Free The Thornless Rose by Morgan O'Neill Page B

okay,” Anne said as she paid for her things. “I’ll carry them with me. Just in case.”
    …
    They arrived before noon at the Tate Modern, the towering museum grandly resurrected from the skeleton of an old power plant. The women stood on the broad promenade overlooking the Thames. Multi-colored banners hung near the entrance of the museum, advertising the Pollack exhibit.
    “I’m not against having a look at modern art,” Catherine replied, “as long as it’s not so obscure that I cannot make heads or tails of it.”
    “Well, we’ll see what you think of this guy,” Anne said, grinning.
    Gazing at the Thames, she focused on Blackfriar’s Bridge for a moment and then breathed deeply. The air was warm and smelled vaguely of the sea.
    Stomach growling, Anne pointed to the scattering of ice cream carts near the entrance of the Tate. “I’m going to get a cone. Would you like one?” she asked her grandmother. “Or would you rather have lunch first?”
    “No, do go ahead with your cone. We’ll lunch after we’ve seen the exhibit.”
    Anne paid for some chocolate soft-serve and rejoined Catherine at the metal railing overlooking the river. “Are you sure you don’t want some, Grandma?” She took a lick. “It’s really good.”
    Catherine shook her head as she glanced across the Thames. Anne followed the path of her stare, looked past the Millennium Bridge and on to the grandeur of St. Paul’s Cathedral with its great dome.
    “Did you know that Old St. Paul’s had an enormous steeple which was hit by a bolt of lightning?” Catherine asked. “It destroyed the spire and the Elizabethans viewed it as an omen sent by God.”
    “Really? When?”
    “1561—good gracious!” Catherine exclaimed. “Close to Jonnie’s time.”
    “Do you suppose he saw it, or will see it?” The ice cream was melting, and she licked it off her fingers.
    “I don’t know, Anne, but––”
    Suddenly, everything went black. Anne gasped as chaos pulled at her mind, ripped at her with unhinged speed. She rocked unsteadily, caught herself, and waved her fingers before her face. She couldn’t see! She glanced around, realizing she stood in cool night air; her eyes simply hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness.
    Where am I?
    Her heart lurched as she made out a bit of her surroundings—the glinting waters of a starlit river and tall-masted sailing ships bobbing in the currents. Then, her gaze traveled to an enormous steeple, where only moments before a dome had been.
    Old St. Paul’s? Is this — is this Elizabethan London?
    Without warning, the smell of sewer gas engulfed Anne’s senses. She drew back from the river, gagged, and then...
    She blinked and was instantly back, standing in the sunshine, the sweet air of the twenty-first century metropolis filling her lungs.
    “Grandma, it just happened again, and the stink—and my ice cream—I, I think, when it started I could taste the chocolate!”
    “Oh, Lord! Anne, no! Anne! ”
    It was the only time she’d ever heard her grandmother scream.
    Anne looked down at herself, saw the fading flesh, heard the crowds react with alarm, with sharp gasps of surprise and high-pitched shrieks. A man—a stranger from the crowd—reached out to her, trying to grab her hand, desperately attempting to keep her there.
    But it was too late.
    “Anne!” Catherine cried out from what seemed like a long way off. “Find Jonnie! Remember Smithfield! Find him there!”
    Anne closed her eyes and sensed the darkness, smelled the foul night air once more. Suddenly, she heard something—a gasp or choking sound? —then, spotted a pair of bearded faces, looming up from the other side of the road.
    She dropped her ice cream cone, turned, and ran.

Part Two

Chapter Eight
    What do I do now? Anne wildly looked about. The landscape was barren, with only the raw bank of the river falling toward the water’s edge. But torch-lit streets lined with wattle and daub buildings lay in the distance. She raced