part of the dream before, but then there was this…”

“This what? What did you feel?” she asks.

I hesitate because sharing how much comfort his eyes have brought me always felt sacred. It’s like a bond that’s meant for just the two of us. I can’t explain why I feel so strongly about it, but I quickly decide it’s a secret I can’t afford to keep.

“I felt safe . There is always this rush of calmness, solace, or maybe even relief. I used to wake up right after his eyes appeared, but that changed this last time. Last night, he called to me. I could hear him so clearly like he was right there with me.”

“Do you think it’s possible part of that was because he was on the phone with you? Your consciousness and subconsciousness collided?”

I shrug. “I think it’s a big possibility, but what if it isn’t? What if it means something?” I look out the window as we watch Jack take the horses out to the main pasture to graze and run. “I can’t explain it, but it feels like he can save me. Like he’s important to all this.”

“Then maybe he is.”

I pray that he is . If not, every day I draw closer to my impending death.

“Everything is so screwed up. I don’t know what Luka sees me as. I don’t know if I should open myself up to him. What if it’s a mistake to trust him?” I voice my worst fears. I’m terrified I’m making the wrong decision by getting closer to him.

I know how I feel in my dream. I trust him there. I seek him out, and he’s the only thing that ends the nightmare. But what if I’m wrong ? I can’t get that doubt out of my head.

“Sweetie, I think you need to trust your instinct here. What is it telling you? ”

I nibble on my lip. “It’s telling me to trust him.”

“Then I think that’s what you should do. I know you see this as a curse, but I see this as a blessing.”

“A blessing? How on God’s green earth could knowing your death be a blessing?” I ask, flabbergasted.

“ Yes , a blessing—because you have the chance to interrupt fate and rewrite it, my dear. Listen to your heart and see where it leads you. Keep your eyes open and your ears clear.”

“But you said no one has been able to change their destiny,” I say in despair.

“No. I said my mother chose not to change it. There has been only one .” She grabs the book from in front of me and quickly thumbs through the pages until she finds the ancestor about halfway through.

She slides it back over to me, and my eyes frantically scan the text.

Emily Jane Abbott

DOB: June 28, 1804

DOD: February 06, 1890

The page details Emily’s omen in great detail, but what’s curious is that the last passage states her manner of death is listed as something different from what is written in her passage.

“So, she beat it?” I ask in desperation.

“Yes, I think she did. It’s the only one where the details of her death do not match her predicted omen.”

“But you don’t know for sure?”

“No, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but it’s a chance , and that’s exactly what we need.”

I feel the first bit of hopefulness since the dream started to progress.

“Can I look at this a little longer?”

I feel overwhelmed right now. So many questions are running crazy in my mind. I want time to sit and read everything, study it, and hopefully find the answers I so desperately need.

“Of course. Just be careful with it.”

I nod, understanding just how invaluable this book is to my family, even though most of them don’t know of its existence.

This book and Emily Jane Abbott may be my only chance of stopping the omen in time.