Read Online A Midwinter Fantasy by L. J. McDonald, Leanna Renee Hieber, Helen Scott Taylor - Free Book Online Page A

“Oh, not this. Please, not this. It is my penance, I am sure, for my failures, but please . . .”
    Constance gazed upon her with pity. “We’ve not much time, and I’m not the only visitation. There’s something you didn’t see, then, that you must see now. And through your pain you may yet make it right.” The ghost sighed. “And I beg you, do so while you yet
live
. Come.”
    Rebecca gulped, trying to prepare herself. She knew exactly what she was about to see, and her body felt colder than if a horde of spirits was accosting her.
    Constance led her toward her office, where the door was shut. The ghost gestured her forward. Rebecca fumbled at the door but passed through as if she too were a spirit. These were chimerical things, past memories; thinner than paper; visions, illusions . . . yet potent and all too real.
    Rebecca’s throat constricted. A younger Professor Alexi Rychman paced in her office, his dark robes billowing about him as he moved, his face set in characteristic consternation. She herself sat stoic, though she remembered her pain.
    She looked at herself, in this moment fifteen years or so younger, and noticed the lines of worry already beginning to form, the thin mouth so prim and composed, those blue-grey eyes that stared at the imperious man before her, secretly drinking in his striking, stifling presence.
    “Damn it, Rebecca,” Alexi hissed. “I am no closer to telling you when Prophecy might come than I was years ago when the Goddess heralded our destiny and pronounced us The Guard. How
should
I know how long it will take?”
    “It isn’t about when Prophecy might come, Alexi, but how you’re thinking of it. Tonight at the exorcism, when we stumbled at the force of that devilish blow, when you buckled in strain, I heard you mutter, ‘My bride shall make it well.’ ”
    Alexi stopped pacing and turned. “And?”
    “Alexi—Prophecy won’t be your bride. She’ll come as a companion to all of us, not some predestined lover of yours.”
    Young Alexi’s features went slack. “What do you mean?”
    “The prophesied seventh member was never specified as
yours.”
    “Yes, she was,” he replied.
    “Tell me the precise words the Goddess said that make you think so.”
    “Why,
everything
she said.” But Alexi thought back, clearly trying to latch onto a specific phrase.
    “Nothing more than insinuations.” Rebecca closed her eyes, using her gift of texts, the library of her mind, and plucking free an exact transcript of the Goddess’s words: “ ‘I hope you will know her when she comes, Alexi, my love. And I hope she will know you, too. Await her, but beware. She will not come with answers but be lost, confused. I have put protections in place, but she will be threatened and seeking refuge. There shall be tricks, betrayals and many second guesses. Caution, beloved. Mortal hearts make mistakes. Choose your seventh carefully, for if you choose the false prophet, the end of your world shall follow.’ ” Rebecca stared hard at Alexi. “What in that promises you a lover?”
    “Everything,” he replied. “When she comes, I will love her. You may be the Intuition of the group, but your belief does not therefore supersede mine. On this point I am sure, and that’s final. Good night, Headmistress.” The young Alexi exited in a rustle of black fabric, and the room expanded; breathing was easier.
    It was the first time this particular argument was voiced, the elder and wiser Rebecca recalled, and most certainly not the last. They argued these precise points for the next fifteen years until Prophecy finally did show up, a snow-whitegirl unlike anything The Guard expected, and Rebecca would grow blinded by jealousy and make dangerous mistakes in an effort to disprove an undesirable fate.
    Yet, it was not this failure that Constance wanted her to see; it was the next torturous few moments. Rebecca watched herself sit stiffly in her chair, watched her eyes cloud, watched her shoulders