A Perfect Storm by Phoebe Rivers and Erin McGuire Page A

possibly five minutes. The old clock on the mantelpiece did not tick, the way it had in my dream. I supposed no one had wound it in years. Whatever dim hopes I may have had faded. Outside, the formerly sunny day had grown gray and rainy. So now it was dim and shadowy in the room. I was just about to call it off, to thank Lily for trying, when something happened. Something changed.
    Ever so slightly, the room seemed to tilt and everything around me went blurry, like I was underwaterall of a sudden. My heart started beating faster, and I could hear my breathing growing shallow. I knew what was happening. I was having a vision.
    I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, and when I opened them again, I saw myself in the room, just as I had been in my dreams. This time, instead of being seated at the desk, I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, writing in that same purple book. Once again, my hair was longer. And then a shadow moved behind me. But now whoever was casting the shadow emerged into the light, and I saw his face. It was Duggan.
    The other me looked up from my writing, and my hair fell back from my face.
    And then I realized it wasn’t my face. The girl was not me at all. She looked almost exactly like me, but there were small differences. For one thing, she looked older. Older than I am now, older than she had looked in my dreams. She looked like me in a few years. But she wasn’t me.
    She was my mother.
    â€œDuggan, I can’t see you, but I am hoping you are here. You are here, aren’t you?” She looked around the room. For a moment her gaze seemed to settleon Duggan, but I don’t think she could see him. It reminded me of how Lady Azura acted during our séances. She could sense that spirits were there, but she would look right through them because she couldn’t see them.
    My mother’s cheeks were flushed with excitement. I tried to tattoo the image of her face on my brain. Seeing her alive—hearing her talk—was amazing. Her voice sounded so much like my own.
    â€œIt was crazy, Duggan,” the girl, my mother, Natalie, was saying. “She was my daughter! Or she will be my daughter in the future, after I grow up and get married. I met her. I talked to her in my dream. We talked about everything, and it all makes sense, even though it’s so crazy!”
    Duggan stood there, just listening. The expression on his face was kind.
    â€œI’m going to write it all down in here. For her to find. So she knows everything.” She looked up as if hoping to see Duggan. He was right there, but her gaze flicked by him. She went on. Her voice came out a whisper. “She told me her name was Sara. That’s my favorite name, so it makes sense that would be her name, doesn’t it?”
    â€œSara,” Duggan echoed. “ ’Tis a fine name, I’ll warrant.”
    And then the vision vanished. Suddenly. It was just over.
    I searched around the room desperately, trying to bring the vision back. To hear more of what my mother had to say about me. She said we’d met. But where? When? Why didn’t I remember any of this? Had it not happened yet?
    I squeezed my eyes closed and prayed that when I opened them, I’d see my mother again. But the vision was over. It was just Lily and me on the bed.
    I drew in a deep breath. I looked down. Focused on Lily, and the board between us. Beneath our fingers, the planchette began to move. I felt Lily tense up. Slowly it glided toward the upper left corner of the board. Toward the word “no.”
    Duggan had answered Lily’s question, “Will you talk to us?” The answer was—
    Almost at “no,” the planchette suddenly swerved down and to the left and stopped over the letter A .
    A ?
    Then it moved to Y .
    Then to E .
    â€œAye.” That meant yes.
    I heard Lily draw a sharp breath.
    She and I looked at each other, and her expression looked to me as wild and surprised as mine must