Dr. Tidmore removed his glasses and rubbed the lenses with a scrap of red silk. “
That
is what worries me most,” he said. “The possibility that you might have inherited your father’s affliction—that the same evil forces may now be acting on
your
mind.”
Haven turned the statement over in her head. It was ridiculous from every angle. “You’re not saying I inherited a
demon
from my father, are you?” she scoffed.
“Demons take many forms,” Tidmore said scientifically, like an entomologist describing different species of cockroach. “Sometimes they manifest as physical and mental illnesses.”
Haven stood up. “Give me my box.”
“Sit down, Haven,” the preacher commanded, placing the box back in his desk drawer.
“Fine. Keep all the stuff. There’s plenty more back at the house,” Haven lied as she headed for the door. “Imogene only found part of it.”
“You’re free to go,” Dr. Tidmore informed her. “But if you do, you may find yourself stuck in this town for longer than you can possibly imagine.”
Haven froze.
“Good. Now sit back down,” Tidmore added gently. “Remember, I’m here to help you.” Once Haven had returned to her seat across from him, he picked up a pen and prepared to take notes. “Let’s talk about this boy from your visions. Ethan, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Haven’s head was bowed in defeat.
“Tell me. What do you remember about Ethan?”
“Not very much. I don’t know.” There was no way she could tell a preacher the things she remembered.
“When you were younger, you said that you loved him. You used to talk about how he was young and handsome and brilliant. Do you remember that?”
“No,” Haven muttered. She felt her scalp begin to tingle and the sensation of flames creeping up her legs. A vision was on its way.
“But you didn’t trust him. You questioned his faithfulness. You know, Haven, sometimes Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.”
Dr. Tidmore’s voice was growing fainter. Haven struggled to empty her mind, repeating the Lord’s Prayer over and over again in her head. But the fire kept burning. There was nothing she could do to stop it.
She was approaching a mansion with an engraved invitation clenched in one hand. To the left of the mansion’s door, just below the bell, a small plaque read THE OUROBOROSSOCIETY. The words were encircled by the image of a snake swallowing its tail. There was no need to be nervous, Constance thought. The new president was meeting with everyone. She hadn’t been singled out.
Inside, she nearly bumped into a desk that now sat in the foyer, blocking access to the rest of the mansion. The young man behind it greeted her with a humorless smile.
“Constance Whitman?” he inquired. “The president will see you in the parlor.”
“Thank you.”
Constance stepped around the desk and hurried down the hallway. She had almost reached the room at the end when she spotted the two of them standing only inches apart. Ethan’s back was to the door, but she could see the female face gazing up at him. It belonged to a girl named Rebecca Underwood.
Every suspicion Constance had ever entertained returned at that moment. Rebecca Underwood was one of the Society’s first members. She had spent months with Ethan before he left for Rome. Constance often wondered if anything had happened between them. Ethan and Rebecca shared so much in common. Both were orphans rescued by Strickland. Both claimed to recall details of multiple lives. And both were uncommonly beautiful. Particularly Rebecca, with the ebony hair that she still wore long and the voluptuous figure she refused to disguise. Ethan had always insisted they were only friends, but seeing the two of them together, Constance had to admit they made a stunning pair.
“You don’t need her anymore,” Rebecca said, her voice a little too loud for a whisper. “We both know you only cared for her money. Now that Strickland’s made you his heir, we can finally be together. That’s how it’s meant to be!”
Struggling for air, Constance rushed for the exit. She couldn’t allow herself to faint until she’d made her escape. In the foyer, she collided with someone coming down the stairs. The man caught her in his arms before she could fall.
“My dear,” said a voice both soothing and concerned. “Are you ill?”
HAVEN’S EYES OPENED and she found herself staring at the ceiling of the pastor’s office. Dr. Tidmore was still sitting behind his desk, looking past her out the door. All around him were flapping papers, fragments of a porcelain vase, and shards of glass. Haven’s chair had been hurled through the cabinet at the far end of the room, and the stained-glass window behind Dr. Tidmore’s desk had been shattered. Haven turned her head toward the sound of prayer and saw the cleaning woman, Eula Duncan, standing in the hallway.
“That girl ought to be locked up!” Eula exclaimed with one hand pressed to her heart.
Haven groaned and dropped the paperweight that was clenched in her fingers, ready to be thrown.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thursday morning Haven didn’t get out of bed. She knew word would already be spreading that she had succumbed to a demon in front of the pastor. Soon the knowledge would infect the entire town. When her mother urged her to dress for breakfast, Haven refused, too anxious to face her grandmother across the dining room table. Instead, Haven locked her door and spent the morning studying the postcard Dr. Tidmore had once given her. For eight years, the aerial view of Manhattan had stayed pinned to the wall above her desk. It was faded and crumpled, but the feeling it gave her remained the same. Haven traced the streets with her eyes, and no matter where they started on the map, they always arrived at the same tiny patch of green toward the bottom of the island. She had always known there was something waiting for her there. Beau was right, Haven thought—she had to find a way to get to New York City.
At last she set the postcard aside and pondered Dr. Tidmore’s suggestion. As much as it frightened her, Haven knew in her heart he was wrong. The only thing she had inherited from Ernest Moore was her unfortunate head of hair. A demon or a mental illness might explain the visions. But it couldn’t account for her talent for drawing, her skill with a needle—or her knowledge of a city in which she had never set foot. Haven knew she’d inherited these gifts from someone with whom she shared no blood. She had inherited them from Constance Whitman.
The visions, however, remained a mystery. Constance wanted Haven to find Ethan. But Haven no longer knew
why
. She had always assumed that love was drawing her back to New York. Now, after the vision in Dr. Tidmore’s office, Haven was no longer so certain. Constance had made the same mistake as Mae Moore. She’d fallen for the wrong man, and he’d broken her heart.
So why did Haven still feel the irresistible urge to make her way to Manhattan? The desire was so strong at times that she knew if she started walking, she wouldn’t stop until she crossed the George Washington Bridge. Was she doomed to fall in love with someone who would hurt her? Or was there another reason she had to find Ethan Evans? Haven needed answers. And as far as she knew, she only had one lead to follow.
Shortly before three o’clock, Haven crawled out of bed, cracked open her laptop, and typed in the address of the Ouroboros Society:
www.OuroborosSociety.com
. She remembered seeing Constance visit the club in her most recent vision, and she was sure the girl had been a member.
As the Website loaded, the silver snake swallowing its tail spun on the black screen, creating a mesmerizing effect. Haven felt dizzy as she clicked on the snake and read the list of options that appeared on the page.
Reincarnation and the Ouroboros Society
A Message from Our President
Our Headquarters
Share Your Story
Members Only
Haven chose
Reincarnation and the Ouroboros Society
. The snake began to spin again before it dissolved, leaving behind a page of silver letters.
Do you long for a place you’ve never been?
Do you often experience the sensation of déjà vu?
Have you ever fallen in love at first sight?
Do you possess skills or talents that defy explanation?
Are you haunted by fears or anxieties that make little sense?
Do you feel unusually close to certain people in your life?
If you answered yes to any of these questions, you may have experienced a previous life.
Reincarnation explains many of the mysteries of human existence. Why some of us are born with remarkable gifts. Why we love the people we love. Why we fear the things we fear. We return to earth time and time again, driven by love, vengeance, passion, or greed. And each life leaves its mark on us, even if we lose most of our memories as our souls are transferred from one living body to the next.
Since 1923, the Ouroboros Society has been devoted to the scientific study of reincarnation. We provide financial assistance so that members with exceptional talents can live up to their potential. We help other members reunite with lost loved ones or solve mysteries from their pasts. Those with recollections of previous lives will discover more about the people they’ve been. Those without memories can learn more about the hidden role that reincarnation has played in their lives.
If you believe that you may have lived before—or if you’re interested in learning more about reincarnation—we urge you to contact the Ouroboros Society today.
Intrigued, Haven returned to the previous page and clicked on
A Message from Our President.
The picture that accompanied the text showed a beautiful Indian woman with violet eyes and a regal nose.
I was born in Suriname in 1978 to parents of Indian descent. When I was barely two years old, I began to utter strange words and phrases. My parents, who spoke only Dutch and Hindi, believed I was just another babbling baby until a family friend came for a visit. He had lived for some time in the United States, and he instantly recognized the language I was speaking. It was English. He says the first thing I told him was that I wanted to go home.
Throughout my childhood, I spoke of a city by the water where it snowed every winter. I described giant buildings, crowded streets, and trains that ran under the sidewalks. And I told anyone who would listen about a beautiful mansion across from a park. That was where I belonged. I also began to display an unusual gift. Though I had never had any lessons, I found I could play almost any instrument set in front of me. It wasn’t until years later that I discovered the names of the musical pieces I had played as a child. They were the works of a little-known composer who lived in Austria at the end of the seventeenth century.
My parents, both Hindus, were no strangers to the idea of reincarnation. However, despite their support, my teenage years were troubled. I had come to believe that New York was the city I remembered, and I begged my parents to take me there. When they explained that we didn’t have enough money to go, I repeatedly tried to run away. I felt that my destiny could only be fulfilled in Manhattan.
At last, my old family friend contacted the Ouroboros Society, and the OS arranged for me to visit New York for an interview. When I finally laid eyes on our headquarters on Gramercy Park, I knew I had found my true home. It was the same mansion I had explored in my dreams. Later I discovered that I had been a member of the Society in one of my previous incarnations. To this day, I am the only OS member who has returned for a second term.
Thanks to educational grants from the Society, I have been able to continue broadening my skills as a musician. Today, as president of the organization, I am devoted to helping people like myself. Our senior members include some of the most talented and successful individuals in the world, and each year we welcome hundreds of junior members into the fold. If you believe that we may be able to assist you in reaching your full potential, please do not hesitate to share your story.
Padma Singh, President, the Ouroboros Society
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
That night Haven was watching the fireflies dart about the yard when a small object flew through the window, landed on the braided rug, and rolled under her desk. She slid off the bed and crawled on all fours to retrieve it. It was a piece of paper wrapped around a small, round stone.
Meet me in the yard,
it read.
After stepping carefully over the creaky floorboard outside her room, Haven tiptoed barefoot to the stairs and slid silently down the banister. On the first floor, she crept past the parlor where her grandmother stared blankly at the television. Each action was performed to perfection, like a gymnast executing a familiar routine. Within seconds Haven had escaped out the back door.
She found Beau at the edge of the forest. He was leaning against a tree, his blond hair gleaming in the moonlight.
“What’s up with the secret notes?” Haven asked. “Why didn’t you just knock on the door?”
“You weren’t at school today. I thought Imogene had you under house arrest.”
“Maybe she does,” Haven said with a shrug. “I’ve been avoiding her all day.”
“So what happened with Tidmore?” Beau asked.
“You haven’t heard? I figured everybody would be talking about it by now.”
“I’m sure they are. But do you really think they want to talk about it with
me
? Besides—why would I listen to gossip when I can get the goods straight from the source?”
Haven sighed. “Imogene gave Dr. Tidmore all the notes my dad took. I got worked up about it and fainted right there in his office. While I was out, I saw something I’d never seen in any of my other visions. It was Ethan with another girl. I guess I was so mad that I destroyed Tidmore’s office.”