Page 22 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
“Do you have a translation of the Latin at home?” Professor Nash asked. “I could translate it myself, but it would take time.”
Rosina shook her head. “If there ever was a translation, I never saw it. I was never allowed near the book. It was always made clear to me that it belonged to Melville. Even though I was a magician, I was weaker than him.”
“And female,” Willie added wryly.
Rosina turned to the last page, written in Melville’s hand, and flipped backwards through the pages. The sisters talked about the names that appeared there, of aunts and uncles, grandparents, and even great-grandparents. They told me family stories that had been passed down through the generations. Even though they weren’t about magic, I enjoyed hearing them. But the further back through the book they went, the more they learned about their ancestors, too.
Gradually, over the course of the afternoon, the others drifted off to do their research, leaving only the three sisters and me to digest as much of the book as we could comprehend. It was Rosina who found a curious Latin word that had us all intrigued.
“Vaticinium,” she said, sounding out the syllables. “Is it something to do with the Vatican, do you think?”
The professor stood on the mezzanine level, reshelving books. I asked him to join us and translate the text.
“Vaticiniummeans prophecy,” he said as he read.
Naomi lightly clapped her hands. “A prophecy. How exciting! What does the next part say?”
Professor Nash wrote the translation on a piece of paper then handed it to me. “Most intriguing.”
I read the words out loud. “’A magician from the line of Hendreau will save time.’” I looked up and shrugged. “What do you think it means?”
“Goodness knows,” Naomi said.
“Probably nothing,” Myrtle added. “Saving time could mean catching a train instead of walking. Prophecies are all hokum anyway. They can be twisted to mean anything you want them to mean.”
Rosina reread the English translation of the prophecy. “Melville would have taken it seriously. That’s why he needed to find his son. He wanted this book to be passed to him, his heir, if he turned out to be a paper magician.”
“He wanted his son to know his Hendry ancestry,” Myrtle added, quietly. “He wanted Sylvia’s brother to pass the book on to one of his heirs when the time came. It must have come as a surprise to learn he had a daughter who was a paper magician, not a son. Melville never did like surprises. Order, tidiness and predictability, that’s what our brother liked.”
We spent the remainder of the afternoon looking through the journal, having the more intriguing passages translated by the professor or Gabe. Rosina and I practiced the paper-moving spell. It took several attempts at getting the pronunciation just right, but eventually she could lift a piece of paper off the table. I was able to make it fly, albeit erratically. Fortunately, it wasmore like the delicate flutter of a butterfly than the streak of a thrown knife, and posed no threat.
When it came time for the sisters to leave, I offered the book to Rosina. “This belongs to you, not me. You have as much right as Melville to keep it.”
Rosina shook her head. “Giving it to you is the one commendable thing our brother did in this entire sorry saga. You’re a stronger magician than me, Sylvia, and younger. My children are artless, as are our cousins’ children. You’re the only Hendry paper magician of your generation.” She smiled gently. “Hold on to it until the time is right to pass it on.”
I clutched the book against my chest. My heart thudded in response to the close proximity of the dense concentration of paper magic. Rosina was right. Possessing the journal fulfilled me in a way nothing else did.
After the sisters left, Gabe sought me ought. The light caress of his fingers on the back of my neck was cool and very welcome. When he stroked my cheek, I leaned into his touch.
“Are you all right?” His silky-smooth voice rumbled deep in his chest.
I looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you for being here.”
He pulled over another chair and sat, bringing us to the same level. He caught my hands in his. “It must be overwhelming.”
“It is, yet I wouldn’t have it any other way. Meeting my father still feels somewhat surreal, but reading this journal is…well, it’s just so wonderful. I’ve gone from having no knowledge of my ancestry to having a thousand years’ worth.” My eyes filled with tears at the enormity of it.
Gabe stroked his thumb over my knuckles as he leaned forward. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”
He kissed me, and I kissed him back. It began as a light, tender caress of lips, but quickly deepened. We’d moved past the tentative, uncertain stage of our relationship, and progressed topassionate desire, the sort that made my skin hot and my mind sharply focused on just one thing—Gabe. His hand moved to the back of my head, burying his fingers in my hair. My breath shuddered.
Alex cleared his throat. “Willie’s coming.”
I sat back with a thud.
“So?” Gabe’s voice sounded gravelly. “Let her see.”
I wasn’t ready to face the censure of his cousin, however. My emotions were taut, albeit finely balanced. A confrontation with Willie might make them spill over.
