Free The Thornless Rose by Morgan O'Neill

be from the future or the past. They either get ignored, locked away in an asylum, or establish a cult following.”
    Catherine poured more brandy into their empty teacups and together they drank.
    “Anne, losing you will break my heart.” Catherine briefly closed her eyes as if summoning the strength to go on. “Yet, if it happens, then try to return. There must be a way.”
    Neither of them spoke for a long moment, and Anne covered the silence by carefully refolding the cape into a small bundle.
    “Yes, I promise.”
    “You must do everything in your power,” Catherine’s voice wavered, “everything to come back.”
    Anne nodded, fighting tears.
    “One more thing.” Her grandmother’s tone was deadly serious now.
    “Yes?”
    “You should carry the cape with you at all times. Take note of the hidden pocket in the inner lining, on the left side. I have something I want you to keep in there.” Catherine rose, walked to her husband’s desk, and reached into a side drawer. She removed a large switchblade, and placed it on the desktop between them. It was inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
    “Grandma, I’m not carrying that thing around!”
    Catherine met Anne’s startled gaze with hard eyes. “Humor me, Anne. You bloody well had better be prepared.”
    Anne swallowed. She had never heard her grandmother use such strong language.
    “Once in a while,” Catherine went on, “your grandfather had to deal with some very unsavory types. If the worst happens, you may well run into many more than he ever did, in Elizabethan England.”
    With the tips of her fingers, Catherine pushed the blade across to Anne.

Chapter Seven
    Fear not, for in the meantime I have found safety and acceptance in Smithfield, at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital .
    That morning, as Anne applied her makeup, she recalled Dr. Brandon’s words and pondered how the mundane rhythms of a typical London vacation had returned to lull her into a feeling of normalcy. Nothing strange had happened since Hampton Court, neither visitations by ghosts, nor journeys to long-gone places.
    With a guarded sense of calm, her determination had grown. Brandon’s note was sad, resigned, and she vividly recalled the tragic look in his eyes at the Abbey. She wanted to help figure out a way to bring him back. She’d do it for his sake and for her grandmother’s peace of mind. Once she got back to Virginia, she could study the phenomena from the safety of home, do some digging, and consult with her old college profs. Then, next summer, she would return to London, perhaps with an answer.
    She smiled at her reflection, feeling more confident. At times, she could almost believe she’d never experienced anything bizarre at all, except for the thornless rose lying in the fridge and Brandon’s haunting letter. And, of course, his kiss.
    Time travel. Whoa.
    The evidence couldn’t be dismissed, no matter how normal life now seemed. She frowned and added more blush, wanting to erase all traces of stress.
    Do stay away from the Smithfield Market area, darling... Och, aye. Keep t’ the new, or the nearly new. Grandma and Trudy’s advice had worked so far. Anne heaved a sigh. So much for her plans to spend the summer visiting favorite historical sites in and around London.
    The advice was about to be tested one last time; Anne and Catherine planned a trip to the Tate Modern Art Gallery to see an exhibition of Jackson Pollack’s work. Surely Pollack’s brilliantly drizzled and splattered canvases were as far removed from Elizabethan times as any of them could hope for.
    Anne took a last check in the full-length bathroom mirror, knowing her grandmother would disapprove of anything but her “acceptable for time travel” clothes. For the last two days, her wardrobe had been limited because of Catherine’s demands — a choice between a long, free-flowing, floral maxi dress and an ankle-length denim jumper, worn with a pair of sturdy, leather walking shoes. Today, she had chosen the