Page 2 of The Gods Time Forgot

Two

“I am Emma Harrington. I live here. This is my house.” Even as she repeated the lie, she was unconvinced. How could she expect to convince the rest of them?

Rua stood in front of the gilded mirror and smoothed out the folds of her day dress.

“If you’re making a case for why you should be sent to the asylum, I’d say you’ve got it,” a soft voice spoke from the doorway.

Rua spun around. “Mara, you scared me.”

She eyed the maid, still trying to decide if she would forgive her for the part she’d played in Mrs. Harrington’s sedation tactics.

“You need to be more careful,” Mara said, walking over to the windows and pulling back the curtains. Rua shielded her eyes, not ready for the light. “You’re lucky it was me and not your mother,” she continued as she pushed out the windowpanes. The stagnant summer air forced its way in.

“I can usually hear the approach of Flossie and her imperious footsteps. You, on the other hand, are a touch more sneaky,” Rua said, fidgeting with her high collar, feeling the fabric chafe against her neck.

For now, Rua would let it go. Mrs. Harrington was Mara’s employer; the maid likely had little say in the matter. And more importantly, Rua needed an ally.

“You shouldn’t call her Flossie, you know. She wouldn’t like it if she heard,” Mara said.

“Then I won’t let her hear me,” Rua said with a smile. The last thing she was going to do was call Florence Harrington Mother .

Mara shook her head and continued turning over the bedsheets. “She means well and cares only for your safety.” Rua rolled her eyes, and Mara frowned. “Considering everything that’s happened, I’d think her overexcitement is to be expected.”

“If that’s what you’d call it.” Rua hardly thought having servants pin her to a chair while a doctor forcibly injected her with a syringe constituted overexcitement.

It had been six days since she’d stumbled out of the woods without her memory. And she’d spent all of them hiding away, but she could no longer endure the confines of Emma’s bedroom, nor could she pretend everything was fine. She needed to understand how she’d ended up here, living another woman’s life.

“I’ve never seen you so rattled before, Emma. I’m concerned.”

Sweat slicked the back of Rua’s neck. She closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to give life to the malaise that stayed with her always. It lived in this room and clung to her skin like a balmy sheath.

She’d never get used to pretending to be Flossie’s daughter, but for now, she was Emma Harrington or she was no one.

Her gaze shifted out the window, toward the woods, whose presence loomed on the periphery of the Harringtons’ splendid house. That’s where her answers lay, and that’s where she needed to go.

“Do you remember what happened?” Mara asked.

Rua shook her head, getting the sense that there were things Mara wanted to share but that, like Rua, she was unsure.

A friendship had existed between Emma and Mara, that much was clear, but Rua’s actions this past week had shifted things. Mara was cautious, likely even wary, of her friend who had crawled out of a hole in the middle of woods and demanded to be called by another name.

“None of it?” Mara pressed gently.

“No,” Rua said. “I just remember waking up here in my bed.”

“Nothing of the woods? Or the hellmouth?”

Rua shook her head, trying to hide her interest as she learned of the word hellmouth for the first time. The less she knew, the more Mara might tell her. She wondered if the hellmouth was where she crawled out from or if it was the pool of cursed water.

“Perhaps that’s for the best; it was a gruesome sight. Though no one else is likely to forget that anytime soon.”

Rua groaned and tossed herself onto the pink chaise. She didn’t know how or why any of this had happened. She was as much a victim as Emma had been, but that didn’t matter. Emma’s sins belonged to her now.

“Has Flossie said anything new about the asylum?” she asked Mara.

Rua would reap the benefits of whatever relationship Emma and Mara had forged. She had to be careful not to push too far, though. Mara was a member of the Harringtons’ staff, so their friendship likely had limits. But so far, Mara had been a great source of comfort.

Mara gave her a sympathetic smile. “She’s considering it. She’s always been considering it. With your recent expulsion, and you …” She stopped, busying herself with Rua’s bedsheets.

“Me what?” Rua asked.

“You now insisting that your name isn’t Emma,” Mara said.

That was damning, Rua couldn’t argue with that. “But I didn’t mean it. I was just confused after …” She hesitated.

“After what?” Mara asked, eager to understand.

Rua shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what I was thinking.” After being manhandled and sedated, she was done arguing with Mrs. Harrington about her name until she found out what had happened to her. From here on out, she was on her best behavior. What choice did she have? A woman with no memories. No resources. Where could she go?

“Even so, you said it, and the doctor was a witness to it. Your mother is unsettled.”

Rua let out a heavy breath. All she needed to do now was convince Flossie that she was fine, that things were fine. Removing the threat of the asylum would give her time to figure things out. “Maybe I should join Flossie for tea this afternoon?” she suggested.

“She’s reading on the veranda. You can join her for tea now,” Mara said.

Rua grimaced, and Mara laughed.

She hadn’t spoken to Flossie, or anyone besides Mara, since she’d woken up after the doctor knocked her out. Nor had she stepped foot outside her bedchamber.

Flossie had of course checked in on her, according to Mara, but she’d never lingered and she hadn’t asked questions. Rua didn’t mind. She was ill prepared to handle the matriarch and her authoritarian gaze, but she could endure the four pink-flowered walls of her room no longer.

She followed Mara out of her room and was blown away by the grandeur of the house.

With every click of her heels against the hard floor, she grew smaller. The vast white ceilings were at least fifteen feet high, the walls covered in embellished plaster surrounding sunflower medallions spaced every few feet. Rua counted six white pedimented doors not including her own, and between each one and the next hung magnificent pieces of art.

She paused at the top of a grand staircase. More marble, but this time swirled with dark brown and gold.

As they descended the steps, her hand slid along the thick limestone railing, which seemed more frivolous than purposeful. She did her best not to trip over her dress as her gaze traveled upward to the heavenly mural painted on the ceiling.

They continued down another marble hallway furnished with more artwork and gold benches conveniently placed in case one should need a rest as one traveled downstairs.

A pair of young women servants approached them, their eyes widening when they spotted Rua. One clutched the other’s arm, whispering, as they hurried to get past.

“What was that about?” Rua asked Mara. If she didn’t know better, she’d say those women were frightened of her.

“Everyone’s heard about what happened,” Mara said in a low voice. “The servants are all talking about it. Your mother is doing everything in her power to keep them from leaving.”

“Why would they leave?” Rua asked, stopping them both.

Mara turned to her, confused. “You were covered in blood when we found you and knee-deep in cursed waters.” Her eyes darted around the empty hallway, making sure they were alone. “They think you’re a devil worshipper.”

Rua’s stomach dropped. Devil worshipper? “Does Flossie know that part?” she asked.

Mara’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you think she wants to send you to the asylum?” She leaned in closer. “Are you sure you’re well enough for tea? Questions like these will only provoke your mother.”

“No, no, I’m well enough. I can handle it,” Rua said, waving her arms in front of her as if the small movements were enough to push away her troubles.

They continued walking toward Flossie, the woman who wanted to commit her daughter to a life of internment. Tea was certainly a bad idea, but Rua reminded herself she was not her daughter. She would not suffer Emma’s fate.

When they neared the end of the hall, she felt the subtle change in humidity. Mara guided her onto a limestone veranda. “Don’t bring up anything unsavory,” she warned.

“You’re not staying?” Rua turned, but Mara was already gone.

Nerves bundled in her stomach when she saw the distinguished Flossie Harrington sitting at a little table drinking tea and reading a paper, statuesque with her high cheekbones and sleek coiffure, her expression unreadable.

A different maid waited idly by the wall.

Rua cleared her throat. Flossie’s eyes lifted slowly.

“Oh my.” She dropped the paper. “What a delightful surprise!”

Her reaction was so startlingly genuine that Rua almost smiled in return.

Flossie rose from her seat like a queen in her bright-yellow gown. It wasn’t the cheery kind of yellow that filled a room with joy but rather the kind that would take your eyes if you stared at it too long.

“Thank the heavens you’re looking so well. Perhaps a few days’ rest was all you needed.” A relieved Flossie turned to the servant. “Get my daughter some tea.” She gestured for Rua to sit down beside her.

Rua looked at the paper Flossie was reading. The New York Daily News .

Flossie noticed and smirked, pointing to the stack of papers on the empty wrought-iron chair beside her. “I’ve been very well read since your incident.” Her face wore a smile, but her words were thick with malice. “I have to make sure it hasn’t reached any of the papers. To think we’re finally on the brink of greatness and here you are, doing your best to undermine it.”

“I’d hardly say I’m trying to undermine it,” Rua answered, noticing the rapid shift in Flossie’s demeanor.

Flossie leaned forward. “Then what is it you’re trying to accomplish by disappearing into the woods like some demented child? Sneaking off at odd hours, befriending the locals?” she hissed. “I mean, really, Emma, have you no pride?”

Rua had not been prepared for a verbal assault of this caliber, so wicked and pointed. She hardly had time to realize she’d been struck. How long had Flossie waited to unleash on her daughter—or was this a daily occurrence?

Unruffled, Flossie smiled while the maid poured Rua’s tea and then kindly asked her to bring around some more sandwiches. Rua had the worrying feeling that this was par for the course with Flossie. A beautiful snake, luring you in with its bright colors, only to attack when you’d come too close.

“But fortunately for you, there’s been no mention of anything in the papers.” Flossie rested her hand atop Rua’s, and she stiffened. “I do not want to send you away—your absence this fall would be noticed—but make no mistake, I will do what is necessary to protect this family’s interests.” She squeezed Rua’s hand a little tighter. Rua wanted to pull away, but she remained still. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” Rua said, gritting her teeth, and Flossie let go.

“Excellent. Now, would you like to help me comb the rest of the papers for any mention of your name?” Flossie asked, but before Rua could answer, she gave a delighted squeal. “Oh heavens above, look at this.” She shoved the paper under Rua’s nose.

The clip read:

T HE C ENTRAL P ARK H OTEL B REAKS G ROUND

Longtime friends Richard Fitzgerald and Ned Harrington strike deal bringing about what’s sure to be Manhattan’s most prestigious hotel.

“Can you believe it, your father’s name next to Richard Fitzgerald’s? Oh!” She squealed again. “They’ve always been friends, but now people will know it. We’ve finally been extended an invitation to Mrs. Fitzgerald’s ball. Now there will be no doors we can’t walk through.” Flossie was frenetic as she imagined her future.

Rua could barely manage a grin. She didn’t know which way to look, where to turn, which side of Flossie’s mouth was going to talk next.

Flossie rose from her chair, beaming. “I must excuse myself. There is much to be done. Enjoy your tea, darling.” The maid hurried after her.

“Holy hell,” Rua muttered when Flossie was out of earshot. She leaned back in her chair and let out a deep breath. The whiplash was severe. She wasn’t sure how she was going to stay on Flossie’s good side, if she even had a good side.

The matriarch wanted to climb the social ladder, and Emma’s apparent devil-worshipping behavior was a threat to that ascension. A major threat. And then there was Emma’s father to contend with. If he was anything like Flossie, Rua was doomed. She needed to figure out what was going on and fast.

Rua looked on through the screened-in marble archways, past the manicured lawn and toward the forest. The garden’s rows and rows of colorful flowers were no match as they came to a dead stop, drawing a sharp line between splendor and unknown threats.

What had a wealthy socialite been doing in the woods? A better question: What had Rua been doing in them?

A hand touched her shoulder. Rua jumped, swallowing back the rising lump in her throat.

“Are you all right?” Mara asked, looking worried.

“Yes,” Rua said, “just thinking.”

“Your mother seemed to be in good form.”

“Did she?” Rua plucked a strawberry from atop a pastry and took a bite, savoring the sweetness.

“We’re leaving for Manhattan first thing tomorrow.” Mara eyed her curiously. “She wants to join your father as soon as possible.”

“Really? Tomorrow?” Rua reached for another strawberry, wondering why Flossie hadn’t bothered to mention it.

“That’s odd,” Mara said.

“What?” Rua asked, tearing the little green leaves off the berry.

“I’ve never known you to eat strawberries.”

Rua stiffened before quickly placing the half-bitten strawberry down on the table.

She flashed Mara a smile, reminding herself that no one suspected she wasn’t the real Emma, because that would be an outlandish idea to entertain. It simply appeared that Emma was acting out of character. But Rua would have to be more careful.

Emma Harrington was on thin ice. One wrong step and they’d both fall through. Rua needed to make sure “Emma” appeared as normal as possible, and that included liking everything Emma liked.

“I wanted to see if my tastes had changed.” Rua played it off with a shrug. “So, we’re going to Manhattan tomorrow?”

Mara nodded. “Your mother told me not to say it to you yet, so I would appreciate it if you kept it between us?”

“Of course,” Rua said, unsurprised. Flossie likely didn’t want to give her the chance to disappear again. But she needed to go back to the hellmouth. She needed to see if anything could trigger her memories and save her from this gilded prison.

“She’s just worried that you’d run if you knew,” Mara added unnecessarily.

“Why are you so sure that I won’t?” Rua asked, wishing to understand the limits of Mara and Emma’s friendship.

“I think you know by now that your mother’s threats are no longer just that. She’s made inquiries.”

Rua looked up at Mara. “And what did Flossie have to do to convince you not to quit?”

“Convince me? I don’t understand.” Mara shook her head, looking around her, always checking to see if someone was listening.

“The devil-worshipping rumors don’t bother you?” Rua’s question was a harsh whisper.

“Why would they? I know they’re not true.”

Rua pressed her lips together, waiting for her to elaborate.

“It doesn’t matter what the others think,” Mara continued. “We know better. We have the Morr í gan.”

The name Morr í gan sparked a note of familiarity, but Rua couldn’t remember where she knew it from.

This conversation confirmed two things: Emma and Mara were much closer than Rua had realized, and the two of them were heretics. No wonder Flossie was at her wits’ end.

Rua sighed as she evaluated her situation. She could wait for her memories to return and risk setting off the high-strung matriarch, which, in light of this new information, seemed probable. Or she could run away and see how she did on her own with no money and no friends.

She supposed it was better to uncover her past from the comfort of the Harringtons’ palatial home than to live hand to mouth on the streets. And even if she did run, the family would likely send someone after her, thinking she was Emma.

“Would you like to come inside and pick your favorite books from the library? I doubt you’ll be coming back.” Mara frowned. “If all goes according to Flossie’s plan, you’ll be engaged by the end of September.”

“I can guarantee that will not be happening,” Rua said, rising from her seat. The last thing on her mind was a man. “But I think I’d like a turn about the garden.”

“I advise you to keep to the garden, hmm?” Mara warned, suspecting Rua’s intentions. “Your mother will have people watching the windows, waiting for you to do this very thing.”

Mara was right, but this might be Rua’s last chance to visit the hellmouth, the probable source of all her problems.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. I want to visit it once more,” Rua said.

“Don’t go into it again. We don’t know why that happened. You were gone for almost a day.”

“Em … I went into it?” she asked, surprised to hear that Emma had willingly ventured into the dark hole that Rua had fought so desperately to climb out of and that Mara knew about it.

“You truly don’t remember?” Surprise flittered across Mara’s face, as though she hadn’t believed Rua the last time.

“I don’t remember.”

“Then that is what’s for the best,” Mara said.

Rua disagreed but asked, “Will you make sure Flossie doesn’t find out?”

“Be quick about it. Your mother has gone in for her late-morning nap, but if she catches you …” Mara shook her head. “I dare not even think it.”

Rua nodded; being forcibly sedated had not left her mind. Fake daughter or not, she was living in Flossie’s world, and Rua needed to fall in line. At least until she remembered who she was.

She walked down the steps of the veranda into the open garden. There was a fountain with a stone lion standing up on its hind legs, water spitting out of its mouth. Once or twice, she circled it to see if anyone was watching. There were so many windows that she supposed she couldn’t really know for sure.

Rua moved to the edge of the garden, walking along the border, doing her best to look aimless. Her hand floated atop the flowers while she tilted her face toward the sun. If the situation weren’t so dire, she might’ve enjoyed it.

Finally, she reached the bushes she and all the others had trampled through as they exited the woods the other day. Taking one more look around, Rua slipped between the trees.

Her intuition was her guide as she walked through the woods. In the daylight, it wasn’t so frightening, the sun’s rays casting an enchanted glow on the forest floor.

As she continued, she noticed a path. It wasn’t wide, but it was obvious enough, meaning someone was traveling it regularly. She followed it.

The forest hummed around her, pulling her forward, taking her where she needed to go.

She arrived at the hellmouth a few moments later. The sight before her filled her belly with a nervous rush of excitement. Cascading gently over a small cliff of rock was the waterfall that trickled into the water basin. It continued flowing down the creek, hardly noticeable because the current was so weak.

She ran toward the water, knelt before it, and scooped some into her hands. Cool to her touch, it did not hurt her the way it had hurt those men; it nourished her. She closed her eyes and splashed it onto her face.

She wondered what about the water had harmed those men. Why people called it cursed when it did nothing but invigorate her. She stared through the crystal-clear water to the smoothed-out stones on the basin floor. She put her arm partially under the water and in slow, rhythmic motions moved it backward and forward, letting it glide over her fingers.

When she was done, she rose to her feet. For the first time in days, she felt like herself. If returning to the house in a sopping-wet gown weren’t a problem, she’d have dived under the surface.

Rua turned her attention to the mound of grass adjacent to the water. Blanketed in bright-green moss, it hardly looked like a threat. She walked around to the front, something in her chest tightening as she looked at the part she wanted to avoid.

The endless black hole, triangular in shape, cut into the earth and not wider than her shoulders. A stone slab lay across the top. At the center of the stone was a carved symbol that resembled interlocked swirls. A symbol she’d seen before, on her ankle.

Slowly, she stepped toward the hole, its narrow entrance taunting her, reminding her of her fear as she struggled to climb out. What lay at the bottom was as much a mystery to her as the reason she was in it. She stared at it, feeling the sharp pain of despair as her mind drifted further away.

Sweat prickled her forehead. The air was thick with laughter.

She was spinning under a canopy of trees with just enough sunlight to warm her face. Her head dipped backward, and her arms floated up. She was flying. Until she remembered the feeling of someone’s hands holding her. He was laughing, too.

They stopped.

Her hair stuck to her neck as she leaned forward, resting her hands on his shoulders and her forehead against his. “Run away with me,” she whispered.

“Why?” He set her down on the grass but held tight to her, clasping his hands behind her back.

“I cannot tell you,” she said, pressing her chin against his chest to stare up at him.

He frowned, shaking his head. He never spoke it aloud, but it was there—the mistrust embedded into the very fibers of their existence. As long as they were who they were, they would never know peace.

“Then I cannot go,” he said.

And then it grew dark. He was ripped away from her, leaving her empty and hollow.

When Mara came to find Rua for dinner, hours had passed and no one had said anything about her trip into the woods. She thought it unlikely that no one had noticed, but again, she didn’t understand how this household operated. Perhaps they were used to avoiding Emma, or perhaps she often ventured into the woods, and what was one more trip before she left Conleth Falls for good?

Rua followed Mara into the dining room. The table had room enough for twenty-four, but there was only a setting for one.

“Will I be eating alone, then?” Rua asked.

“Your mother has already supped.”

“Without me?” She wanted to get a feel for how things worked around here, how strained Flossie and Emma’s relationship truly was.

“Well, it was her turn to host the book club, and—”

“And she didn’t want me there. That’s understandable, I suppose,” Rua said, wondering how often Emma ate alone.

Mara smiled. “Things will turn around in time, you’ll see. Once you’re away from Conleth Falls, your mother will come around. There’s so much to look forward to. No one needs to know what happened, and if I know Mrs. Harrington, no one will.”

“Of course.” Rua smiled and plopped herself into the massive dining chair, which required two footmen to push it in and out for her. The decor was dark-mahogany floors and walls. The windows were hung with rich burgundy curtains and thick tiebacks.

Dinner was plated in front of her, but she had no appetite. Her mind was on the stranger from her memories. A man she could not place, the image in her mind blurry beyond recognition. Whoever he was, he must be important enough that his memory could resurface in her otherwise unoccupied mind.

With what she assumed was the incorrect piece of silverware, Rua took a bite of her vegetables. It was the best she could do with her mind working hard to piece together her past.

Not wanting to sit alone in the dining room any longer, Rua left to find her bedchamber. Following the sound of women’s laughter, she walked toward the main entrance. She wondered which room held Flossie’s guests. She was near the base of the staircase when Mara intercepted her.

“Let’s use the back stairs,” the maid said, guiding Rua away from somewhere she might be seen.

Rua was at a loss. She wasn’t even allowed around houseguests. What would Manhattan be like? She couldn’t help but feel like she was trading one hell for another.

Reading her worry, Mara said, “Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have to take the back stairs, but your mother is in rare form. One of the men your mother hired to find you has been hospitalized with his injuries, and one of the ladies has canceled her attendance tonight because of it. He’s a servant in her household. Mrs. Harrington is trying to keep the damage to a minimum.”

Rua swallowed back the lump in her throat, remembering the sight of the man being dragged out of the woods. “All from the water I splashed on him?” she asked quietly.

“I told you it’s cursed,” Mara said, keeping her voice low.

Rua shook her head in disbelief. “There has to be another explanation,” she said, recalling the sizzle and the way the man had rolled around in agony, screaming about the burns on his chest. “Why didn’t it do anything to me?”

“I don’t know,” Mara said, worried. “Perhaps it was a protective gift from the Mothers after we honored the feast day? You must be cautious going forward.”

Rua wondered what feast day fell on the first of August as she and Mara entered Emma’s pink bedchamber. Two maids were already waiting to dress her for bed. It was a strange feeling, letting someone else dress her.

“I’ve left your favorite books on the table there.” Mara smiled from the doorway. “Good night.”

Rua glanced at the stack of books sitting by the window. Emma was an avid reader. Rua supposed there wasn’t much else to do around here in the middle of the woods. She went to examine the titles.

She lifted the first book, The Lady’s Manual of Fancy-Work , and set it down. A book on embroidery was not something she considered entertainment. The next, a novel, looked more interesting— The Romance of the Forest . Perhaps she would bring it to the city.

She skimmed through the rest of the titles and picked the ones she thought she might like. Something told her she’d need the book on embroidery to impress Flossie, along with anything else that might teach her how to be a society lady. She lay back on the bed and flipped through Godey’s Lady’s Book for some tips.

It took all of thirty seconds before her eyes glazed over. Giving up, she closed the book and put her head on her pillow. She’d have enough time to learn the ways of the society women. For tonight, she would dream of nothing.