Always a Witch by Carolyn MacCullough Read Free Book Online

house on fire? Oh, wait, I forgot, you lost that Talent already, haven't you?"
    I glare at the china dogs, wishing I had smashed them into smithereens before they revealed that part. "I have a plan," I say.
    My sister raises one eyebrow, and then when I don't answer, says, "Well? Enlighten me."
    I shrug. "I need to go back and warn our family that the Knights are going to attempt to control them through blood spells. And that Alistair is going to help make that happen and make it impossible to stop the Knights unless our family acts sooner than our history says they did. And I'll tell them that the Domani they're supposed to make isn't going to work forever, so they need to remake it. Better. They need to make it stronger..." I add, my words trickling off lamely.
    My sister raises her other eyebrow now. "Brilliant," she says succinctly.
    Somehow I get the feeling she's being sarcastic.
    "All right, well—"
    "That's brilliant. Warn our family. Especially in 1887, when Traveling is forbidden and they're really likely to believe you. And then you're going to tell them that something they haven't done yet, and haven't even thought about doing yet, is not going to work anyway in the future so they need to do it better. That'll really go over well."
    "Doesn't anyone read the book in their time? Won't they be able to read the future and understand what happens?"
    Rowena stares at me. "Wow. You really know next to nothing about how the book works, don't you? You don't just flip open the book and read the future like you're reading a recipe. Besides Talent it takes strength to even ... wrestle a few of the words onto the page. They're ... slippery at best. If you're lucky you get to see phrases, glimpses of what may come to pass. It's not all laid out there like a newspaper article."
    "Thankfully, we have you," I mutter. "I suppose you're amazing at it."
    My sister regards me coolly. "I'm not, actually. But I'm the best besides our grandmother, who's most likely the best this family's ever seen. And even she couldn't prevent all this from happening. So, that should tell you how hard it is to understand the book. And how do you plan on finding them, anyway? Our family in the nineteenth century?"
    I shake my head at her. "What do you mean? The house on Washington Square Park—"
    "Was bought by our family in 1895."
    "Oh," I say.
    "It's not like you can just head back there and look them up in the phone book, okay? They didn't have phone books then, you know."
    "Gee, thanks for the tip." I cross the room, rubbing my arms against the cold air that's seeping through the cracked window. "You know, I think I can manage this. I mean I did find the Domani, after all."
    "Yeah, and look how well that worked out," Rowena mutters. Then she shakes her head, "Besides, you had significant help. Gabriel." She circles the room once, then again, the hem of her robe swirling around her calves. Other people's robes would just flap, but no, not Rowena's. "So just how are you planning on getting back without him? You can't..." Then she nods her head once as if confirming something. "The Domani. You're going to use it."
    I swallow. Only my grandmother and Rowena know that I'm the current Keeper.
    "I'll only be gone for a couple of days. Long enough to find our family and warn them, then I'll come back. Just in time for your wedding." I try to smile, but my sister stares at me.
    "Even if you manage to get there using the Domani, you do understand that it won't work again to get you back. You'll have gone back to a time when there is no Domani, so how are you going to get back?"
    Somehow I know my blithe answer of I'll figure something out isn't going to work on Rowena. My other answer of I'm probably not going to make it back isn't something I even want to think about. "Give me three days, Ro. I'll find them, I'll warn them, and then I'll find a way to get back. Just tell Mom I went back to the city to pick up the dress. That I felt so guilty—"
    Here my