I couldn't remember the last time I'd woken up so peacefully. The pleasent smell of Adrian was on my naked body as he turned over and slid his arm under mine and over my waist. He plunged his face into my hair and neck, seeming to admire my own exotic human perfume. A bit of sunlight streamed through the windows which was refeshing after so much grey. The dust motes danced in a tiny unseen windstorm, while Adrian and I drank each other in. It was so soothing to hold his body against mine after a long refreshing nights' sleep. I felt I might drown in the sensuality of it.

There came a sharp knock on the door, bringing me out of my reverie.

"Hey lovers, breakfast! Oh wait, I'm sorry, 'friends', breakfast! Sure didn't sound like 'friends' last night!"

I heard a hearty laugh, then footfalls on the stairs.

"Your grandmas awesome." I said, sitting up on my elbow and giving him a grin.

"She's already drunk." Adrian said, rolling over and glancing at the clock. Ten o'two am.

I got up and stretched. I pulled on my discarded pajamas.

"Hey," I said to him.

"What?" he replied sleepily.

"I love you."

He raised his tired eyes and half smiled. I turned on my heel and raced to the bathroom, as giddy as a sixteen year old. I can't tell you how wonderful it was to feel that way again.

We were clustered around the table, utensils scraping on plates of eggs and toast. Cheryl was into her third cup of "coffee" and was strangely silent. When she got up and put the plates in the sink, she said casually over her shoulder,

"You've got that book and locket with you right?"

"Yes." I said anxiously.

"You'd better go and get them. I explained to mother some of what you told me last night. She'll want to see those. And that box your grandmother gave you."

I went upstairs and retrieved those things. Cheryl looked at the objects in my arms and said heavily, with a sigh,

"Okay. Mother's out on the back porch. This way."

She led us through another door in the kicthen, through a short hallway, to a screen door.

The back porch was a raised wooden platform, unpainted, with four posts holding up its roof. Many little windchimes clinked together. Moons, stars, and hummingbird pendulums swayed in a gentle breeze. The woman herself was sitting in a white wicker lounger, her elbows resting on the arms and her frail hands in her lap. She wore glasses with redicuously thick pearly lenses, her skin was almost transparent, peppered all over with liver spots. She wore some sort of whispery pale pink nightgown and matching silk housecoat that covered her entirely. Her feet were in fluffy white slippers. Her wrists had silver bangles going up six inches and she wore a silver pendant. Her face was truly so wrinkled that you couldn't really say what she'd looked like in youth. It was as if she were born old. Her nose was an eagles beak. Her hair was stark white and thinning severely but still shoulder length and wavy.

"Mother." Cheryl said gently.

The old woman turned in her chair and looked at the three of us beadily. Her brown eyes with yellow whites appeared bulgey in those glasses, making her look startled. She roved her eyes over me quickly and held out a perpetually shaking hand.

I wasn't sure what to do, when she jerked her hand at me, jingling her bangles, holding her palm open.

"Give her the book." Cheryl nudged.

I hurried to give her book and she clicked her tongue impatiently. She ran her whithered hand over the cover and seemed to whispering to herself. We all moved closer to her in a group, and she jerked up and looked at us like we were crazy. She waved her hand away from herself, making a noise that sounded like "kyeh!" We backed off.

She opened the book to the first page and her bug eyes began to rake it. So for an hour and a half she read the book, shaking her head, frowning, and making tiny noises in her throat. She mumbled from time to time. It seemed to me that when she was moving, her whole body shook but for her legs. In every way she appeared senile, but there was something about her that made me reconsider.

Cheryl was sitting on the stoop, looking tired. Adrian and I were leaning against the railing of the porch, when we heard the cover of the book slam shut. We all jerked upright to see Adrians' great grandmother shakily sliding the book onto the low wicker table in front of her. She gestured to me again and this time I knew what she wanted.

I put the chain of the heavy, tarnished silver locket into her hands and her eyes actually did bulge at it. She made a sound like "mmMM" in her throat as she turned it over in her hands, finally prying it open with her fingers. A small flurry of dust came out and I moved closer to see what was inside. It was a miniature painting of the silver haired man on one side of brown spotted glass, and on the other side it was a mirror painting of a gray haired woman. I was startled as I remembered seeing that woman being tortured in the dungeon with a hot iron rod, and later hung. It made sense now. The Timekeeper was destroying the Foxworths not for what was done to him, but for what they did to her. "Mother" flicked her eyes between the paintings and clicked her tongue rapidly. Then she closed the locket with a snap and tossed it onto the table with the book.

"Okeh!" she said sitting back, and turning her head towards me. Even her heavy nasal voice shook. "You wanna breaka dis curse?"

She'd said it almost skeptically. I nodded. She grabbed the sleeve of my sweatshirt and pulled me down to kneel in front of her and clasped my shoulder. I was deeply surprised by the strength of her grip. She leaned down, shaking like a chihuahua in Antarctica, until she was inches from my face.

"It's not going to be easy!" She pointed a gnarled finger at me. "Generations have puut their energy into dis curse. Very strong! Someone with blood ties must do dis! Gather as much of the family as you can. They must draw out the spirit! Any means may be use, as long as they believe. They must believe! When the spirit is drawn out, you will know, because tings start to happen! When the spirit is drawn out you must pierce the object wit dis."

She reached over to a fold in her robe and pulled out something wrapped in a black cloth. She unfolded it to reveal a silver dagger with a black laquered handle. I could tell by looking at it that it was very old and very sharp. She rewrapped it and handed it to me.

"When you pierce the personal object with dis blade it will burst outward. Cut the spirit loose! I was told you were given a means to do dis."

I scrambled to give her the box my grandmother had given me. She opened it and rifled through it for a moment, then pulled out a sheet of paper with ink on both sides.

"Circle gateway mmm...yes." she put it back into the box, and gave it back to me. Then she grabbed me again and said loudly. "Once you have opened the circle you must not break it! Or the spirit curse will remain!"

I must have looked frightened because she added in a softer tone,

"If you should fail, know this. A curse not relentless. It's alive and it will die in its' own time, just like person. But no way to tell who it will take wit it!"

She considered me for a moment then she said,

"My Adrian has a second sight. He sees the spirits around him and he talks to dem. You different. You see tings happened long ago. You have magic from Africa, dis magic strong! Go back to the beginning of man! Draw on dis...when you do it."

She waved her hand, indicating that we should go.

I scooped up the objects, and as we walked to the screen door, she said, without turning her head,

"Dis ting you are doing is dangerous. Tread carefully."

We waited for her to say something more, but she waved her hand again, and then she sighed.

We were travelling again. Our last pilgrimage. We were utterly silent as the greyhound bus bounced along. Of course we couldn't fly with a razor sharp stabbing weapon in our carry on luggage. Adrian held my hand as he stared out at the rolling black hills we passed. He had a hard look on his face, determined. I on the other hand, was thinking backward. Wishing I could have stayed with Adrian at his grandmothers' house and forgotten the whole lot. We could have languished in his room and smoked and listened to his Marley CDs and let ourselves be young and deeply in love.

The love I had, oh yes. I saw it in every glance Adrian bestowed upon me. But the youth, the youth was falling away in pieces, like peeling wallpaper. Every day since I'd first set foot in Foxworth Hall had seen me advancing in years emotionally. And I'd thought all my naievity was gone and all my innocence evaporated, yet I saw that there had been more to lose. I had read of a murder plot and its shattering reverberations, seen a corpse, read of a curse, listened to a story of rape; a rape that had created me, and then I had accepted a dagger. Oh yes, I had lost what shreds of innocence I had left; what else could I lose?

But that's just it isn't it? Things are never so bad that they can't get worse. Isn't that right, Cathy?