Prologue

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New York City

2024

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Fable Ramsey shivered as she sat against the cold wall in a small alley on 46th Street and

9th Avenue. She pulled her knees to her chest and yanked her tattered blanket up to her chin,

uncovering the only footwear she owned; the fake Doc Martens on her feet. She looked up at the

night sky and saw a star twinkling at her. She smiled then scoffed at herself.

​

There weren’t any stars twinkling in her direction. If anything, they were laughing at her up

there. She was the biggest fool who believed things would get better for her once she was free of

her mother. But nothing had changed. She had no skills.

​

Kittie Ramsey had kept her from going to school, preferring to have Fable around to help her.

She’d hidden Fable from any kind of authority, and on a few occasions after being hidden, her

mother had forgotten to find her for days. They lived on the streets, refusing to go to shelters in

case social workers started to ask questions about the dirty little red-haired girl pulling along a

small suitcase with a broken wheel.

​

She had watched her mother swindle and cheat any one and any situation, and Fable had learned

from her. At the age of nine she became an expert at three-card-monte and every other street

game. At thirteen, she’d been jumped at the back of an alley; beaten for the money she’d won

on the corner. When her wounds healed, she began to practice self-defense. On the streets of

Hell’s Kitchen, one needed to protect oneself. At eighteen she was arrested for pickpocketing.

She was bailed out by some guy who’d hooked up with her mother and was doing her a favor,

but it turned out he wanted his own favor from her and she wasn’t having it. It was the one thing

Fable had never given up. Her body was hers. She’d rather rot in jail than let someone use her

body to get out.

​

Unafraid of sleeping outside, she closed her eyes and settled in. Thanks to Bernadette one

of the waitresses from Tess’ Diner uptown, Fable’s belly was full. She’d met Bernadette one day

while she was panhandling and the woman was kind enough to buy her lunch. She began

showing up after hours, traveling to Fable’s little alley to bring her a bag of the latest special. She

was like Fable’s very own fairy godmother.

​

Tomorrow, she was meeting Ms. Halstead, a new social worker—whom Fable prayed

was also an angel sent to help her—about finding a job. After that, she’d be handing out flyers.

Maybe she could make enough to be able to stay in the shelter. She’d love to get her own

apartment but it was a dream for now and nothing more.

​

She settled in but then something rumbled beneath her. She opened her eyes to see if she

felt it again. There weren’t any subways beneath her but there it was again. The strange

rumbling. This time the vibration shook her and a resonating hum sounded in her ears.

She stood up, ready to run. What the heck was it? An earthquake? She looked around

beneath the street light. The air appeared wavy, like when she warmed her hands near a barrel

fire and she looked over the flames. She thought she should run, but she’d lived in four of the

five boroughs her whole life and she’d seen plenty without running. But she’d never seen

anything like a man appearing out of thin air right before her eyes. She blinked and gasped a

little. What had she just seen? She doubted her eyes and backed away instinctively. Where had

he just come from? He hadn’t been there a moment ago. Had she fallen asleep and she wasn’t

aware of it? Her thrashing heartbeat in her ears proved that she was awake. What she just saw

couldn’t be real. People don’t just appear out of nowhere. She almost didn’t see whatever was in

his hand but it glowed like a blue flame and almost drew her out of her hiding place.

He was so focused on it, he hadn’t seen her when she ducked into the shadows along the

wall. He looked out of place, like he’d been part of some kind of theater company or medieval

society club. He wore a tunic-like shirt and pants with leather moccasin style boots. His hair was

gray and hung loose around his bearded face.

​

He turned and looked directly at her even though she hadn’t made a sound and she was

sure he couldn’t see her. When he took a step toward her, she reached for her bottle of mace.

She should probably carry a knife, the way her mother had taught her, but she doubted she could

use it on anyone.

​

“I can see you,” the man called out in a heavy British accent, breaking the silence as he

came near. “Come out and put away that useless weapon you have pointed at me.”

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No way! No way could he see her! She squinted trying to see him better and then sprayed

him in the face with her mace. “Good luck seeing for a while, Mister.” She ran around him and

then came to an abrupt halt when he clamped his fingers around her arm.

In his other hand, he clutched the glowing blue item and held his arm up to his eyes.

​

“Wait!” he ordered as if she were under his command. “What year is this?”

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“Huh?” she asked. What kind of problems did this guy have? “The year? It’s 2024.”

​

He let out a sigh of such deep relief, Fable thought he might pass out. “Then I’m in the

right time.”

​

“That’s great, now let me go. I don’t want to hurt you.”

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He didn’t do as she demanded. “Who’s the king here? I need to speak with him.”

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“Are you for real?” Incredulously, she tugged her arm. “This is America. We don’t have

a king. You need to take a right toward the U.K. mister”

​

He lowered his arm from his eyes but didn’t open them. The lids were already red and

swollen. Fable grimaced looking at him.

​

“A right?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Right. You need a passport and a plane ticket on British Airways and you’ll be all set.”

​

“Can I use this?” He waved the blue trinket in front of her face. Was it…a pocket watch?

A sapphire pocket watch?

​

“To pay?” She obviously misunderstood him and felt foolish for asking.

“No.”

​

She wrinkled her brow at him. “How would you use a pocket watch to get to the U.K.?”

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“How do you think I just arrived here from where I was?”

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She really didn’t know! Her eyes must have tricked her. Of course he must have turned

the corner and she’d missed his arrival. “Where were you?” she asked in a quiet, uncertain voice.

​

“1694, but it wasn’t right.”

​

The poor guy must have dementia, she thought and patted the large hand to which she

was shackled. He looked to be in his late fifties-early sixties. She smiled and spoke in a softer

voice. “Maybe if it brought you here, it wants you to speak to the president, and not the king.”

When he nodded, she pulled her arm free. “There we go,” she said gently. He was sick

and Fable knew how to care for the sick. She cared for her mother most of her life. “Now, let me

just call for help with seeing to what you need.”

​

She dug into her pocket and produced her old flip-phone. When the screen lit up, the man

in front of her pulled free the long sword from the scabbard at his side and swung it, stopping

only inches from her throat. She yelped and fell back on her rump. “What are you doing with that

thing? Now I’m calling the cops!”

​

An instant before she touched the screen again, she stopped. Had she frightened him? Is

that why he attacked? Not wanting it to happen again, she lowered her voice. “This is a phone. It

lights up so I can see. Put the sword away. Wait…” she gave the metal pointing in her face a

better look … “is that blood?”

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“Do you know her? Do you know my wife? I’ve been searching for her.”

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“What? Oh, y…yes, I might. The police station has books with pictures of people who

are lost.”

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He waved the sword at her, though he’d moved it a careful distance away. “Send word to

them immediately,” he ordered as if she were his servant. She quirked her mouth at him and

tapped 911.

“You can’t get more immediate than this.” She stepped away and held her phone to

her ear. After she asked for help and gave a description of him, she tried to explain what was

happening. “He has a big sword and I’m pretty sure there’s blood on it.”

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Four minutes, she thought releasing a deep, calming breath and putting her phone away.

The cops would be here in four minutes. She eyed her blanket. She was sleepy. “Okay, help is on

the way. And…um…keep the sword in its scabbard.”

​

“Miss, will you help me?”

​

“The police will help you,” she corrected gently.

​

“You have to help me find her and bring her home to our children.”

​

 

Fable took a step closer to him. “What happened to her?”

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“He held out the pocket watch in his hand. “This thing ate her up. I’ve been searching

endlessly. I cannot go home until I find her. I finally figured out how it works. She’s here.

Somewhere.”

​

Gosh, he was really not well. “We’ll find her,” she assured him with a gentle smile. Her

expression didn’t change as the distant sirens grew closer.

​

He turned to the whirling lights on the police car when they pulled up onto the sidewalk.

He watched the doors open and the officers rush out, hands on their guns, shouting orders. His

dark eyes slipped to her and sent a warning that he was capable of terrible things. “The first thing

they will try to do is take this.” He held up the pocket watch. “And then I’ll have to kill them all,

including you for betraying me.”

​

Fable’s blood ran cold. She wanted to run. What if he chased her with his bloody sword?

She hadn’t been this afraid since Pug Grady and his thug friends kidnapped her from her mother

when she was seven and held her ransom for the hundred dollars her mother owed him. Pug had

waved his gun around in her face in an effort to frighten her and make her cry. He had failed.

Crying was a waste of time in her world. She had stopped doing it for good when she was eight.

​

She wouldn’t do it now.

​

“Just…please, relax, Sir,” she tried gently.

​

And then, in an instant, the cosplay soldier leaped behind her and curled one arm around

her neck, close to his bloody blade. In his other hand, he still gripped the blue pocket watch.

​

“Is this the thanks I get for being nice to you?” she muttered under her breath and then

pushed his arm holding the sword away, reached over for his wrist and began the process of

flipping him. Then something strange happened when the air waved and grew distorted. The

ground shook and then it was over. One second she was standing on the street defending herself

against a crazy man with a sword, and in the next, she was overwhelmed by daylight standing

behind what appeared to be a barn, gasping for breath that was scented with manure. She

bounded to her feet and looked around, but the man trying to hold her hostage wasn’t there.

What just happened? She lifted a shaking hand and found herself gripping the pocket watch.

How did it end up in her hand? She almost flung it away. She squinted at the people staring

dumbfounded at her under the sun. Why were they dressed like the peasants from the medieval

festival in her neighborhood park every year?

​

 

Clutching the pocket watch, she looked around for the crazy ‘time traveler’ guy. What

had he done? Her blood suddenly went cold as she blinked curiously at the small group of

people staring at her.

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“Where am I?” she called out.

​

“You’re in Belstead,” one of the onlookers replied.

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“Belstead?”

​

“That’s right, Miss. Belstead in Ipswich.”

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Ipswich? Where was that? Her heart pounded so hard she grew queasy. Did she have the

courage to ask the same question the time-traveler guy had asked her? “What…what year is

this?”

They turned to one another with curious, concerned faces. Then, one woman stepped

forward. “It’s the year 1718.”

This was some kind of trick. A terrible one, at that. But the vibrating pocket watch in her

hand proved her theory wrong. The time traveler must be coming. She had to run.