A feeling of déjà vu overtook her and Lauren suspected she’d told Beth the same thing last week. But who knew? Beth loved her grandmother’s old house. If there had been money left in the estate after the debts and her grandmother’s lawyer bills, Lauren knew Beth would have wanted to keep the place, but that wasn’t possible. There was no alternative now but to sell. By keeping Beth aware of the situation, Lauren hoped to trigger something inside her sister’s mind.

Suddenly, the sound of hammering and sawing came from right outside Beth’s window and Lauren tensed.

“Not again.” For the last six months, Lauren’s visits had been disturbed by construction of the new wing.

Beth’s eyes flashed and a tick seemed to pull at one side of her mouth.

She was obviously upset and Lauren didn’t blame her. The noise level was hard to take and Lauren didn’t see how patients could heal in this environment, let alone hear themselves think.

She patted her sister’s hand. “Let’s try to ignore the noise,” she said, pointing to the barred window and the construction beyond. No sooner had she spoken than drilling suddenly accompanied the hammering. Beth, who already seemed agitated, flushed and her eyes widened. Even Lauren was getting a headache.

“Excuse me,” Lauren said to the nurse who had come in earlier, shuffling papers and making notations on her chart. “Isn’t there anything you can do about the noise? It’s upsetting my sister.”

The young woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but until they finish there’s nothing we can do.”

Lauren frowned. “I know. They aren’t patients in a private facility. They’re prisoners living on the state’s dollar and taxpayers’ dime, so let them suffer.”

The nurse placed a comforting hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, she normally doesn’t seem to mind the noise.”

“I suppose I ought to be grateful she’s reacting at all.” At the thought, Lauren rose from her chair. “Do you think it’s a sign?” she asked, excited at the prospect of seeing some change in her sister’s condition.

Again, the nurse shook her head. “This is just a normal reaction. Try not to get your hopes up.” Her voice was kind.

Lauren exhaled hard and settled back into her seat.

As she studied her silent sister, she wondered whether even Beth thought that the price of believing in the Corwin Curse to its destructive conclusion had been worth the price she’d paid.

The Corwin Curse.

At best, Lauren thought it was a bedtime story her grandmother liked to tell. At worst, she figured it was the Perkins family’s way to instill a sense of self-importance in its future generations.

To hear her grandmother tell it, the first Mary Perkins, an ancestor from the Salem Witch Trial days, had placed a curse on William Corwin and all of his male descendants in retribution for eloping with her son’s fiancée. All Corwin men who fell in love were doomed to lose their love and their fortune. Whether by coincidence or circumstance, the curse had held true for the male descendants down the Corwin line. Yet she’d heard from her friend Sharon that Jason Corwin’s two male cousins were currently married and attempting to buck the curse.

More power to them, Lauren thought.

As for herself, she hadn’t believed in the curse at seventeen, when she’d met and fallen for Jason during a summer visit to her grandmother’s. But Mary Perkins had, and when she’d read Lauren’s diary entries about sneaking out to see Jason, she’d launched into a tirade Lauren would never forget. She’d forbidden Lauren to see that Corwin boy ever again and sent her back to her parents in Sierra Leone as quickly as possible.

Lauren had lost her grandmother’s trust and approval from that day on and she’d never gained it back. Not that she’d ever really tried. She’d been too angry at her banishment.

She hadn’t given up on Jason. She’d written him more than a few times but she’d never heard back. Once she’d turned eighteen, she’d come back to the States only to find Jason had gone off to follow his dreams of winning gold in Olympic snowboarding.

He hadn’t contacted her or even let her know where he’d gone. She’d been devastated as only a teenage girl could be. They’d shared their hopes for a future and she’d believed they would find a way to be together one day. Obviously that summer had meant more to her than to him. He’d forgotten about her, so she’d headed to New York to create some dreams of her own.

Lauren forced her mind away from the past and refocused on her sister. She only had a handful of visits left before leaving for Paris and she wanted to make the most of them.

So she returned to her monologue. “Anyway, as I was saying, Grandma’s house is a real mess. The windows are broken-probably some kids with nothing better to do than vandalize the old place for fun.” Or payback for Beth’s arson escapade, but Lauren kept that notion to herself. “But I’ll get it cleaned up in no time.”

Beth didn’t reply, of course.

Lauren glanced around and suddenly felt claustrophobic. A pang of guilt followed at the realization that Beth was incarcerated here without the option to leave.

“Don’t worry, Beth. Even when I’m in Paris, I’ll be in touch with your lawyer. I’m still trying to get you out of here.”

The lawyer was working hard to ensure Beth’s case was appealed. Beth had spent the first months after her arrest in a regular hospital being evaluated by both state and her own defense psychiatrists. She’d been declared unfit to stand trial and placed in this prison psych ward for the criminally insane until such time as she was deemed fit.

Beth’s lawyer was appealing her placement here, trying to have her moved to a mental hospital where she could get better treatment and eventually be released. To whom and to what, Lauren didn’t want to imagine. In truth, the lawyer had said the entire scenario was a long shot but Lauren wasn’t giving up hope.

Paying the lawyer’s fees had put a strain on Lauren’s once comfortable savings. She’d bought the pre-owned Porsche before Beth’s arrest with the money she’d obtained from selling her designs to Galliano. The Porsche was proof that dreams did come true. That hard work, pounding the pavement, believing in herself paid off.

Sure she could sell it, but she’d worked hard for the convertible and she loved it. Loved that every time she drove the car, the rush of the engine reminded her of the euphoria of her first big success. She wasn’t willing to sell the car-or that feeling-for Beth or for anyone.

If her runway show in Paris was a hit, her designs would be in demand and money would no longer be an issue. But right now, she had to focus on the renovation. Another blow to her savings.

She glanced at her sister, the cause of this mess. Trying not to show her dueling anger and frustration, Lauren covered Beth’s hand with her own.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back soon.” She rose and kissed her sister’s cheek.

As she walked out, Lauren had the weird sensation her sister’s gaze was following her, watching her as she headed for her life outside the prison walls.

THE PORSCHE BOXSTER, engine revving, zoomed past the open field in a flash of fire and blinding speed. The convertible-top down, unusual for this time of year-dazzled for an instant before disappearing in a screeching cloud of dust. The vibrant red sports car caused a commotion in Stewart, Massachusetts, a sedate New England town consumed with getting ready for tonight’s Annual Fall Festival, always held the weekend before Halloween.

Jason Corwin glanced toward the heavy thrumming sound. His heart rate picked up speed, much as it had before a snowboarding race, until he deliberately clamped down on the unwanted reminder of his previous life. A life where he’d had the more expensive Carrera. A life of excitement and a constant rush of adrenaline through his veins. A life that was over, he harshly reminded himself before turning back to the more mundane task of building a tarot card booth for tonight’s big event.

“I wonder who could be so determined to make an entrance,” Clara Deveaux pondered aloud.

“Couldn’t tell you.” Jason hammered the last nail into the sign for Clara’s booth.

But considering the brightly colored exterior of the car and the deliberate way the engine had been revved up full throttle, the driver had definitely wanted people to notice.

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” Clara said. “So are you almost finished?”

He nodded. “As a matter of fact, I am.” He’d agreed to help with setup for the festival, but since Clara was a friend of the family, Jason had also helped to build and decorate her booth and bring over supplies.

As owner of Crescent Moon, a New Age Wiccan gift shop she’d recently relocated to Stewart, Clara was sure to be a success, her booth filled with people who wanted their future told. After all, this town believed in spells and curses. As a Corwin male, direct descendant of William Corwin and, some might say, recipient of the infamous Corwin Curse, Jason wanted nothing to do with witchcraft.

But Clara insisted on doing a tarot reading for him as thanks for all his hard work. And Clara didn’t take no for an answer.

“Great!” She seated herself in front of him and pulled out an oversize deck of cards. “Shuffle.” Her bangle bracelets clinked against one another as she handed him the deck.

With a feigned groan, he did as she asked, shuffling under her watchful eye.

After four months in a relationship with his uncle Edward that no one in the family could define, Clara was obviously here to stay. Jason liked the woman. It was her do-gooder tendencies that drove him nuts. Clara, like Gabrielle and Amber, his cousins’ wives, pushed and prodded him to get out of his present funk.