Undertow by K.R. Conway (1st book in trilogy)

Chapter 12

I have learned many things since coming to Cape Cod.

The cheerleaders are pukes, the ice cream is to die for, and that owning a Wrangler makes you part of some strange secret society where the other drivers wave to you whenever you pass.

There is also the fact that, nagging or otherwise, hurrying a Gypsy will get you nowhere fast. I wanted answers instantly.  Come to think of it, answers would have been helpful before I moved to this cursed strip of sand. 

Why couldn't Mr. Talbot have said, "Oh yes, the home is lovely. There are some sea monsters with hands like Schwarzenegger and your eyeballs may start to glow in the dark, but other than that, the place is great." 

Information like that I would have considered critical in deciding whether to leave peaceful Kansas and, I don't know, maybe SOLD a multimillion-dollar piece of property and avoided being a target. 

Yes, answers. Right now! 

But Dalca insisted on rewrapping my wound and making me finish breakfast.  She also made sure no one answered my repetitive questions until she had time to gather a few "things."  It felt like hours, but when I glanced at the clock, she was ready to talk 20 minutes later.

She set a heavy, leather-bound book on the kitchen table and turned to me. "Eila, what do you know of Elizabeth Walker?"

She wanted to talk family? I was surprised at the question. I wanted to demand what my grandmother had to do with my throbbing leg, but instead decided to answer the stubborn Gypsy.

"Um, I know that she and my Grandfather Josiah built my house. MJ also told me about her disappearance, but no one knows what happened to her. He said there was an urban legend she was hit by lightning," I looked around the room at my audience. "That's about all I know."

Dalca cleared her throat and opened the book. It seemed to be a journal, but she was flipping past the handwritten pages too fast for me to read anything.

She stopped at a page with a yellowed photograph of a woman. Her corset top and heavy skirt told me it was taken a long time ago. She was beautiful, her tangled black hair not unlike my own curling down towards her chest. A round necklace, containing an oval stone, lay just above her breasts. She looked . . . like the woman from my nightmares.

Dalca touched her hand to the photo on the page, "This is Elizabeth, your 4th Great Grandmother. This photo was taken a few months before she disappeared. Before she was murdered."

"Murdered?" I asked slowly, as bits and pieces of the woman by the fountain flicked across my memory. I had a sinking feeling that my dreams were rooted in historical fact, but that wasn't even possible . . . was it?

I glanced at Raef and he didn't seem shocked. "You knew this?" I asked him. He nodded and shifted his weight to lean back against the counter.

"History says that Elizabeth Walker vanished on December 14, 1851," started Dalca. "History also says her disappearance was never solved. We, however, believe that she was killed in the harbor square, not far from here, by a man named Jacob Rysse."

Crap. It was my dream. Even though it never remained clear and I only had pieces of it, I knew Elizabeth was the woman by the fountain. I also had an instinctive feeling that the man didn't just disappear.

"What happened to the man?" I nearly whispered.

Dalca looked at me and some strange emotion flickered across her face. "We are not sure. We think he died that night as well. Neither body was ever found. The surprising part of the equation is you," she said, watching my expression.