A/N: Thank you to everyone who has come on board and all of those who have been here since the beginning. I appreciate every follow, favorite and review. And a big thank you to my two betas, steph-the-fangirl-925 and aimeeloren. They are some of the best women to work with. Stephanie loaded some great new videos to her YouTube account, Just4FunVids925, go check them out.

Disclaimer: I do not own the major characters. They belong to Once Upon A Time.

Chapter 9:

Emma's feet were tired, not just from all the walking she had done all day, but from the constant waiting for someone to help her retrieve books and translate the texts. She had been to three libraries desperate to find more information about Tiziana, the woman whose portrait graced Signora Assante's parlor.

There was more literature on her strange disappearance than on the woman herself. There were tons of theories and speculation on how and why she disappeared. But, one thing everyone seemed to agree on was that it was sudden and unexpected, just like Tiziana's appearance.

Emma had found several accounts regarding that as well. The story was that a young nun had been late for prayers, but realized once she entered the church she had forgotten something. Her hand had never left the door of the church. The panel never fully closing. In that small space of time, before she turned to leave a baby appeared. Not just on the steps, but at the very top of the twenty-eight steps of the church, near the door. The nun swore that no one followed her up the stairs that morning and yet they would have had to. Many people claimed the baby belonged to the nun herself and she tried to pass it off as a foundling. The nun swore her innocence to the day she died. The church had renounced the poor woman and no one wished to claim a baby. The nun raised the baby, eventually placing her with a family who traveled with a local theater group. Sadly, the nun passed away just two years later.

About to leave and call it a day, Emma began to close up the books in front of her when the woman who was helping to translate stopped her. "Wait, signorina. I think I may have found something."

The translator pulled down a book from the shelves. She examined the book with confusion, stopping a librarian who was walking by and asking her some questions in Italian. Emma watched the librarian shake her head and shrug before she walked away.

"What is it?" Emma asked. "What's wrong?"

"This book, signorina. It does not belong here."

Emma stared at her confused. "It doesn't belong to this section?"

"No, signorina. To this library. The librarian said she has never seen it before." The translator handed Emma a large red leather book covered in dust.

"It looks like Henry's storybook," Emma muttered as she ran her hand over the leather. As her hand moved across its surface, the heavy layer of dust began to disappear. "What does it say?"

"Racconti moderni di storie vecchie. Modern tales of stories old."

Emma flipped open the book amazed at how similar it was to the one Henry owned. It literally could have been taken from the bookshelves that Henry found in the author's house. Emma shuffled through some of the pages. Just like Henry's, it contained pictures as well as text. When she reached the end, Emma stared in shock.

Running her hand over the picture, Emma thought it was way too reminiscent of the pages she once burned to protect her own story from Regina. A baby bundled held in the arms of a man holding a sword running through a dark forest. The man could almost pass for Emma's own father they were so similar of visage.

Instead of black knights, this man was fighting off trees. The night was pitch dark, or appeared that way due to the denseness of the forest, and the limbs of the trees seemed to have been enchanted to grab him and the baby. Emma turned to the woman next to her. "Can you tell me what it says right here?"

Emma pointed to the words below the beautifully painted picture. The woman handed Emma a pair of white cotton gloves. "We should wear these, signorina. I am unaware of how old that book is. It is just a precaution."

Emma complied while the woman read. "Prince Edmundo needed to save his daughter from the evil that wanted her, even if that meant never seeing her again."

The woman looked closely at the depiction then at Emma's hand, the one she had yet to put the glove on. The translator reached out and grabbed for the magnifying glass she had used on occasion to be able to read some of the small text and examined the picture again. "Signorina?"

"Yes?"

"Can I see your ring?"

"Of course." Emma removed her mother's ring from her finger and handed it to the woman.

"It's remarkable," the woman said in awe.

"What?" Emma leaned in to try to find out what the woman was talking about.

"You own the same ring. The ring of True Love. It says here," the woman pointed to the text on the opposite page from the picture, "that only two of these rings were forged. One give to Prince Edmundo and the other to his twin, Prince Paulo. Their mother had been deeply in love with their father and had wanted nothing less for her two sons. She sold her hair, which many claimed had magical properties to someone called the Dark One, one of the most magical creatures in their realm had ever known. In exchange, he had created two rings that would guide her children and any of their descendants to their one True Love. Should anyone else come to possess the ring, it would not work."

The woman handed Emma back her ring, and Emma stared at it in awe as she replaced it on her finger. "So, these rings belonged to princes?"

"Signorina, this is but a book of fairytales. That ring should not really exist."

Emma's eyes collided with the translator's. "I thought that these were old stories from here."

"No. This is just a book that contains stories that some person rewrote to tell a more modern tale. Modern for about the 17th century if the depictions are fairly accurate."

Emma stared down at the words. "Does it say any more about the ring?"

The translator nodded. "Prince Edmundo used the ring and found his love, but in doing so angered many. She was not meant to live in his world and her father had her killed for her disobedience once she birthed her daughter. The prince escaped with the babe. Neither had been seen since, but according to this many believed the prince died, because of the poison he had ingested that had been meant for his wife prior to his escape."

"What about the other ring and the other prince?" Emma asked.

The woman smiled at her. "It is not in this tale, but maybe we can find out." She flipped through the book. "Ah. Here."

She stopped and pointed to a picture. Once again, the man looked very much like her father. However, this man was less finely dressed than the previous prince.

"It says here that Prince Paulo, who would later become king, married a woman whose father was nothing but a poor farmer. Her father had nothing more than a small spare field to gift to his daughter in marriage. The prince had told the woman's father they needed nothing but each other, but her father insisted. On that land they built a small cottage. Whenever the king and queen needed to escape from the pressure of court they would go to their 'summer home', that cottage."

The woman turned the page and Emma fell back into a chair. It was her father's cottage. The one her father had told her about that he had grown up in before he had left to replace his brother, James. She had seen him in front of it in one of the depictions in Henry's book. "That was where they lived?"

The translator nodded, pointing the page she just read. "According to this story, si, signorina."

"Is there any way I could get a photo copy of some of these pages?"

"I do not know. I must ask." The woman left to go to the circulation desk.

Emma not wanting to take any chances that she may never see the book again, pulled out her phone and began to snap pictures of various pages. The cottage being the first one she took, knowing that she would be emailing that to her mother later. The woman returned after a few minutes with a shake of her head.

"I'm sorry, signorina. The library must examine the book before action is taken. I must bring it to them now."

"Can I just get a few more pictures?" Emma pleaded.

"Si, a few more. I will not tell," the translator agreed with a smile.

Emma quickly finished so the woman would not get into any trouble. She'd have to plan to come back so that she might be able to see the book again and maybe take some more pictures. But, for now, Emma had a few more leads.

"Thank you for your help." Emma reached out and shook the translator's hand.

"You are very welcome."

CSCSCSCSCS

Killian wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. A mentor had been found for him and he was to meet him in two days time. The man was a local priest who had been performing exorcisms for well over twenty years. Only one problem remained, breaking the language barrier, as the priest barely spoke any English.

Walking back to the boarding house for the evening meal, Killian felt quite contemplative of his future. Many priest he had talked to at the Vatican were skeptical of the future practice of exorcism. And many didn't even wish to discuss it as if it would bring the devil upon their own heads. Killian himself wasn't exactly sure how convinced in the study of exorcism. He still had some thoughts that maybe the people believed they were possessed but were really overcome by sickness in some way. He prayed that his questioning beliefs wouldn't be an issue when it came down to the practice of exorcisms that he was expected to participate in with his new mentor.

Desperate for some sanctuary away from thoughts of God and demons, Killian longed for a few quiet moments alone. Instead he was confronted by Emma stepping out of the front door of Signora Assante's house.

"Oh! Hello," she said with a smile as she held the door for him to enter.

"Shouldn't I be doing that for you?" he teased as he nodded to the door.

"I was here first," she replied with a cheeky air.

He bowed his head in response. "So, you were. Where are you off to? Won't dinner be ready shortly?"

He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back against the open doorframe. Killian wasn't sure why, but knowing Emma might not be coming to dinner because she had plans with someone else had him rankled. The thought that someone else would be enjoying her time and her smile while he was left bereft, had jealousy running rampant through him and he didn't like it one bit.

Emma searched his face. Though he was trying to keep his face neutral, she noticed the tick of his jaw. Was he jealous? Emma smiled softly at the thought.

"Already daydreaming of your date, Swan?"

She shook her head. "No. Sorry. It's been a long day."

"So, where are you heading?"

"Dinner. Robin and I made reservations at a restaurant that Signora Assante recommended. There's some information that I wanted to share with him and I thought it best done privately. And Signora Assante frowns on us being in each other's rooms with the doors closed."

Killian leaned forward, his face not far from her own. "So, it is a date."

Emma sighed in exasperation and glared at him. "Of course not. We're just friends."

He stepped closer to her invading what little personal space she had left. The look that he gave her as his eyes trailed from the top of her head to the black patent leather heels she wore, had goose flesh prickling all over her. "Cold, Swan?"

She shook her head as her breathing became more rapid. His eyebrow cocked up as he searched her face. "Hmm."

"Killian."

He leaned closer and breathed in her ear. "Father Killian."

"I never had a priest fantasy until now, thank you very much."

Killian took a step back, but a smile still touched his lips. "Confessing now are we, Swan?"

"If I thought it'd help, I'd tell you all sorts of things inside a darkened little box."

"Help with what?" Confusion lined his face, replacing the cockiness that had previously been there.

Emma took the step he retreated and leaned in. Her lips grazed across his cheek as she went to whisper in his ear. "Consider this a shot across your bow, Father. I intend to make you remember everything you have forgotten, including me."

She nipped his ear gently before she stepped back, gave him one last look and walked away, intent on catching a cab to meet Robin. Emma held her hand to her chest as she walked, wishing that she could slow down her heart.

A glint of shining green caught Killian's eye as Emma turned. He'd seen the ring on her finger before. Usually she sat there at dinner twisting it. Yet, he'd never seen it glow as if lit from within. The further she walked away, the dimmer the glow, so he convinced himself it was a trick of the light, in spite of the fact that the alleyway as becoming darker with the setting sun.

Emma's words haunted him the rest of the night. 'I intend to make you remember everything you have forgotten, including me.' He barely could recite the evening prayer his mind was so wrapped around her words. It was late when he heard her and Robin in the hallway, but as he was unable to sleep, he rose to peek out of his door.

"Goodnight, Emma."

"Goodnight, Robin. If you talk to Regina, tell her to give Henry a hug for me."

Killian heard Robin's door close and he fully opened his own to see Emma beginning to open hers. "Henry? How many men do you string along, Swan?"

Emma's hand rose to her throat as she squealed. "You scared me."

"Robin. Henry. Me. This mysterious friend of yours. Tell me the truth, have you ever been in love?"

A tear slipped from Emma's eye. It was killing him inside, but he refrained from brushing it away. He had no right to touch her. The vows he took restrained him. Emma should mean nothing to him. Killian took his vows seriously until the day she walked into his life and made him question every decision he ever made.

"I was… I am…"

"Which is it, Swan?" He hated to sound like it mattered, but it did. He walked closer to her, desperate to hear her answer.

"Both."

"So, you have been in love. Lucky man." And God forgive him, but he was jealous of this mysterious man who held Emma's heart.

"You should know," she mumbled almost low enough that he shouldn't have heard it, but the hall was too quiet, their voices too loud in the darkness.

"What was that?"

She stared him square in the eyes and lied. "Nothing."

"I heard you," he challenged. "You can't lie to me."

"Why, because you are a priest?"

"No, love, because you're an open book." He cupped her chin and tilted her face up to his. "Your eyes tell me everything."

She let out a hiccup of a sob. "Well, sometimes, they need to shut up."

Killian couldn't hold back his chuckle, though he tried to soften it for the quietness of the evening. "Wanna know what you are thinking right now?"

"That I want to go to bed and forget this night ever happened?"

"But who's bed are you trying to go to?"

"Mine. Now let go." She jerked her chin from his grasp.

"Just one thing. Tell me who Henry is."

"My son, okay. He's my son."

"With this mystery man of yours? The one you are in love with?"

"I never said it was a man and I sure didn't say I was in love with him." She glared at him and crossed her arms, which unbeknownst to her, offered him an enticing view of the round of her breasts above the squared neckline of her black dress.

He swiped his hand over his eyes. All this talk of demons day in and day out, added to Emma's distracting presence was driving him over the edge. "Maybe, you should tell him then, Swan, because even I can tell that you are."

"How?"

"Whenever he is mentioned your cheeks redden. Your pulse races. And there's a far off look in your eyes, as if you are remembering the feel of him."

"Trust me," Emma said pulling back from him slightly. "I am not the one having trouble remembering anything." She must have grabbed the doorknob while he was focused on her face. It swung open behind her and she stepped inside. "Goodnight, Father," she threw over her shoulder.

"Sleep well, Swan." Killian turned back to his own room. He'd love nothing more than to have his flask of rum to lure him into sleep's loving arms, dulling the pain in his chest that he refused to put a name on at the thought of Emma in love with someone else.