A Future Set in Motion

Maeve · Chapter 8 of 12 · 13-minute read

This time, I’m ready, and I’ve been waiting all day.

My heart thrums with anticipation, enough that the chest pains and dizziness have worsened in the past three days. Spencer and I have managed to pack the last of our sacred books and load them onto the truck for two destinations. The afternoon shadows have grown longer across the archive’s windows since he left for the train station to fill a boxcar headed for a safehouse near Asheville, North Carolina. He should have been home already, but he also needed to visit the post office to mail The Key of Hell and Death to a scholar’s library in Dublin, Ireland, to be held in trust for Spencer’s friend and fellow priest, Terre Vanderholt, decades from now.

We’ve been careful, and even though Spencer will never admit it for fear of giving me more cause to worry, we are both concerned about the phone call that Mr. Casey answered. No one but a priest or priestess of Daegan would know Spencer’s soul name, and here in 1972, his younger self has barely been introduced to the priesthood and not yet initiated. If someone called looking for him, then it has to be Siobhan’s mother, Lady Moira, scrying for him long before he disappeared under her nose or even longer before he gave her reason to shun him for siring Veronica before she gave permission.

Not that Moira minded the coupling of her daughter and successor with the reincarnation of one of our most powerful priests in millennia. Unfortunately, the pregnancy had been Siobhan’s idea and the timing of it had been disastrous when trying to bring back the soul of a powerful past ruler into the body of a newborn three years too early. But that’s how I came to be Veronica’s mother, the two of us discarded while Spencer was disavowed. Meanwhile, Siobhan had been absolved of her mistakes and sent away for accelerated training in how to inherit her mother’s power and station in the Daeganean priesthood.

Yet someone was curious enough to call the archive looking for him. It’s a good thing, I suppose, that Hoyt Casey answered the phone. Spencer’s energy—and perhaps mine, too—would have been instantly recognizable by anyone who knew enough to seek us out. Mr. Casey, however, was an unknown. Just an ordinary man who meant nothing to the priesthood.

Maybe the call meant nothing. Maybe Mr. Casey had misheard. I couldn’t imagine Cora ratting me out to Moira, but Siobhan had called her mom when we stopped that first night of that trip, and told her we’d visited an archive in DeFuniak Springs. Was Siobhan the one who’d given away our existence?

It’s been two weeks since Cora’s first visit with her two young students, and I know they’re due to return today. Before dark. And it’s getting late.

I shuffle around the main room, my shoes clomping on the wood floors and echoing in the emptiness. I’ve rarely heard my own footfalls here in the last dozen years, but we’ve stripped the shelves on all three floors of the archive of anything valuable. The rooms feel eerily empty now. Only a few duplicate genealogy books remain as a facade. Two Mormon missionaries picked up the rest of the books yesterday to ship to the Family History Library, operated by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Salt Lake City. The dust is still here, in every corner of the archive, and I’ll no longer waste my energy or time to clean anything left here. No need.

I don’t have time to feel sad about the coming hours. Nor is there any point in wasting my energy with anxiety. The sound of tires crunching on gravel outside pulls me to my feet. They’re here. I remember this moment from the other side of my life, the excitement of coming back, and the disappointment of all the books being gone. And I remember Siobhan’s sullen insistence on staying in the car to read a new Sidney Sheldon novel rather than joining Cora to look at “boring old books full of mold.”

Centering myself for what’s to come, I smooth down my dress and take a deep breath. The door creaks open, and I hear my own voice’s untired and excited chatter. The words echo through the now-cavernous main room as I step forward to face them.

“Hello?” Cora’s voice calls out. Today, she’s wearing a bright pink pantsuit that makes me smile. A few years from now, Siobhan and later her younger daughter, Aoife, will mandate black-on-black attire for all working priests and priestesses, and I will always miss the more colorful days of the previous regime.

“Over here,” I respond, making my way toward the entrance.

They’re barely past the wing chair and lamp table near the front door when I see the shock register on their faces. My younger version blinks rapidly as she takes in the barren shelves, her gaze darting from one empty space to another. Cora’s expression is more guarded, a hint of understanding in her eyes.

“What happened?” Young Maeve asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Where are all the books?”

I force a smile, trying to keep my voice light. “Oh, just a bit of spring cleaning. You know how dusty old books can get.”

Cora’s eyes meet mine, and I see the questions there, the ones she knows better than to ask aloud. She nods almost imperceptibly, accepting my flimsy explanation for what it is— a necessary deception.

“Are you well, my dear?” Cora whispers. I could ask the same of her. Her spirit seems a bit worn down since two weeks ago. No doubt Siobhan has been a difficult student, even if I barely remember all the insults of the trip with our teacher.

Right on cue, the car horn outside blares for at least ten seconds.

“Out of time,” I say.

Cora rolls her eyes. “We left Siobhan in the car. She didn’t want to stop.” The old astrologer sighs. “We have only a few minutes before we have to get back on the road. Another two hours’ drive and I think I’ll take a vacation to recuperate from this so-called vacation.”

“Can I look around?” my younger version asks, her eyes shining with curiosity despite the disappointment of the missing books. I see in her the same thirst for knowledge that drove me all those years ago. I can’t forget the path that brought me here.

“Sure, Maeve. Outside, too, if you’d like. There’s a labyrinth in the courtyard out back.”

“I’m amazed,” I tell Cora a minute later when we’re alone. We both find our seats near the front door. “I⁠—”

My breaths are harder to catch now, and though Cora is much older than this body of mine, she’s more energetic now than I am. I know I don’t have long. I can feel my body growing weaker with every hour.

I start over. “I’m amazed at how full of hope and excitement she is.”

“Let’s just say that she was inspired on her last visit here. After meeting you and seeing your archive, she’s made some decisions about what to do with her life.”

I chuckle, both at the memory and the naivete’. We were pressured even before high school to make decisions about our life paths, which were sometimes assigned to us whether or not we wanted them. Now, on this side of life, it seems incredible that we were told to choose our paths when we knew nothing yet about life.

“Maeve, you didn’t answer my question. I asked if you were well.” Cora digs in her oversized purse on her lap, then stops, waiting for an answer.

“But I did answer you. I told you, I’m out of time.”

“Oh, I thought you meant Siobhan honking the horn to let me know we were out of time.” Then her eyes bulge as my words sink in. “You’re out of…oh. I guess we all are. I’ve read your chart, and I’ve read mine. I’ll teach her everything I can in the three years.”

Two, I want to tell her. We won’t get that third year because I’ll be exiled to raise the baby deemed the unchosen one.

Her forehead, so full of wrinkles that I can barely discern the frown, tells me she knows from my response that our time will be even shorter.

“I know you will,” I say. “You were an amazing teacher, and everything you taught me, I have passed along to Siobhan’s daughter. My daughter. Veronica. She’s an astrologer, too, like you. Old school. She hand-casts all her charts with the precision you taught me.”

Cora grins at me, and I can’t imagine the complex emotions she must feel. Or maybe I can.

“In that case,” she murmurs, glancing toward the back door to make sure we’re still alone, “I’m extra glad I made this for you.”

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a leather-bound notebook, its pages slightly yellowed with age and use. “I’ve been working on this for the past decade. It’s. . .well, it’s everything I’ve learned about astrology and time.”

I gasp. I don’t recognize the book. Does that mean I never passed it along? I reach out to take it, my hands trembling slightly.

“It wasn’t quite finished,” Cora continues, her voice soft. “I had intended it for my next apprentice, but. . .” She pauses, her brow furrowing. “Something about that doesn’t feel right. I think. . .I think it’s meant for you, Maeve. You’ll know what to do with it.”

I cradle the book in my hands, feeling the weight of its knowledge—and its destiny. “Thank you, Miss Cora. This means more than you know.” I thumb through the pages, all handwritten in her perfect cursive with sketches of astrological charts and constellations. “It’s for Veronica, isn’t it, Miss Cora?”

“I think so. Over these last two weeks, I waited until you girls slept every night and wrote the last few chapters. I think it took ten years off my life, but I just had a feeling I needed to finish it and bring it to you on our way back. It’s about using astrology to manipulate timelines and futures. If she should become entangled in parallel universes, this book will help to sort them. I’m a Daeganean High Priestess, and it’s my right to have the work of my mind included in our libraries, but don’t let Siobhan get her hands on it. Or her second daughter. There are other books out there about manipulating time, but they’ve been lost or stolen over the years. Or removed from our libraries to keep them secret. This one is for you. For her. It’s her secret weapon when she doesn’t have any other way to fix mistakes.”

The significance of Cora’s gift begins to sink in. This notebook could be the key to navigating the complex web of timelines and futures that Veronica will face. It’s not just knowledge; it’s power—the power to shape destiny itself.

“Miss Cora!”

My younger self rushes back inside as Cora removes her wallet and keys from her purse and replaces the book inside. Cora hands me the purse and mouths, I love you.

“Miss Cora!” Young Maeve bounces across the large room toward us, stirring up dust in her wake. “I saw a bunny!” Her face is flushed with excitement, eyes wide with wonder. It’s clear that despite the disappointment of the missing books, her enthusiasm for learning and discovery hasn’t dimmed.

“Very nice, but we’re going to have to head home in a few minutes. Last chance to look around.”

Her face falls, pudgy cheeks and all. “But we had to do everything Siobhan wanted for two weeks. Why can’t we stay longer doing something I want to do?”

“Young lady, be polite. You know we have to be home soon or Lady Moira will be fit to be tied. Besides, the books here have been packaged up for spring cleaning. I’m positive you’ll be back, though.”

“Really?” Young Maeve’s face lights up with hope.

I nod in agreement. “I’m sure you’ll be back. And you’ll be an excellent astrologer.”

Her eyes light up again. “Yes! I’ve decided to learn everything I can about star charts and medieval astrology and horoscopes. And the labyrinth! That was dynamite!” She spins to face Cora again. “The labyrinth is in the shape of a zodiac chart and when you stand at each sun sign, you can probably tell what constellations are in the sky at night.”

“That’s right, Maeve,” I tell her, impressed by her quick observation. “You’re the first person to realize that, and I’ve had thousands of guests here.”

“Thank you, archive lady!” She makes a happy noise, like purring, and gives me a quick hug before breaking loose and heading out the front door. “I can’t wait to tell Lady Moira! I’m going to be an astrologer!”

“Maeve?” I call after her.

“Yes, ma’am?”

I feel a pang in my chest, knowing the path that lies ahead for her, the one behind me now. The enthusiasm in her voice is so familiar, an echo of my own past dreams and ambitions. Dreams that will be reshaped by fate and necessity, but also by love.

“It’s a noble pursuit,” I say, careful to keep my voice neutral. “But remember, the path we think we’re on isn’t always the one we end up following.”

She looks at me, confusion furrowing her brow. “I don’t understand.”

I smile, reaching out to pat her shoulder. “Just that life has a way of surprising us. The most important thing is to remain open to where it leads you. Astrology is like the weather—it tells you the influences but the choices are yours. Stay inside, dance in the rain, carry an umbrella. There’s more about the future that you can change than you realize.”

Cora nods, her eyes meeting mine over the girl’s head. “You’re right,” Cora says softly, then leans closer to me. “You’ll know what to do with it,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “When the time comes.”

I hug her goodbye, a little longer of a hug than her students might think a stranger deserves, but neither seems to notice. Siobhan is alternately engrossed in her book and honking the horn and Young Maeve is literally skipping her way to the passenger door behind the driver’s seat. In any case, I’m glad to have had one more gift of time in Miss Cora’s presence.

Watching the paneled station wagon disappear down the road, I lean my head against the door facing. I hope to have given my younger self the right words. I don’t remember exactly what the old woman at the archive had told me when I was a girl and my whole life was ahead of me, but as that old woman, I just said what made sense.

That circle is complete. I’d been as excited then, as a girl, as Young Maeve is now, heading back home with Siobhan and their astrology teacher. Siobhan had finished her book the ride back and declared she never wanted to hear again about the stupid old archive in DeFuniak Springs or the ugly old geezer she’d seen the first time there, the man who’d grabbed a book and disappeared into thin air.

But me, I hadn’t minded at all and couldn’t wait to return. I’d rushed to tell Lady Moira everything I could remember about the library. I’d told my High Priestess I’d found my path, that I wanted to continue to study under Miss Cora and one day fill her shoes as the new astrologer for the priesthood.

Uh-oh.

My blood runs cold as the memory crashes over me—the rush of excitement I’d felt, hurrying back to tell Lady Moira about my discovery. The suspicion in her eyes, the tension in her voice as she’d announced that the High Council would be making a visit the very next day but this time Siobhan and I would stay home.

It was later, after their return, that I was informed that the archive had burned to the ground that day.

In this moment, past and future collide. I am both the wide-eyed girl eager to learn the secrets of the stars and the weary time traveler fighting to protect a future that sometimes feels impossibly far away. The weight of knowledge—of what has been, what is, and what must be—settles over me like a wet quilt in a Florida summer.

Forty-five years of skipping around in time to avoid the priesthood and twelve years of hiding here in our archive, doing our good work, keeping our secrets—and it had been my younger self all along who betrayed our existence to our greatest enemies.

The awareness slams into me, leaving me reeling. I sink to the floor, overwhelmed by the cruel irony of it all. My own innocent enthusiasm, my desire to please Lady Moira and find my place in the world, had set in motion the very events I’ve spent decades trying to prevent.

I clutch Cora’s notebook to my chest, feeling the weight of responsibility more keenly than ever before. This book, filled with secrets of time and destiny, might be the only hope for Veronica to unravel the tangled web of timelines and set things right.

With an ache as empty as the archive, I allow myself a moment of grief for the girl I once was and the woman I’ve become. Then, slowly, I pull myself to my feet. There’s work to be done, preparations to make. The future—past, present, and yet to come—depends on it.

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